Chapter 24 #2
The reception is awkward but not as bad as I feared.
I hover near the food table and stress-eat three cookies before reporters find me.
I have no choice with Wyatt and Bastion tied up on their own but to field questions about my “integration into the prestigious Everhart household” from people who definitely don’t care about me.
I keep my answers warm and my smile big.
Much of my integration is now going just fine. There’s just one rather large issue with that.
I glance at Ranier. He’s on the other side of the room schmoozing up to the press. He still hasn’t looked at me, but I’m starting to think it’s less pointed neglect and more a stubborn plan.
Ranier doesn’t want to look at me. Because if he did, he’d see how well our whole pack is doing today. He’d have to accept that a commoner omega really can handle royal events.
Wyatt finds me eventually. He sets a cup of punch in front of me and leans in so close I can feel his breath on my ear. “You’re killing it.”
“Am I?” I ask, genuinely unsure.
He nods. “You look like you belong here. More than the rest of us.”
I want to believe him, but all I can think about is the way Ranier is trying so hard to pretend like I don’t exist when he’s not required to address us all as a whole pack.
I sip the punch. It’s too sweet and not nearly alcoholic enough.
“Do you ever get used to this?” I ask, waving at the chaos around us.
Wyatt considers. “Maybe. Maybe not. But I think you could.”
I look at him, really look, and I see something there I haven’t seen in a long time.
Hope.
We stay there, side by side, watching how much good we can do in the world. Our presence here for the donation drive has gone far beyond stupid Council-required PR and really made an impact.
I survey everything that’s been donated today. Food, housing items, clothes, and more—it’s all laid out between the floods of people here to donate and meet us at the same time.
This is what it’s really about. A pack is everything, don’t get me wrong. I’ve wanted nothing but to be a park of a pack and be a good omega since I was given a designation. But going to finishing school and trying to become a royal’s omega was always about this.
Building a better community. Helping others. Doing good.
I hope Rainer sees that past his family’s expectations… and the ones he has for himself.
Eventually Wyatt wanders off and I get back to work.
Ranier still makes no effort to move toward me, so I decide to put him out of mind and focus on what we’re doing here.
It’s hard to ignore all the reporters lurking in wait for someone to slip up and say something that tanks the Council’s careful messaging.
As if on cue, a woman with platinum hair and teeth too perfect to be real sidles up. She’s got a press badge and an aura of professional murder.
She beams. “Emery Grey, right? Can we get a quote for the evening edition?”
I freeze. Bastion appears behind me and crosses his arms. Wyatt also notices and starts to make his way back over to us. At least they have my back.
“Sure.” My voice is a little shaky. I’ve grown more confident throughout the day, but I can’t pretend I don’t see a predatory gleam in this woman’s eyes.
She leans in, phone poised. “There’s a rumor that the head of house hasn’t spoken to you all evening. Any comment on that?”
I smile the way finishing school taught me—warm and bright. “We’ve all been busy working the event. That’s what we’re here for.”
She doesn’t let up. “Some sources say Ranier Everhart isn’t happy about your appointment. How does that make you feel?”
Bastion bristles but I hold up a hand. “If Ranier Everhart were ever happy about anything, it’d be breaking news. You’d get a Pulitzer.” I laugh lightly. “He’s busy working the event like the rest of us.”
Bastion lets out a barely contained snort of laughter. Wyatt clears his throat. “Perhaps we ought to get back to it?”
Wyatt being the voice of reason takes me by surprise.
The reporter smiles wider. Like a cat about to pounce. “So you don’t feel ostracized at all?”
I shake my head. “No more than any new omega in a royal pack. Besides, Bastion and Wyatt have been great.”
Bastion leans in, stage-whispering, “We’d be dead by now if she wasn’t here. She does all the hard work.”
The reporter files that away, then turns her attention to Bastion. “What about the rumors of conflict in the pack?”
He shrugs. “It’s not conflict if you’re all fighting the same enemy. And right now, that enemy is hunger and the city’s budget, so let us get back to doing some good work, please.”
The reporter tries once more, but a royal PR assistant sweeps in and shuttles us toward the back of the hall, murmuring, “No off-the-cuff interviews, please.” She smiles at me, tight-lipped. “You’re doing great, Grey. Don’t take the bait.”
I nod, but my hands are shaking. Bastion notices, and when the PR lady is gone, he takes my hand and holds it. “You nailed it.”
I look up at him. “I don’t feel like I did.”
Wyatt kisses my forehead. “You did, Emery. The press are always vultures.”
The rest of the evening is a blur of handshakes, staged photos, and awkward conversations about “integration” and “pack culture.” Wyatt is everywhere at once, shaking off anyone who tries to get too close or too clever with me.
I overhear him telling someone I’m a “national treasure, like those old coins nobody wants to spend,” which makes me want to both laugh and cry.
By the end of the night, my cheeks hurt from smiling and my feet are killing me, but I haven’t embarrassed myself or anyone else. That feels like victory.
Afterward, Bastion, Wyatt, and I leave through the back door into a narrow alley to get some fresh air. They flank me like bodyguards as we take a moment without our actual security.
The alley is boxed in by dumpsters and the crumbling shell of a playground. Quiet permeates the air as well as the city’s soft glow. I lean against the wall and let myself breathe.
This should be the part where I text Eloise, or my mom, or anyone who isn’t about to lecture me about optics and protocol. But I just stand there, trying not to think about Ranier’s face on the stage, or the way the reporters’ eyes tracked every twitch of his jaw when he ignored me.
I try not to imagine the headlines: “Omega Scandal! Everhart Pack Fails to Unify!”
I try not to imagine the disappointment that’ll hit my parents when the Council sends me packing if Ranier has his way.
Bastion slumps against the wall beside me. Wyatt stands on my other side, close enough that I can feel the tension rolling off him like heat.
It’s Bastion who speaks first. “Ranier’s an ass. Don’t let it get in your head.”
I stare at the opposite wall. “It’s not just Ranier. The whole city saw how he won’t even acknowledge my presence.”
Wyatt shakes his head. “Who cares what they saw? They don’t know anything.”
I want to believe him, but I can’t. “You saw the way the press ate it up. They’re going to crucify me. I’ll be gone by next week and you’ll get a new omega, a royal one who actually knows what she’s doing.”
There’s a silence so dense I could cut it with the edge of my clutch.
Then Bastion says, voice low and dangerous, “Don’t ever say that again, Emery.”
I glance up at him. “What, the truth? Even if you two want to stay in this pack with me, if Ranier doesn’t, won’t his family get this taken care of? I’ll be out.”
Bastion swipes a hand through the air. “Fuck his family.”
Wyatt nudges me, gentle. “Bastion means it, you know. We don’t want anyone else. Ranier will come around.”
“And if he doesn’t?” I ask.
Bastion shakes his head. “He will. He’s stubborn as hell, but he’s not stupid. I know he feels a connection with you even if he’s too terrified to admit it to himself.”
I feel something inside me unspool, slow and reluctant. I lean into Wyatt, just enough to let him catch me. His arm wraps around my shoulders, and I realize I’m shaking. Bastion’s hand finds my wrist, thumb running slow circles over my pulse.
For a second, it’s quiet. Just three people, breathing together.
Then Bastion says, “You know what would really piss Ranier off?”
I shake my head.
Bastion leans in, breath warm against my neck. “If we made it official. Right here. Right now.”
Wyatt’s eyes go wide, but then he laughs, bright and wild. “You want to get kicked out of the city?”
Bastion shrugs. “Let’s give them a show.”
Wyatt looks at me, eyebrows raised. “You in?”
Claim? As in, alpha claim bites? Oh, wow. It’s too soon and not at all soon enough. But I want them. Wyatt and Bastion. Even Ranier.
Everhart Pack is my pack. These marks should have happened far sooner.
My mouth is dry, but I nod anyway. “Hell yes.”
It happens fast. Bastion kisses me, hard and sudden. His mouth is greedy and rough. His hand slides to my hip, pulling me closer. I melt into him, fingers clutching the lapel of his jacket. Wyatt presses in from behind, arms circling my waist, and traces his lips against my ear.
I’m sandwiched between them. Bastion’s tongue tangles with mine, tasting like coffee and adrenaline. Wyatt’s hands are everywhere on any exposed skin.
They break the kiss only to swap places.
Wyatt spins me in his arms and tilts my chin up with two fingers.
His kiss is softer, but no less hungry. He nips at my lower lip, then licks the sting away.
Bastion’s hands roam up my thighs, hiking my skirt in a way that would scandalize the press if they could see us right now.
But they can’t. Not here. Not with the alley is formed between these two tall buildings.
Wyatt slides a hand under the back of my dress. His fingers splay over the curve of my ass. Bastion massages my breast, his thumb teasing the nipple through the thin fabric. I arch into the touch and moan softly into Wyatt’s mouth.
The cold is gone. All I feel is them. Wyatt’s steady hands. Bastion’s clever mouth. The press of their bodies pinning me between the brick and the future.
Bastion kneels. He drags my panties down with a flick of his wrist. The air is icy on my bare skin, but then his mouth is there, hot and wicked, tongue lapping at my core with finesse.
I grip Wyatt’s shoulders to keep from falling. He holds me up, murmuring filth into my hair. His other hand is between my legs, working in tandem with Bastion’s mouth. They’re coordinated, like they practiced, each taking pleasure in the way I writhe and whimper with want.
I’m close, embarrassingly fast, but they don’t let up. Bastion’s tongue finds my clit and Wyatt’s fingers slide inside, curling just right, and I cum so hard I nearly bite through my own lip.
They don’t stop. Not even when I’m shaking, not even when I beg.
Bastion licks me clean, then rises, his mouth shiny. Wyatt kisses me again, tasting me on my own lips.
I’m dizzy, off-balance, but so very alive. I’ve had each of these alphas, but never at the same time. This is different. This is electric.
“Fuck,” I gasp, clinging to both of them. “You guys are insane.”
Wyatt’s hand finds my chin. “You love it.”
I nod, still dazed.
Bastion leans in. “You ready?”
“Ready for what?”
Bastion grins, something wild and reckless in the way his lips part, and before I can brace myself, he sinks his teeth into my neck. Not a tease, not the playful nip I expect—but a real bite, deep enough to bruise, sharp enough that my vision whites out.
I gasp, the shock and pain blooming bright, but Bastion doesn’t pause.
He holds me steady, hands strong at my waist, and marks me.
I feel my blood beat against his mouth, the heat and ache and euphoria of being claimed.
The pulse of it echoes through my whole body, from my scalp to the backs of my knees.
Just as I’m catching my breath, still dizzy from the first bite, Wyatt’s mouth is on the other side of my neck. He doesn’t give me time to flinch. His teeth sink in, perfectly mirrored, and there’s a moment where both bites flare—twin lines of fire, one on each side of my throat.
I cry out in both pleasure and pain, loud enough that it might echo off the alley walls and straight into the next zip code, but neither of them is self-conscious.
Bastion’s hands grip tighter, holding me upright as my knees buckle.
Wyatt’s bite is different—deeper, maybe, or just more desperate.
I can feel his lips pressed to my skin, the small sound he lets out as he claims me.
The world blurs. My whole body goes hot and cold by turns.
The pain, the pride, the dizzying rush of being theirs—claimed, for real, with proof that will outlast any social media cycle or Council decree.
I cum again, I can’t even help it—just from the bite, the heat, and the knowledge that I’m theirs.
They let go at the same time, as if choreographed. I’m gasping, my pulse frantic, and for a second the only thing keeping me upright is the brick wall and Bastion’s hand.
Bastion pulls back first, licks a bead of blood from my skin with a slow, proprietary swipe of his tongue. Wyatt is still close, his breath soft against my ear, as if he can’t let go all at once.
Then they step back to frame me and stare at their handiwork with identical pride. I’ve never felt so exposed—and so safe—in my life.
I reach up, fingers trembling, and touch the spots where their teeth have left me. I can already feel the heat of swelling and the promise of bruises. The marks are going to show for days. Maybe weeks.
I fucking love it.
“There,” Bastion says. “Now everyone knows you’re ours.”
Wyatt grins, eyes bright. “Especially Ranier. Now it’s an invitation to him to finish what we’ve started.”
“Can you walk?” Wyatt asks.
“Probably not,” I admit. I sag between them, legs useless.
They carry me, one on each side, back to the car. I don’t care who sees. I want them to see.
We pile into the backseat, tangled together. My hair is a mess and my dress is askew. I rest my head on Bastion’s shoulder while Wyatt’s fingers trace lazy circles on my thigh.
I close my eyes and savor the ache of the bite marks. The thrum of my own heart. And the certainty that for the first time, I belong to something bigger than myself.
“Hey,” Bastion says, voice rough with pride. “You did good tonight.”
I smile, teeth sharp. “So did you.”
Wyatt kisses my forehead. “We’re a pack now. For real.”
I drift, content, as the city races by outside. Whatever happens next, I’m not alone.
I’m an Everhart, now.