Chapter 33
Emery
The invitation is printed on linen paper thick enough to file as a weapon, but the real message comes through the watermark: House Everhart’s sigil, flanked by the less-prestigious but much more photogenic crests of the city’s other top packs.
The font is script, the ink a midnight blue that stains my fingers when I run my thumb over the RSVP.
I told them I would go. I want to go. But my nerves are coiled tighter than on Omega Selection Day.
I miss my alphas. God, I miss them. But I am nervous to see what’s become of us since yesterday. And I’m terrified to see what the press will do after the viral post that nearly ruined everything.
It might still do.
I slip on the blue-and-white dress the PR firm sent me.
Their aim is to make me as nonthreatening as possible and “ready for camera love.” But I don’t know.
I tame my hair into something resembling cute but controlled to give the impression that I, too, am somewhat disciplined.
But at the last second, I think fuck that, and just leave it down.
There’s nothing tame about cotton-candy colored hair.
Eloise stands in the doorway to her bedroom. I’ve been hogging her full-length mirror for an hour. “You sure you’re ready for this, Emery?”
I chuckle. “Not even a little.” I tuck the RSVP into the dress’s pocket like it’s a talisman against evil. “But I miss them.”
Her gaze softens. “The fact Bastion went door to door looking for you is promising. A bit extreme, but promising. The look of relief on his face when I said you were here and safe…”
Eloise trails off. It doesn’t require words.
Wyatt was the first to say that he loves me. In hindsight, the timing of that post going out and the details of that post don’t make sense.
Eloise smirks. “They’re worth it, I think. If they’ve sorted things out with Charlotte.” Then her lips form a thin line. “The press is a different beast all together.”
“I don’t care about the press.” But I know at least Ranier cares about legacy so, unfortunately, the press matters.
“That’s my girl.” Eloise hugs me so hard I almost drop my phone.
The car my pack sent is not a limo but it does have tinted windows and a beta driver in a suit that costs more than my rent. He doesn’t say a word to me, just holds the door and waits as I climb in. My hands are shaking, so I clutch my purse like it might float away.
The icy river carves a path through the city as we glide through.
The bridges twinkle with lights strung along them.
The event is in the old Opera Hall, which means marble, velvet, and an army of people who know exactly how much power every other person in the room wields.
I have a name, now. I have a place in this ecosystem, even if it’s at the bottom of the food chain.
The driver deposits me at the curb and gestures toward the red carpet.
There are already people watching. They snap pictures and record with phones.
I paste on my best “I am definitely emotionally exhausted” smile and walk the length of the carpet, heels clicking like gunshots.
At the doors, a woman in a headset checks my name and ushers me inside.
The lobby is a light show, full of mirrors and crystal, and the noise hits me like a wall.
I spot Wyatt first, standing by the drinks table, already in deep conversation with a clutch of beta influencers.
His hair is gelled into submission, and he’s wearing a suit in the world’s worst shade of pale green.
He looks up and sees me, and for a second, the air shifts—like there’s an invisible tether between us that just yanked tight.
I want to run, or laugh, or maybe both, but instead I calmly make my way over.
Wyatt breaks away from his group, grabs two glasses of champagne, and meets me by a beautiful painted mural of wolves. “Emery, I’m so sorry. And so happy to see you here.” He offers me a glass of champagne in a peace offering.
I take it and offer him a small smile. “It’s okay.”
“It’s not,” he corrects. “I’ll never forgive myself for letting that happen. But it’s done now. All of it.”
My brow creases. “What do you mean?”
Wyatt looks around. This is hardly the place for this personal a conversation. But he doesn’t back down. “Royals Anonymous is gone. Deleted. I spoke to Charlotte as well and she won’t be a problem anymore.” He chuckles dryly. “My phone’s out too. Drowning at the bottom of the river.”
My eyes go wide. “What?”
His smile turns charming now. “Yeah. I’m honestly losing it a bit with the withdrawal.”
Sure enough, his hands are shaking.
I reach out to hold his free hand steady. “Wyatt…” I’m not sure what to say. Thank you is impersonal to the personal choices he made. I’m sorry doesn’t feel right either.
Wyatt shakes his head. “It’s better this way.
It’s over. No more gossip, no more angry drafts, no more chance for our pack to get hacked or broken by outside forces.
” Tears are welling in his eyes. “Emery, I’m so sorry I left that big a chance for our pack to get torn apart.
I never should have started Royals Anonymous in the first place. ”
“If it’s gone now, that’s what matters.” I squeeze Wyatt’s hand. “Because I’m here. The pack wasn’t torn apart.”
Hope lights his eyes. “You want us back?”
I rock onto my tiptoes and kiss his cheek. “I was never gone. I just needed space.”
Wyatt pulls me in for a tight hug. His warm embrace and scent relax my nerves until I’m purring. I relax into it and even purr a little. But the moment passes and we’re reminded we’re at a very public event.
I pull back and glance around the room. “Are Bastion and Ranier here, too?”
Wyatt nods and then points up at the balcony. “Bastion’s up there pouting and looking for you. Ranier’s… tied up with something Council-related with his father.”
My mood sours at the mention of Ranier’s father. The one person here who might really have it out for me. “I’m sure he’s enjoying that.”
Wyatt barks a laugh. “Oh yeah. Immensely.”
The crowd shifts, and suddenly I’m surrounded—people wanting a word, a handshake, or a piece of the new omega in town.
Wyatt is similarly whisked away. The crowd watches all of me, but their eyes regularly dart to my neck, checking for bite marks like it’s an awards tally.
They ask about the shelter down the road, about the Council, and about “life with three such illustrious alphas.” I give the answers I practiced in the mirror: short and sweet, with just enough humor to make them underestimate me.
It’s exhausting. After twenty minutes, I duck out to the restroom, which is painted a shade of pink so violent I almost get a migraine.
I stand at the sink, breathing slow, hands braced on the marble.
I look at my reflection and try to see what they see.
But I don’t. I see me. The me with Everhart alpha bite marks that prove I belong without any doubt.
The door swings open. I expect another influencer, or maybe one of the PR ladies with a powder puff. Instead, it’s Bastion in a perfectly tailored suit. He glances around and then, finding the bathroom empty except for me, locks the door behind him.
Bastion doesn’t say hi. He just stands there, staring at me he’s afraid I might bolt again. Which is fair.
Someone has to start talking or we’ll stay here silent for hours. “Hey.”
“Hey.” His voice is a wreck—husky, a little raw. I supposed it’s been a long night for all of us. “How are you holding up?”
I shrug, which is a feat given the dress’s construction. “Ask me after round two of interviews.”
Bastion tries to smile, but it doesn’t quite land. “You look good, by the way. Better than them.”
I chuckle a little. “I’m not sure I believe that. The other omegas are gorgeous.”
“I wouldn’t know. I’ve only been looking at you.”
My heart flutters. “Bastion—”
“When are you coming back?” Bastion asks. His eyes watch my every move. He is afraid I’ll bolt or break. If he was watching me with Wyatt, I think the answer is pretty obvious.
“Tonight, with you all. If you’ll have me.”
“Have you?” Bastion echoes with wide eyes. “Emery, you’re all we’ve ever wanted. I know we didn’t exactly show that at first, but it’s true.”
I shake my head. “You did. Not on Selection Day, but after. This was all a giant misunderstanding. I’m sorry for just leaving.”
Bastion wraps his arms around me. “Do not apologize. I wouldn’t want to be in the same house as us either in that moment.” He smooths down my hair and kisses the top of my head. His whole body relaxes as he takes me in. “I love you, Emery.”
“I love you all, too,” I murmur into his shoulder.
We both draw back at the same time and then he kisses me. It’s slow and passionate.
I don’t even realize I’m crying until Bastion pulls back, cradling my chin and wiping the tears from under my eyes with the pad of his thumb.
His lips brush my cheek before finding mine again—so gentle, so careful.
I taste salt and champagne and something woody.
I taste longing left to ripen. His hands slide down my arms and rest at my waist, thumbs tracing circles through the thin fabric, grounding me.
He deepens the kiss, tongue flicking over my lip, asking permission.
I grant it gladly, melting into him, my body humming with a nervous energy that’s more relief than fear.
For a moment, we’re the only two people in the world.
Not omega and alpha, not runaway and rejected, just us.
His hair, always short but never quite tame, tickles my jaw as he holds me closer.
A tremor runs through him, and I wonder if he’s as overwhelmed as I am.
Maybe more. Maybe enough to finally say what we both need to hear.
“Emery,” he murmurs, voice shredded and thick, “I thought I’d lost you.”
“You didn’t,” I whisper into the space between our lips. “You never did.”