77. Chapter Seventy-Seven
Chapter Seventy-Seven
M y mother wrinkles her nose and makes an unflattering sound.
“She is only scented,” she says, in that dismissive tone, flicking her eyes at Finn like she expects him to cower, “She isn’t marked by you. She isn’t technically a part of your pack until you claim her fully.”
Her voice is razor-thin. “And you’re confident she’ll ever be ready?” There’s a sudden thickness in my throat, and I can’t answer. My hand moves to my neck again, tracing the unbroken line of skin where her gaze keeps landing. She looks at me like I’m a thing left half-finished, a vague disappointment. My father stands beside her, silent, arms folded, a frown of displeasure on his face.
Then I hear it again—Finn’s growl. It’s not threatening, just sure and steady, like the man himself. There’s a rumble from Lucian as well, a confirmation.
“She’ll get her mark when she wants it,” Lucian says, voice deep and calm. “Not a minute sooner.”
For once, my mother doesn’t have a ready reply.
Lucian’s eyes are on me, and there’s a promise in them. He stands firm, hands at his sides, no folding or crossing or tightening, no tension at all except in his voice. He means it. The lines of him are solid and unwavering. It’s impossible not to believe him, impossible not to take comfort in that surety. I lift my eyes to meet his and breathe in deeply, feeling the air change, knowing that my mother sees this too and doesn’t know what to make of it.
My mother's face tightens at Lucian's words, a flicker of calculation crossing her features before settling into practiced disdain.
"Such a... progressive approach," she says, infusing the word with venom. "In the Silvercrest Pack, we understand the importance of proper marking. Structure. Tradition." She looks directly at me now, her gaze sharp enough to cut.
"Lydia," she says, addressing me directly for the first time, her voice honey-sweet in a way that sets my teeth on edge. "You can't possibly be happy here. These people—" she gestures dismissively at the pack around me "—they're not like us. They don't understand what someone of your background needs."
I feel Elias shift beside me, a subtle movement that brings him fractionally closer. His presence is steady, grounding, reminding me that I'm not facing this alone.
“Also, because of your upbringing, you have certain obligations that must be fulfilled." Her voice has shifted to that dangerously reasonable tone I know so well—the one she uses when she's setting a trap. I feel Elias tense beside me, his hand finding mine and squeezing gently.
"The only obligation Lydia has," Lucian says firmly, "is to herself. To her own happiness."
My father steps forward, his expression hardening. "You speak as if you understand our daughter better than we do," he says, his voice carrying that familiar authoritative tone that used to make me shrink. "We raised her. We know what's best for her future."
"And yet," Lucian replies evenly, "she ran from that future. From you."
The words hang in the air, sharp and undeniable. My father's jaw tightens, a muscle jumping at his temple. I've seen that look before—the one that means he's recalculating, adjusting his strategy.
"Children often rebel," my mother interjects smoothly, her gaze sliding from Lucian to me. "It's a phase. One she'll grow out of once she realizes the opportunities she's throwing away… that this is what’s best for her…"
"What's best?" Lucian repeats, his voice dangerously calm. "Or what's most convenient for your alliances?"
My mother's eyes narrow to slits. "How dare you imply—"
"I'm not implying anything," Lucian cuts her off, something I've never seen anyone do successfully before. "I'm stating facts. When she was hiding away after your visit to her store… I came to her when she wasn’t answering her phone.” He paused, narrowing his eyes, a low growl coming from his chest.
“She was terrified and exhausted. Running from you. That tells me everything I need to know about your parenting ." His tone was sharp, almost like a knife. The air between them crackles with tension. My father's jaw tightens, a muscle working in his cheek as he visibly restrains himself from snapping.
My mother's face contorts with fury at Lucian's words. For a moment, the perfectly cultivated mask slips, revealing the raw anger beneath.
"You know nothing about our family," she hisses, taking a step forward. "Nothing about our position or the responsibilities that come with it."
"I know enough," Lucian replies, unmoving. "I know Lydia chose to leave. I know she's been happier here than she ever was with you. We also know the real Lydia, not the one who hid trying to please her parents until she decided she didn’t want to do that anymore."
My mother's laugh is brittle. "The 'real' Lydia? Please. You've known her for what— a few weeks? We've raised her for twenty-three years."
"And yet," Elias says beside me, his voice gentle but firm, "she chose us."
My father places a restraining hand on my mother's arm, his expression calculating as he studies Lucian, then the rest of the pack. His gaze finally settles on me, and I feel a chill despite the warmth of Elias beside me.
"Lydia," he says, his voice deceptively gentle, "come home. Whatever... phase this is, we can work through it. You have certain obligations—”
"The only obligation she has," Finn speaks up cutting off my father, his voice steady and resolute, "is to live her own life."
My mother's laugh is brittle, dismissive. "How quaint. And I suppose you think your little... arrangement here is what's best for her? Living in this—" she gestures vaguely at the pack house "—with no real structure or future? Playing at being independent while you all indulge her whims?" My mother's voice drips with condescension.
I feel something shift inside me— a quiet anger that's been building for years, finally finding its voice. My hands stop trembling, and I step forward, moving to stand beside Lucian rather than behind him.
"They're not indulging me," I say, my voice steadier than I expected. "They're respecting me. There's a difference."
My mother's eyes widen slightly— she's not used to me talking back. "Respect?" she scoffs. "Is that what you think this is? They're using you, Lydia. You're an unmated Omega from a powerful lineage. Don't be naive."
"The only people who have ever tried to use me," I reply, "are you and father."
"You raised me to be a bargaining chip," I say, my voice steadier than I expected. "A way to strengthen alliances with other packs. That's all I've ever been to you— an asset."
My father's expression hardens. "That's not true, Lydia. Everything we've done has been for your benefit, for your future."
"For the pack's future," I correct him. "Not mine. Never mine."
My mother's eyes narrow dangerously. "And what future do you imagine for yourself here?" she demands, sweeping her hand dismissively at the pack house, the surrounding land. "Playing shopkeeper? Living in this... commune? With no status, no security?"
I feel Elias's steady presence beside me, Finn's unwavering support, Lucian's protective stance. Their certainty feeds my own.
"I have more security here than I ever had with you," I tell her, surprised by the steadiness in my voice. "I have people who see me— who want me for who I am, not what I can do for them."
“So you would give everything up, to what, play house with a pack that can't even decide who their Alpha is? Or perhaps it's not about hierarchy at all— perhaps it's about something else entirely." Her implication hangs in the air, deliberately provocative.
I feel heat rise to my cheeks, but Lucian speaks before I can formulate a response.
"You're right about one thing," he says, his voice level despite the tension vibrating through him. "We don't operate like traditional packs. We don't force our members into predetermined roles based on outdated hierarchies." He steps closer to me, a solid presence at my side. "And we certainly don't trade them like commodities for political advantage."
My father's expression darkens. "You speak as if you understand our world, our traditions. But this isn't a game, Alpha." He emphasizes the title with a subtle mockery. "There are responsibilities that come with lineage. Obligations that cannot simply be cast aside because of... sentimentality."
"Responsibilities to whom?" Lucian challenges, his voice remaining steady even as I feel the tension radiating from him. "To packs that see Omegas as bargaining chips? To alliances built on treating people as assets rather than individuals?"
My mother's laugh is sharp, incredulous. "You truly don't understand, do you? This isn't about individuals. This is about survival, about strength, about ensuring our place in an increasingly hostile world." Her gaze shifts to me, calculating and cold. "Lydia knows this. She was raised understanding the importance of her position."
"I was raised to be obedient," I correct her, finding courage I didn't know I possessed. "To accept whatever arrangement you deemed most advantageous—regardless of what I wanted."
My mother makes a dismissive gesture. "What you want? Lydia, you've never known what you want. You've always been indecisive.”
"No," I say, my voice stronger than I've ever heard it. "I've always known what I wanted. I just wasn't allowed to voice it."
My mother's eyes narrow, that familiar look of calculation crossing her features. "And what is it you want, Lydia? To abandon your heritage? Your family? Everything we've built for you?"
"You didn't build anything for me ," I reply, the truth of it resonating through my bones. "You built it for yourselves , for your ambitions . I was just a piece on your board."
"That's enough ," my father interjects, his tone sharp. "This display is unbecoming. We came here to bring you home, not to engage in melodrama."
"She is home," Lucian says, his voice carrying the full weight of his authority as Alpha. "Lydia is pack now. Our pack." I smile at his words, knowing what he said was true. I looked at my parents, head held high as I spoke.
"I want to stay here. With this pack. With these people who let me make my own choices." I say, my voice stronger than I expected as I looked my parents in the eye, not being the docile Omega they taught me to be.
My mother's face tightens, her practiced poise slipping just enough to reveal the fury beneath. "These people ," she says, her tone dripping with disdain, "have filled your head with nonsense. Unrealistic ideas about how the world works." She takes a step toward me, but Lucian shifts slightly, a subtle movement that places him partially between us.
"The world works however we choose to make it work," Lucian says, his voice calm but unyielding. "And in our world, Lydia is free to choose her own path."
My father's laugh is short and humorless. "How very progressive," he says, his gaze sweeping over the assembled pack members with an unimpressed look on his face.
I took a deep breath knowing words I would say next could make or break me, “If I have to do something drastic to make you see that I am serious I will. I am not going anywhere but back inside this house with MY pack.”
The words hung in the air, everything going silent at my words. I was tired of being pushed around and I knew any decision would be supported by these four men… so I had no reason to be scared anymore.