Chapter 27 – IVY #2
"Hey!" I shout, but the snarls and yells drown me out. They're too caught up in their alpha bullshit to notice me. Fine. If shouting won't work, I'll try something else.
I move toward them, careful to stay out of the direct line of fire. Wraith's back is to me, his focus entirely on the three alphas in front of him. I reach out, my hand hovering for just a moment before I place it gently on his huge arm.
Wraith whirls around with a feral snarl, his arm swinging out in an instinctive defensive move that would have sent me flying across the room if he hadn't frozen the instant his eyes locked with mine.
The snarl dies in his throat, replaced by a strangled sound of shock and horror at nearly striking me.
The sudden stillness that falls over him catches the attention of the other alphas. The fighting stops as abruptly as if someone hit a pause button.
"Holy shit," Whiskey breathes, his honey-brown eyes wide as they fix on me. "It's her."
Wraith shifts, positioning himself between me and the other alphas. His massive body forms a living shield, his stance protective but no longer aggressive. I can practically taste the tension radiating from him, the way his muscles are rock hard beneath my hand that still rests on his arm.
"It's okay," I say softly, just for him. "I can handle this."
He glances down at me, those piercing blue eyes searching mine. I can read the question in them as clearly as if he'd spoken it aloud.
Are you sure?
I nod.
Wraith hesitates, his gaze flicking back to his packmates with obvious uncertainty. Then, with visible reluctance, he steps aside—not far, just enough to allow me to face the other alphas directly while remaining close enough to intervene if needed.
I take a deep breath and square my shoulders, trying to project a confidence I don't entirely feel. "So," I say, my voice steadier than I expected, helped by the fact I’m brandishing a hockey stick and they know I’m not afraid to use it, "anyone want to tell me what the hell is going on?"
The three alphas stare at me like I'm a mirage they're afraid will vanish if they move too suddenly. None of them say a word, and I take the opportunity to really look at them for the first time.
Thane stands in the center, a natural leader even in his battered state.
He's tall—though not as tall as Wraith—with broad shoulders and a presence that has nothing to do with his imposing physical size and everything to do with the quiet authority he radiates.
His shaggy dark hair falls to his shoulders, framing intense eyes that study me with equal parts wonder and wariness.
A fresh bruise darkens his jaw, and he's holding himself carefully, like his ribs are sore.
To his right stands Whiskey, the one I hit with the hockey stick.
He's built like a bear, broad and beefy with powerful arms and shoulders and a padded stomach. His messy chestnut hair falls into wide honey-brown eyes that are fixed on me with an expression of awe that borders on reverence. As if I hung the moon, even though I’m pretty sure I’m responsible for the bruise blooming on the side of his head.
And then there's Plague, standing slightly apart from the others.
He's leaner than his packmates but no less powerful.
His long black hair is pulled back in a low ponytail, a few strands escaping to frame his chiseled features.
His light eyes are reddened from the cologne I sprayed in them, but they're sharp and assessing as they lock onto me. Despite being disheveled, he’s still relentlessly beautiful.
All three of them are bleeding from various cuts and scrapes, their clothes torn and hanging off their strong bodies from the fight.
All three of them have dilated pupils and are clearly scenting the air even though they’re trying to be subtle about it.
And all three of them are staring at me like I'm simultaneously the answer to a prayer and a bomb about to go off.
"Well?" I prompt when no one speaks. "I'm waiting."
Whiskey is the first to break the silence, taking a half-step forward before stopping when Wraith tenses beside me. "You're our scent match," he says, his voice rough. "All of us. The whole pack."
Wraith growls, his hands flying up to sign something I can't quite catch. Whatever it is makes Whiskey's eyes narrow.
"What? She deserves to know," Whiskey says defensively. "We've been dreaming about her, for fuck's sake."
"Dreaming about me?" I repeat, my eyebrows rising.
Plague clears his throat, drawing my attention. "Whiskey and I have been experiencing shared dreams about an omega in the maintenance tunnels," he explains carefully. "An omega with your scent. Honeysuckle." He glances at my hair. “And auburn hair, but I suppose you’ve been dyeing it.”
Great. Didn’t account for freaking dreams leading a pack of alphas straight to my hiding spot.
"We thought we were going crazy," Whiskey adds, "until we found evidence in the tunnels. Blood. A dented fire extinguisher."
The one I used to clobber their new winger? Shit. Shouldn’t have left it there. Guess I was too freaked out to think about that.
Thane nods, speaking for the first time. His voice is deep and gravelly. "Wraith brought our new winger, Valek, to the locker room after you knocked him out. Claimed Valek was hallucinating about seeing an omega in the tunnels. He didn’t tell us about you."
I glance up at Wraith, who's watching the exchange with wary intensity. So he didn’t tell them, then. I’m not surprised, but I’m still relieved as I turn back to the other alphas. "And you've been, what? Trying to find me?"
"Trying to understand what the hell is going on," Whiskey corrects. "Wraith's been acting weird as fuck, disappearing, mauling wingers, going to omega clinics in broad daylight—"
"And then we caught your scent," Plague interjects smoothly. "Coming through the air vents. That's when we knew for certain."
"That I'm your scent match," I say, testing the words on my tongue.
All three of them nod in unison, their expressions solemn.
I take a deep breath, trying to process this information. Part of me had suspected it, especially after my interactions with Wraith, but hearing it confirmed is still overwhelming. "I had a feeling," I admit quietly.
Wraith's head snaps toward me, his eyes widening in surprise and something that looks almost like fear. His hands move in a flurry of signs that I can't follow.
"He's asking if you knew," Thane translates, his dark eyes moving between us. "If you knew you were our match."
I shake my head. “Not for sure. I suspected... with Wraith. The way we connected. How safe I felt with him. His scent. Although I think I would have felt that way no matter what.”
Wraith stares at me in clear bewilderment.
"And a match with an alpha in a bonded pack means a match with the rest," Plague says quietly.
Whiskey nods, still staring at me.
"So what now?" I ask, looking from one alpha to the next. "You found me. Congratulations. What exactly do you expect to happen here?"
The question seems to catch them off guard. They exchange glances, and Plague and Thane both shoot Whiskey an irritated look that says, this is your fucking fault.
Whiskey looks back to me with a heavy sigh. "To the credit of these assholes, they tried to stop me. I just wanted to meet you," he says, his husky voice softer than before. "And to make sure you were safe. When I realized Wraith was hiding you, I thought—"
"You thought what?" I press. "That he was keeping me prisoner? That he was hurting me? Because he’s the only alpha I’ve ever met who’s safe."
“No,” Whiskey says quickly. “I mean, I’m pretty damn sure you’re the only one who feels safe around Wraith, but no.”
Thane steps forward. “What he’s trying to say is, Wraith has... issues with trust. With letting people in. Even us, sometimes.”
“We were concerned he might not be telling you everything you needed to know,” Plague adds quietly.
"Like the fact that I'm apparently matched to all of you?" I say, my voice taking on an edge. "Because he didn't hide that. He just didn't push it on me when I was sick and vulnerable and scared."
Wraith shifts beside me, and I can almost feel his surprise at my defense of him.
"Look," I continue, running a hand through my hair, "this is a lot to process. I’ve been hiding and running under your arena for almost two months from an alpha who would hurt me if he found me.
I'm sick, I'm exhausted, and I just had to break up a fucking alpha brawl that was happening because of me.
So forgive me if I'm not jumping for joy at the news that I'm magically destined to be with a pack of alphas I barely know. "
The room falls silent again, the only sound the soft creak of the demolished furniture settling around us and our collective breathing.
"Two months?" Plague repeats finally, his brow furrowing. "You've been living in the arena for two months?"
I nod, suddenly aware that I've revealed more than I intended. “About that.”
The admission hangs in the air between us, heavy with implications. All four alphas go still, their expressions darkening with protective rage.
"Who is he?" Thane asks, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl.
I shake my head. "That doesn't matter right now."
Whiskey makes a frustrated sound deep in his throat. "Like hell it doesn't," he argues, taking a step closer. His honey-brown eyes have darkened with rage, and I can smell the protective pheromones pouring off him in waves. "If someone is threatening you—if someone hurt you—"
Wraith shifts beside me, placing himself partially between me and Whiskey with a warning rumble that vibrates through the floorboards. I appreciate the gesture, but I don't need his protection for this. Not from words.
"Then it's my business," I cut Whiskey off firmly, meeting his gaze without flinching. "Not yours. Not yet, at the very least."
Whiskey looks like he wants to argue, but a sharp look from Thane silences him.
"You're right," Thane says, his tone softening. "We're strangers to you. We haven't earned your trust. Or your story."
I nod, a bit of the tension leaving my body at his words. "Exactly. And this—" I pause, gesturing to the destroyed living room around us, "—isn't exactly making a great first impression."
Wraith growls softly at my side, apologetically.
"Not you," I clarify to him.
Only to him.
The others notice the distinction, of course.
How could they not? Plague's expression remains unreadable, but something flickers in his pale eyes that might be shame.
Thane watches the interaction in stoic silence.
Whiskey looks like a giant golden retriever puppy who's just been told "no" for the first time in his life.
Whiskey has the decency to look embarrassed, at least, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, about that... sorry for trying to break into the loft. And for, uh, whatever else we did to freak you out."
I’m not about to tell him I forgive him for trying to break into the freaking loft, so if that’s what he’s hoping for, he’s out of luck. I take a deep breath, weighing my next words carefully. "I need time to think about all this. To figure out what I want to do next."
The three alphas exchange glances, some unspoken communication passing between them. Plague speaks first. "Of course," he says, his voice smooth and careful. "Take all the time you need."
I appreciate that they're not pushing, but I need to establish clear boundaries. Alphas sometimes hear what they want to hear.
"I'm going back up to the loft with Wraith," I continue, my decision made even as I speak it. I feel Wraith tense beside me in surprise, but I press on. "And I don't want any of you to bother me up there until I come down on my own and we can talk more. Understood?"
The simple declaration seems to stun all of them, Wraith included.
His massive body goes still beside me, and I can feel the weight of his gaze on the side of my face.
But the other three alphas nod in silence, even though Whiskey looks like he's physically restraining himself from protesting as we head for the front door.
He loses that battle. "Wait—are you sure that's a good idea? Going up there with him? Alone?"
I turn slowly, my hand still resting against Wraith's arm.
"Am I sure? Let me think." I tap my chin in mock consideration.
"Should I go with the alpha who's been gently taking care of me while I was sick, bringing me medicine, food, and letting me sleep in his bed while he took the couch?
Or should I hang out with the alphas who just tried to break into my sanctuary through a trap door like a pack of deranged raccoons? " I raise my eyebrows. "Tough call."
Plague blows a puff of air through his nose at that.
Whiskey's mouth opens, closes, then opens again.
A flush creeps up his neck to his ears, but there's something like grudging respect in his eyes.
"Yeah, alright. Message received." He shakes his head, the ghost of a grin on his lips.
"Guess you're the only person on the entire planet who gets the gentle version of Wraith. "
"And don't forget it," I mumble.
I can still feel the heavy gazes of the other alphas on us as we leave. They clearly have more to say, but they hold back.
Well, that's unexpected.
Alphas with actual self-control.
Let's see how long that lasts when I'm not brandishing a hockey stick.