Chapter 35 – VALEK
Chapter
Thirty-Five
VALEK
Ilock eyes with the security camera monitoring the pack house front door, holding my gaze a fraction longer than necessary. Let them know I know I'm being watched.
It's always better to establish boundaries early.
The front door swings open before I can even knock, revealing Thane Belmont in all his…
captainly glory. Dark circles under his eyes and a tight jaw speak volumes about the night he's had.
And the bruise blooming on his jawline makes me wonder if his feral brother did more than disappear after our little tunnel encounter.
Interesting.
"Valek," he greets, his tone carefully neutral. "Good to see you on your feet."
"Belmont," I respond amiably even though I'm sure he doesn't want me here. Alphas don't let strange alphas in their spaces easily. "Generous of you to welcome me into your den."
His eyes narrow almost imperceptibly. He's searching for mockery in my words, for hidden meanings. Smart man. But I keep my expression open, a half-smile playing at my lips.
"The team takes care of its own," Thane says, stepping aside to let me in. He's standing unnaturally straight, like he's fighting the urge to block the entrance. Probably is.
I cross the threshold, every sense on high alert.
The living room beyond is... perfect. Too perfect.
Every piece of furniture positioned just so, throw pillows arranged in a deliberate pattern, surfaces gleaming.
It has the distinct feel of a space that's been frantically cleaned and organized in the last hour.
My eyes catch a small painting hanging slightly crooked.
Someone tried, at least.
"New furniture?" I ask mildly, noting the pristine sectional and coffee table.
"Redecorating," Thane says shortly, closing the door behind me.
"Because of me?" I flash a wolfish grin at him. "You shouldn't have."
Thane's face betrays nothing, but a muscle in his jaw twitches. "We've been meaning to update for a while."
I drop my leather duffel by my feet and take another step inside, inhaling deeply through my nose. Cleaning products. Fresh paint. And beneath it all, the scent of four distinct alphas.
But no omega.
Not directly, at least.
And yet there's something about this space—a feminine energy in the arrangement of objects, the careful balance of the room—that screams omega influence. They've used scent neutralizers, too. The expensive kind. This place should have alpha scent all over it, yet it's strangely neutral.
If there were a honeysuckle scent present, it would be buried.
"Nice place," I comment, running a finger along the back of the sectional. "Very... organized."
“Plague likes things clean,” comes a voice from my left.
Whiskey looms in the doorway to what I assume is the kitchen, a mug of coffee in his beefy hand. His eyes are watchful despite the easy grin plastered across his face. There's a bruise on the side of his head, fresh and painful-looking. Someone hit him with something hard and straight-edged.
The plot thickens.
My gaze slides past Whiskey to take in Plague, who stands behind him in the kitchen doorway. The surgical-masked alpha's expression gives away nothing, but there's a tension in his shoulders that belies his calm appearance.
“I’m impressed,” I continue. “You’re a pack of bachelor alphas, and yet your pack house almost looks like it received an omega’s touch.”
Plague's eyes narrow above his mask.
"We have a cleaning service," Thane interjects, moving to stand between me and the kitchen doorway. Protective stance. Territorial.
"And here I thought I'd be entering a den of barbarians."
"A necessity in a pack of alphas," Plague says, his voice smooth and controlled.
"Yeah, and there was an incident with the, uh, the old furniture," Whiskey chimes in with a nervous laugh. "We got a little carried away with a party last night. Celebrating. You know how it is."
I raise an eyebrow, my gaze flicking between their faces. "Celebrating what, exactly? Your team's impressive ability to put me in the hospital before I've even practiced with you?"
The temperature in the room drops several degrees. Whiskey's smile falters, and Thane takes a measured step forward.
"That was an unfortunate misunderstanding," Thane says carefully. "One we'd like to move past—if you're willing to, of course."
"Of course," I repeat, wandering further into the living room, taking in every detail. "Water under the bridge. Or should I say, blood under the bandage?" I tap the butterfly stitches on my forehead.
Whiskey makes a strange choking sound that might be suppressed laughter. Plague shoots him a glacial look.
"Would you like something to drink?" Plague offers, his tone deliberately neutral as he turns back to me. "Water? Coffee?"
"Coffee would be excellent," I answer, moving to examine a framed photo on the mantle. Three alphas on the ice, victorious. The one that attacked me, Wraith, is behind them and off to the side, his blue eyes wary above the mask covering his lower face.
But there's something off about the wall behind it. A small section that's a slightly different shade than the rest. Fresh paint. Hastily applied, judging from the dried drip running down from beneath the bottom of the frame.
I turn, catching Whiskey staring at where I'm looking. His eyes dart away too quickly.
"Nice picture," I comment. "The four horsemen of the hockey apocalypse."
"That was after we won the conference finals last season," Thane says, a hint of pride creeping into his voice despite his wariness.
"Against the Demons, if I recall correctly." I tap the glass over the framed photo. "Wraith really handed Wade Kelly's ass to him, didn't he?"
Watching Kelly bleed all over the ice was the highlight of my season.
Pity he stood back up.
"Kelly's a sore loser," Whiskey mutters. "And a shitty alpha."
I wonder if they realize I know exactly who the omega is. The omega they're clearly guarding. The one who bludgeoned me with a fire extinguisher.
She was strangely familiar even with that dyed dark hair. I've spent countless hours researching, desperately trying to find out who she is. And I found her just this morning.
Wade Kelly's missing fiancée.
Ivy.
I never forget a face, even when they try to disguise it.
And now, seeing their collective tension at the mere mention of Kelly's name, I'm absolutely certain of it.
What I'm not certain of is whether they're simply protecting her for some reason or if they're dating her.
It's rare for bonded packs to all date the same omega unless they're scent matched, so perhaps it's just Wraith.
Either way, I'm certainly going to figure it out soon.
Plague returns from the kitchen with a steaming mug. "Black. I wasn't sure how you take it."
"Black is perfect," I reply, accepting the mug with a nod of thanks. Our fingers brush during the exchange, and Plague withdraws his hand a fraction too quickly.
"Let me show you to your room," Thane says abruptly, picking up my duffel. A power move. Establishing himself as host, as alpha in charge. The human version of pissing on my bag.
I let him have it. For now.
As we move toward the stairs, I detect the barest hint of anxiety in the other alphas' scents. It's faint, but unmistakable.
"So," I say as we begin climbing the stairs, "tell me about this penchant for violence your team seems to have. First Wraith puts me in the hospital, then your living room gets demolished in a 'celebration.' Should I sleep with one eye open?"
Whiskey makes a sound that might be a laugh or a growl. It's hard to tell. "Only if you're planning midnight explorations of private areas you shouldn't be in."
"Whiskey," Plague warns, his tone sharp.
"What?" Whiskey asks innocently. "Just letting our new teammate know the house rules."
"Which are?" I ask, turning to face them on the landing.
"Pretty simple," Thane interjects. "Respect private spaces, as he so bluntly put it. No unauthorized guests. Don't eat food with someone else's name on it."
"That last one's important," Whiskey adds, his tone deadly serious. "Plague caught me eating his salad once and nearly stabbed me with a fork."
"It had my name clearly labeled," Plague says, not denying the accusation. "In five places."
Despite myself, I find the corner of my mouth quirking upward. There's something almost charming about their dysfunctional dynamic. Almost.
"I'll be sure to keep my hands off your things," I say to Plague.
His eyes narrow above his mask. Definitely the dangerous one of the group.
Thane leads the way up the stairs, with Whiskey and Plague following behind me. Flanking me like herding dogs. Making sure I don't deviate from the path. The hair on the back of my neck prickles. I don't like having alphas at my back, particularly ones with reason to dislike me.
"Where's your brother?" I ask Thane casually as we reach the second floor. "I was hoping to apologize for our misunderstanding yesterday."
Thane's shoulders tense momentarily before he forces them to relax. "Wraith's not here."
"Oh?"
"He likes to run in the mornings," Whiskey supplies from behind me. "Burns off the murderous impulses."
A joke, but not really. Whiskey wants me to be wary of Wraith. I can tell.
"Understandable," I reply with a light chuckle. "We all have our methods of decompression."
"What's yours?" Plague asks, his voice carefully neutral.
I glance over my shoulder at him. "Chess."
"You play chess?" There's a hint of genuine interest in Plague's tone now.
"Since childhood. It teaches patience. Foresight." I smile thinly. "The art of the sacrifice."
"I have a set," Plague offers unexpectedly. "If you're interested in a game sometime."
Thane and Whiskey exchange surprised glances, and Whiskey looks vaguely betrayed. Apparently, Plague doesn't extend such invitations often.
"I'd be delighted," I respond, and I find I'm not really lying. "Though I should warn you, I rarely lose."