Ivy
Aweek can feel like a freaking lifetime when you're hiding in a loft from your abusive ex-fiancé who happens to be one of the most recognizable faces in professional hockey.
I stare at myself in the one part of Wraith's bathroom mirror that isn't scuffed to hell and back so he doesn't have to see his own reflection.
The box of dark brown hair dye Thane brought me—he dyes his grays, apparently, so he knew exactly which dye to recommend, much to Whiskey's delight and endless amusement—sits empty on the counter, chemical smell sharp enough to make my eyes water even with the vent on and the door open.
My auburn roots are gone. Covered. Hidden.
Just like the rest of me.
The omega in the mirror looks like a stranger. Dark hair, pale skin, circles under my ocean-blue eyes that won't fade no matter how much sleep I get.
I look haunted.
Fair assessment, considering.
When I emerge from the bathroom, towel-drying my freshly darkened hair, I find the entire pack crammed into the loft as usual.
Thane's sprawled across the couch, long legs dangling over the armrest, scrolling through game footage on his tablet with laser focus and his brow furrowed so tight, he's going to give himself a migraine.
Whiskey's sitting on the floor with his back against the coffee table, chatting with Plague, who's trying in vain to read a book.
It doesn't look like he's made any progress on said book, either.
And Wraith hovers near the bathroom door like he just happened to be there at the same time I came out, blue eyes tracking me like he's afraid I'll disappear if he blinks.
"Hair looks good," Whiskey announces, hauling himself to his feet and lumbering up to me to check it out. "Very 'mysterious omega on the run.' Very Carmen Sandiego. Hot."
"Shut up," Plague and I say simultaneously.
Whiskey grins back at Plague. "See? You two are basically the same person. It's beautiful."
I grab one of the decorative pillows from the nearby bed and chuck it at his head.
He catches it without looking and turns to me, his grin widening. "Edward Fuckin' Cullen right here."
I roll my eyes, but even though tomorrow's game looms like a thunderhead on the horizon, I can't help but laugh. "Gods, you are such a pain in the ass."
"But I'm your pain in the ass," Whiskey says affectionately, pressing a friendly, chaste kiss to the top of my head.
I haven't made anything official with anyone but Wraith yet, but being around these alphas whenever they have even a moment of free time has helped me move past the fact I've only known them for a couple of weeks. If the average date is a couple of hours, it's been the equivalent of…
Well, I've never been the best at math.
But a lot of dates.
I'm going to say yes to the pack.
And I think in their hearts, they know it's inevitable.
But they're just giving me the space I need to process everything.
They never do anything more than cuddle with me or maybe give me a peck or nuzzle here and there.
At night, we all sleep together on the floor on the mattresses we ordered to make an entire section of the loft a giant bed for us. It's like camping twenty-four-seven.
The mattresses are that thin foam type that comes in a roll because nothing else would fit through the window, and it was admittedly kind of hilarious to watch the four alphas arguing as they struggled to get the mattresses up the fire escape.
We haven't unsealed the loft door yet because Valek is still a wildcard.
That's something I'm going to have to address before tomorrow.
I shove my hands into the pockets of Thane's oversized hoodie—because somehow most of my clothes have become "borrowed" from these alphas at this point—and clear my throat.
"I need to talk to Valek and tell him who I am."
The loft goes dead silent.
Thane's head snaps up from his tablet. Plague's book drops to his lap with an audible thump. Whiskey freezes mid-reach for a bag of chips, hand suspended in air like someone hit pause on him. Wraith's wary growl rumbles through the space.
Before anyone can start arguing, I cross my arms, settling my weight onto one hip.
"I wasn't asking permission. Tomorrow's the game.
Wade's going to be there. I'm going to be there, hiding in the crowd like some kind of fugitive, and I need to know where Valek stands before I step foot in that arena. "
"Ivy—" Plague starts, but I cut him off.
"Look, I knocked him out with a fire extinguisher, remember?" I say, keeping my voice gentle but firm. "That's literally how he ended up living here in the first place. I can handle him."
"That was different," Thane argues, setting his tablet aside and sitting up. "You had the element of surprise."
"And the element of a feral shadow daddy," Whiskey adds, jerking his head toward Wraith, who looks utterly bewildered.
"Which is why I need to talk to him." I look at each of them in turn, making sure they understand this is my decision and I won't be budged on it. "If he's going to be a problem, I'd rather find out now. Not tomorrow."
The logic is sound and they know it.
Doesn't mean they like it.
"We'll go with you," Plague says, already standing.
"No." I shake my head. "That will make it so much worse. He'll either see it as a threat or a weakness on my part. Like I need my alphas to protect me all the time."
Plague hesitates, but he doesn't argue.
Thane opens his mouth, but closes it.
"I know you guys want to keep me safe," I continue, my voice softening. "And I love that about you. But I can't spend the rest of my life hiding behind alphas."
Wade made me feel fragile. Breakable. Like I needed him to survive.
I won't let anyone else—not even these well-meaning alphas who I'm pretty sure I'm falling for despite my best efforts to keep my walls up, in major part because they respect those walls—make me feel that way again.
And that's the thing. I know they will respect this, too, even if they moan about it like Whiskey is right now. He's groaning like I'm killing him, throwing his head back and staring at the sky as if the gods themselves might come down and convince me this is a bad idea.
But he isn't trying to stop me.
Wraith growls warily, dragging his hands through his dark hair. He seems to be struggling the most with this, which isn't a surprise. His first encounter with Valek was… messy, to say the least.
D-A-N-G-E-R-O-U-S, he signs, the movements stiff and anxious.
I walk over to Wraith, reaching up to frame his masked face with my hands. He goes still immediately, those blue eyes locked on mine, and I stroke his cheekbones through his mask with my thumbs. He leans into my palms with a low, tired sigh, his eyelashes flutter shut at my touch.
"I'll be okay," I promise him softly. "And if I'm wrong... well, you guys are right upstairs. One scream and you'll come running." I grin at him.
"Damn right we will," Whiskey says. "Wraith, you can pull knife psycho limb from limb, right? Turn him into a human torso?"
Wraith gives an affirmative growl.
"Gross," I say flatly, but I have to bite back a laugh.
These alphas are so fucking dramatic.
Thane drags a hand through his shaggy dark hair, clearly wrestling with every protective instinct in his body. "Fine."
"I'll be careful," I tell them again. "I'm just going to talk to him. Find out where his head's at. That's all. If I'm not back in ten minutes, you can come down, okay?"
Whiskey snorts. "Ten minutes is more than enough time for him to carve you up into a million pieces," he mutters.
"There's a fire extinguisher downstairs," I remind him.
That earns me a grin, at least.
But the threat looms in my head as I descend the fire escape. The climb down feels longer this time. Maybe because this is the first time I'm going to come face-to-face with someone connected to my past.
And I'm going to out myself.
My hands shake slightly as I grip the rungs. Not from fear—okay, maybe a little bit from fear—but mostly from adrenaline. The kind that floods your system when you're about to do something monumentally insane but necessary.
The ground floor hallway is quiet when I reach it. Too quiet.
I pad down the corridor toward the common areas, trying to remember which room Thane said was Valek's, when movement catches my peripheral vision.
I turn around.
Valek leans against the kitchen doorframe like he materialized from shadows, his bone-white hair standing out in the dim hallway light. His silver eyes are locked on me.
"So," he drawls in a smooth, accented voice. "You're the omega the Ghosts are hiding."
"And you're the alpha I knocked out with a fire extinguisher."
The words come out steadier than I feel, but I'm not about to let this tall drink of murder know my heart just tried to claw its way through my throat.
Valek's mouth curves into what might pass for a smile if it reached his eyes. "Touché."
Then he laughs.
It's not what I expected. It's genuine. Almost warm, if you ignore the sharp edges underneath.
Time to face the music.
"I'm Ivy," I say, cutting to the chase.
"I know," he says, pushing off the doorframe, and I have to force myself not to step back. "Valek. Though I suspect you already knew that."
My shoulders drop a fraction. Not much. Just enough to breathe properly. "Hard to miss when Whiskey won't shut up about you."
Another almost-smile. "He does have a gift for dramatics."
We stand there in the hallway, sizing each other up like two cats meeting for the first time.
He's taller than I expected. Not Wraith-tall, but taller than every other alpha in the pack house.
Enough that I have to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact.
And he's oozing menace beneath the strange sadness clinging to him like a second skin.
He looks at me like he's trying to figure me out.
Or memorize my face.
But he doesn't set off any screaming alarm bells.
"You don't need to be afraid of me," Valek says as if he can read my mind. "Perhaps everyone else does. But not you."