Chapter 25
Lark
Silas had been very clear about the rules. Each alpha gets a proper date. Intentional time. One-on-one. It makes sense. What didn’t make sense was who ended up with the first night.
Silas is the one who declared the rule. He’s the one whose alpha authority makes people move out of the way. If anyone was going to claim the first date, I assumed it would be him.
It’s Graham.
The realization still surprises me a little as I stand in front of my mirror, trying to decide if a skirt counts as overdressing. My own scent is slightly off, salty caramel gone thin. Nervous. I'm nervous about a date with a man I've already knotted.
My omega finds this hilarious.
Silas didn’t seem bothered when Graham announced over breakfast we’d be going out tonight. It leaves me wondering if Silas stepped aside deliberately, or if Graham quietly negotiated for the slot. Both feel possible.
Graham might be soft spoken, but there’s a quiet determination under all that kindness. And despite how dominant he is, Silas always wants what’s best for the pack. Either way, tonight belongs to Graham.
Which is how I end up standing here examining my reflection. My usual wardrobe leans toward practicality and comfort: jeans, soft leggings, oversized sweaters that let me curl up in a chair with my laptop for hours at a time.
Tonight, I settle on a flowy red skirt that swishes when I walk. It hits a few inches above the knees and shows off the muscles in my legs, which took years of tennis matches, golf courses, and climbing the stairs to my old apartment building to earn.
A cream sweater goes over the top, lightweight but warm enough for the cool evening air. Comfortable. Feminine. Nice without looking like I tried too hard.
I give my reflection one last look, then head downstairs.
The house is quiet when I reach the kitchen. None of the others are around, which I assume is intentional. Silas might be orchestrating this whole “proper date” situation, but he also understands privacy.
Graham is already there. I stop in the doorway and rake my eyes over his long form. Corduroy blazer. Navy trousers. A crisp white button-down. And dark-rimmed glasses perched on his nose. The overall effect is devastating. Graham in professor mode might actually be my personal kryptonite.
He looks up from the counter and pauses when he sees me. For a moment he just watches me. Then his expression softens. “Beautiful.”
He crosses the kitchen in a few long steps and folds me into his arms. I go there willingly. His arms tighten, and something about the simple contact sends a quiet little flutter through my chest. His purr roars to life and I sink in closer, rubbing my cheeks along his chest.
After a moment he pulls back slightly. “Oh,” he says suddenly, like he’s just remembered something important. “I almost forgot.”
He reaches over to the counter and picks up a small package wrapped in brown paper and tied with neat twine. “For you,” he says.
My eyebrows lift. “For me?”
“A courting gift.”
My omega perks up immediately.
I take the package and untie the twine, sliding the paper away. Inside is a small frame. At first I don’t understand what I’m looking at. Then it clicks.
It’s an aerial photo of the pack house. The river curves in front of it in a wide green arc. The trees stretch out along the riverwalk, and the house itself sits in the middle of the frame, standing tall in its green and charcoal old-fashioned grandeur.
“I used a drone to capture it,” Graham tugs nervously at his cuffs. “It’s the closest angle I could get to the view you would have had from your living room window when you looked out with Cammie.”
My throat tightens.
“You didn’t know it yet,” he continues, pushing his glasses up his nose, “but that was your pack house.” His voice softens. “And you were already drawn to it.”
That does it. My insides dissolve into complete mush. It’s frankly humiliating.
Even though I run a company for omegas, I’ve never been one to give into my omega urges.
I’ve always prided myself on being the rational one.
The practical one. I don’t take nesting days when I’m overwhelmed.
I don’t whine for an alpha, well, except for my alphas.
And I would have confidently argued that I would absolutely not go soft and gooey over a courting gift.
Yet here I am. Heart racing. Insides melted into jelly. Panties slick. Although that last one might have more to do with Graham than the gift. He has a way of doing that to me.
I set the frame carefully on the counter and look back up at him. “You’re perfect,” I whisper.
He opens his mouth. Closes it. “I thought you might like it,” he says finally.
I step forward and kiss him. First, it’s soft. Sweet. Then his hands slide around my waist and pull me closer, and suddenly the kiss deepens. Heat curls low in my stomach and my perfume explodes. Graham groans into my mouth.
My fingers slide into his hair. “Maybe,” I murmur against his lips, “we skip the date and go upstairs instead.”
For a moment I think he might agree. Then he pulls back with visible effort, resting his forehead against mine. “No,” he says gently.
I blink up at him.
“You deserve to be courted properly,” he says. “You’re the omega of my dreams, Lark.”
My heart does a very erratic little flip. I've been called a lot of things. Boss bitch. Visionary. Difficult. Impressive. No one has ever said that before.
“And that means dates,” he adds firmly. “And courting gifts. And all the things you deserve.”
He takes a slow breath and steps back, clearly gathering his self-control. Then he offers me his hand. “You ready?” he asks.
“I think so.”
His smile grows a little wider as he leads me toward the door. “I’ve been looking forward to this,” he says.
I keep my hand in Graham’s as we walk out to his black Lotus Eletre. It looks exactly like what I imagine Batman would drive if he had a family. It’s probably the most Graham-coded vehicle on the market.
Graham doesn’t let go of my hand when he opens the passenger door for me, just shifts our grip so he can guide me inside. When he rounds the front of the car and slides into the driver’s seat, his fingers find mine again automatically.
The drive starts in comfortable silence. Graham drives with one hand on the wheel, the other wrapped loosely around mine on the center console.
After a few minutes I glance over at him. “You know,” I say, studying his profile, “I assumed Silas would take the first date.”
His mouth twitches. “Did you?”
“Yes.” I squeeze his hand lightly. “Yet somehow you’re the one who got the slot.”
He lets out a quiet breath that might almost be a laugh. “I asked him for it.”
“Bold move, Professor.”
His ears turn slightly pink. “It’s not like he won’t get his turn. But my thing only works tonight.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “You’ve been mysterious about where we’re going.”
“That’s because I’m waiting for the big reveal.”
I glance out the window as we turn onto a familiar street. The campus buildings of East Rock University begin appearing ahead of us, their stone facades glowing softly in the light from the street lamps.
“Graham.”
“Yes?”
“Why are we at the university?”
He pulls into a parking space near the main academic building and turns off the engine before answering. “There’s a lecture tonight,” he says.
I stare. “A lecture.”
“Yes.” He finally looks at me, clearly bracing himself for my reaction.
I fold my arms. “Graham.”
“It’s a good lecture.”
“On our date.”
“It’s a very good lecture.”
Despite myself, I start laughing. “You’re taking me to a lecture for our first date.”
“Technically,” he says, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, “I brought you to hear Dr. Emille St. James.”
“The Emille St. James?”
He nods. “Omega studies researcher,” he continues. “She just released a new book on omega purchasing behavior and market influence. It’s been getting a lot of attention.”
My skepticism starts to dissolve. I’ve seen Dr. St. James on news shows. She’s interesting.
“She’s speaking tonight about omega-driven consumer trends,” he adds. “Buying patterns, economic influence, the way omega preferences shape entire markets.”
I blink at him. “You brought me here because of my company.”
His mouth curves slightly. “I thought it might be useful to, you know… OmegaBox.”
I stare at him for another second, then shake my head. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”
“Is that good or bad?”
“Probably good. We’ll see how the talk goes before I decide.”
We climb out of the car and walk across the campus lawn toward the lecture hall. The evening air is cool, and our hands stay linked between us.
“So why this?” I ask as we approach the building. “For our first date, I mean.”
He glances down at our hands before answering. “I like learning things,” he says simply. “And you,” he continues, “love OmegaBox. Love watching it grow.”
I tilt my head.
We reach the doors to the auditorium, but he pauses before opening them. “I thought this might be the perfect intersection,” he says quietly. “Something I love and something that might help you.”
The sincerity in his voice catches me a off guard.
“You have no idea how much I love that my omega is brilliant and ambitious. I think it’s incredible.” The words are so earnest my breath hitches.
“I’ve already bragged about you to everyone in my department.”
That makes me laugh. “You’re showing me off at work?”
“Of course.”
“You’re a scientist.”
“And?”
“And I assumed scientists had cooler things to talk about than subscription box businesses.”
“Incorrect,” he says gravely. “My colleagues are all alpha nerds. Trust me, there is no one on earth more interested in an omega’s box.
” He winces a little like he’s not sure if the joke landed.
And god help me, I laugh in surprise. A week ago, I would have never imagined a crass joke coming from the mouth of my gentle giant.
And yet here he is, looking thoroughly pleased with himself while pretending he isn't.