Knot A Power Play (Packs of Old Harbor University #2)

Chapter 1

GRACE

The apartment is smaller than my last dorm room, but at least the closet doesn’t reek of decades-old body spray. And—another upside—the shower actually works. My window faces the parking lot, but honestly, city sounds this deep into Boston are constant. You get used to it.

Three months of this.

I groan and force myself out of bed. Dread swims in circles deep in my heart. Not stage fright, not imposter syndrome. Worse.

My phone buzzes on the cheap kitchen table.

“Rehearsal. 6:00 A.M. Don’t be late!” attached to a pic of Hannah, the director, grinning at a rack of sequined costumes.

I roll my eyes. It’s only 5 A.M., but I suppose many are up and stretching for the day.

I should do the same rather than continue to coddle this feeling of dread.

If they were here, you’d have scented them by now.

I glare at the orange pill bottle on the nightstand. Maybe. Maybe not.

I scented them through my suppressants during spring break. Three scent-matched alphas and a connection that I’d say was undeniable given the strength.

But it was for them. Apparently.

I shake two blue pills free from the bottle and pop them dry. Better to do what I can to prepare just in case. This batch of suppressants is stronger. Roses and pheromones have no place in my life for the foreseeable future, and I am absolutely okay with that.

Connor. Zev. Fowler.

I can say their names in my head, but I won’t let them in my mouth.

I pull on my black training jacket from school and tug the cuffs until the Old Harbor University patch sits dead center over my heart. I almost laugh at myself.

Like a patch could protect you from anything.

It’s 5:32AM when I finally head out. The building’s halls are echoey and sterile, with peeling motivational posters from the early 2000s— “You miss 100% of the shots you don’t take!” But what if your shot is rejected in front of the entire Reverie Ice Show after they try to get you removed?

It didn’t work, obviously. But still.

There’s another omega on the elevator, maybe eighteen and here for the junior group. She blinks up at me with brown eyes. “Are you in Reverie?”

“Yeah,” I say. “You?”

She nods. “I’m just background. My mom says maybe next year after I have more experience.”

I want to tell her it’s not all it’s cracked up to be. That sometimes being in the background is safer, but she looks so hungry for it I can’t bring myself to crush her. “You’re going to kill it this year. I’m Grace.”

“Charlotte.” She gives a little wave. “It’s nice to meet you, Grace. You’re in the female lead role, right?”

My stomach does a little flip flop. I still can’t quite believe it.

“That’s me, newly promoted.” Originally, I was supposed to just be in the opening number and that’s it.

But things happen, and the good part of always staying ready for opportunities means that when they strike, you can make the most of them.

“Nice! I’m happy to skate with you this summer.”

I grin. “Me too.”

We walk together across the street to Reverie’s arena. The pavement already radiates June heat at not even 6:00AM during this unusually warm summer. The arena is massive up close. Its steel panels gleam, and the banners from last year’s shows droop like sad party streamers.

We part ways at the door. I take a deep breath, set my face to “unbothered,” and go in.

The hum of refrigeration is a constant, low-level growl inside the building. The lobby is empty except for a janitor mopping up an old Slushie spill, and the air already smells faintly of popcorn and chemical cleaner.

I follow a few signs down various corridors until I find the changing room, which is lined with blown-up photos of past casts. Every face is grinning, every pose is theatrical. I wonder if we’ll all be just as happy this season.

Hannah, our director, perches on a folding chair in the middle of the changing room.

She’s got a clipboard balanced on her knee and her phone in her hands.

But when I walk in, she looks up and smiles.

“Grace!” Her voice is a foghorn in a vacuum.

“You made it. Early, too. I love leads who value punctuality.”

I drop my bag and try for a return smile.

“Wouldn’t miss it.” I need to enjoy this, I really do.

And I’m absolutely grateful that Hannah thought to cast me as the lead role when their other lead bailed.

But I can’t shake what happened at prep camp no matter how much I want to erase those alpha’s scents—and their harsh words of rejection—from my mind.

She tilts her head and squints. “Are you nervous?”

I shrug. “No more than normal.”

She nods like this is the correct answer. “You’re going to do amazing. Also, Connor’s already here, so you can reconnect before rehearsal. The others are rolling in.”

My stomach flips, but I bite it down. “Great.”

Clearly Hannah didn’t get the memo that Connor and his friends wanted me removed from Reverie for the singular crime of being their scent-matched omega.

I change in the back corner. It’s not my actual costume, which is hanging back in my room, but a vague imitation that it’s okay to rough up during practice.

The tights are unforgiving and the skirt even worse, but the moment I step onto the ice, I remember why I’m here.

The chill bites at my ankles. My first push-off sends a line of static straight up my spine.

Then it’s just the rush of wind and the sound of my blades.

Everything goes well until a minute later when the doors open again and let in an entire world of complications.

Connor’s scent hits my nose long before I see him stretching on the ice. Peppermint and something colder, like steel. It crawls up my nose even through the suppression haze.

Don’t look. Don’t look. But I have to. At some point today, or at least during the first show. The Prince and Princess kiss at the end of the show, for God’s sake.

Oh fuck. I have to kiss Connor.

It hits me as if this is the first time I’m receiving this information, even though it’s definitely not.

Okay—look at him. Get it over with. I need to desensitize myself as best I can.

So I do. He’s tall and blond, and cut as though invented by an ad agency selling men’s athletic gear. Tall and so very muscular and incredible at skating.

And breaking my heart.

Campfire and chocolate scents momentarily overtake Connor’s peppermint. My gaze follows the scent unwillingly past the leader of my tormented spring break to the stands behind the rink walls. There sit Zev and Fowler.

I blink. My brow crinkles as I battle confusion with trying not to care.

A few months ago, Zev and Fowler were in Reverie Ice Show with Connor and me. Now, they sit in the stands at 6 A.M. but not in rehearsal gear.

Are they not in the show anymore?

A laugh bubbles to my lips. First these three asshole alphas try to get me to leave Reverie and then these two dip on their own?

Thank fuck I didn’t let them scare me away.

Zev’s a huge hulk of a guy but seemed pretty quiet unless disparaging me. He has his dark hair messily pulled back today. Fowler beside him, redheaded and green-eyed, seems as restless as ever as he bounces his leg.

All three of them are undeniably handsome.

And their scents… Peppermint, campfire, and chocolate bleed through my suppressants and hit straight at my primal omega core.

Even now—after rejecting me and verbally shoving me as far away as possible instead of kindly saying no, thank you—my inner omega wants me to head right over and curl up on their lap.

No shot in hell.

I turn back to the ice before I accidentally meet eyes with Zev and Fowler, only to come nearly face-to-face with Connor. He’s closed most of the distance between us but is keeping a rather obvious two feet away. “Hey.”

I swallow hard. My mental walls slam shut. Do not give him anything. Unfortunately, I owe Hannah some professionalism at the very least. But that’s it. “Hey.”

He shifts uncomfortably. “How was the rest of your semester?”

Like he cares. Connor and his entire pack have been out of college for years. “Fine.”

“Heard Old Harbor won championships.” At this, he actually smiles. “That’s awesome. Coach Sullivan’s shoes are big ones to fill. I hope they hire an excellent coach now that he’s retiring.”

An urge to protect the Sullivan name climbs up my throat. “He has good reasons.” The best reasons. Coach Sullivan is my best friend’s father, the same best friend who threatened to come up to Reverie this summer and deal with Connor and his pack if necessary.

Connor inclines his head. “Right, you told me you’ve met Sullivan.”

I don’t want to talk about this. I don’t want to talk to Connor at all. So I bend down to redo my laces. “We don’t have to do this, you know.”

Connor doesn’t reply right away.

I look up at him. “Pretending, I mean. We’re here to skate and nothing else, so let’s just skate.”

He blinks and then shakes his head. He takes a step back. “Right, yeah. Let’s just skate.”

I want to ask him if he was expecting anything different. But why would he? Connor, Zev, and Fowler made their intensions—or severe lack thereof—very clear during spring break’s prep camp.

We are a scent match. And we’re doing nothing about it.

That’s fine. My parents have all the love in the world and aren’t scent matches. They’re not the end-all, be-all.

But they are rare. Some might even say they’re fated.

Right now, I just think they’re bullshit.

Connor lingers as if there’s more to say, but in the end he just says, “See you out there,” and walks off.

I release a tight breath. This is going to be a long three months.

At 6:10AM Director Hannah’s voice splits the air. “Connor, Grace! Center, please. Let’s run the lift sequence.”

Everyone on the rink turns to watch. It’s not just the drama—though, let’s be honest, that’s ninety percent of it.

Connor, Zev, and Fowler didn’t exactly take precautions to keep this feud secret during prep camp.

But everyone’s also watching because this is the money move.

The showstopper. It’s when the princess soars and the prince, literally, holds her fate in his hands.

The metaphor is not subtle.

Connor takes his mark, gaze locked on the mid-distance. I line up across from him and try not to think about the last time we did this. How he’d whispered “trust me” under his breath, how easy it had been to let myself believe that maybe, maybe, this was how a pack started.

How wrong I was.

“On my count,” Hannah calls. “Three, two, one—”

We go. The music rises, the beat hitting right as Connor’s hands clamp around my ribcage.

The old chemistry is still there, which is humiliating, honestly.

Our bodies know each other, even if our hearts want nothing to do with it.

He hoists me up. I’m flying, toes pointed and arms thrown wide.

The crowd—Hannah, the crew, and the rest of the cast—erupts in a cheer.

I’m just trying not to think about the feel of his warm, reassuring hands only a few layers of fabric away from my skin. Or how his peppermint scent is lighting up the primal omega parts of my brain.

Connor brings me down softly, like I might break.

“Beautiful!” Hannah crows. “Again, with the turn this time.”

We do it again. And again. Each time, Connor’s touch is precisely calibrated—never too firm, never too soft.

Always just enough to keep me upright, never enough to let me forget who’s in control.

He’s so careful it’s almost insulting. I can’t decide if he’s trying to prove he’s changed, or if he’s just afraid of setting me off.

The third time through, I catch Zev and Fowler leaning over the rail in the stands.

They’re not supposed to be here—nobody is, not on day one—but there they are, taking up a full row like it’s a VIP box.

Zev’s arms are crossed and his face is blank, but Fowler’s eyes are locked on me, but I can’t tell if it’s in support of an eagerness to watch me fail.

Connor must see them too. His grip tightens for a heartbeat, then relaxes. “Ignore them.”

I don’t answer as I’m too busy ignoring the part of me that wants to look up and see their reaction to every move I make. I hate that I want them to see me and be impressed. I want them to regret every shit thing they ever said or did.

We finish the sequence, skating side by side to the end of the rink.

Hannah waves us off. “Great. Five minutes, then we’ll try the full run.”

Connor lets go first and steps back like the ice between us is radioactive. He rakes a hand through his hair. “Are you okay? I hope I didn’t hold too tight.”

“Yep.” I skate off toward other castmates.

Professionalism and nothing more.

That’s all these three are getting from me until this summer is over.

Connor, Zev, and Fowler may have taken away a chance at being with a scent-matched pack of alphas, but they will not take my dream from me.

Ever.