7. Lark
LARK
Those fuckers drugged me. Again. I ruthlessly silenced the part of me that wanted to squeal and giggle at how hard they were working to keep me. Instead, I focused on the fact that I hadn’t consented to any of it.
I was in a bedroom, simple but luxurious, and they hadn’t tied me up this time. There were two doors, no windows, and a plain wooden bed, too big and heavy for me to realistically turn into a weapon. I tested one door—locked.
The other led to a bathroom with a shower, a toilet, and no mirror.
I searched the drawers, but all I found were toiletries—expensive ones, far finer than I’d ever bought, or stolen.
I opened a pot of lotion and inhaled the heavenly scent—exactly what I would have chosen for myself, had I been able to afford it.
Curious, I ambled back over to the bed, running my fingers over sheets with the highest thread count I’d ever touched.
I might be locked in here without weapons, but they’d taken care of me.
I preened, my pleasure over my alphas’ care for me momentarily overcoming my irritation at finding myself once again a prisoner at their mercy.
That wouldn’t do. I pounded on the door. “Hey! Anyone there? Let me the fuck out!”
When no one answered, I pouted, then stood up straight, schooling my face to stillness when I realized I was pouting.
I was a fierce killer, an omega who’d murdered a pack for abusing her. I’d killed a dozen assholes, and I planned to kill a dozen more.
But Conor and Emile were offering me everything I’d ever wanted.
A pack.
Safety.
Partnership.
They wanted me to trust them. They wanted me to trust that they wouldn’t get me caught. They wanted to claim me.
I finally admitted to myself that I wanted them to claim me too.
I couldn’t let them.
I’d never be trapped again.
But maybe I could pretend to be trapped until I figured out how to disappear, enjoy the creature comforts these alphas were offering me.
I silenced the voice that told me it wasn’t creature comforts I wanted to enjoy, but the safety and security of two alphas who accepted me for exactly what I was—who wanted me because of it.
“I know you can hear me, you melodramatic assholes!” I shouted.
Still nothing.
“I’m going to murder both of you in your sleep!”
I lifted my hand to pound on the door again, only for Emile to pull it open, greeting me with an easy smile that made my thighs clench together just as much as my heart. Fuck.
“Salut, ma petite.” Good morning, little one.
I stepped back, hating how my instincts pushed me to step closer instead.
“Don’t ma petite me—wait, is that a banh mi?”
His lips twitched. “Your favorite.”
Goddess dammit.
I snatched at the bag, only for him to hold it above my head, one eyebrow raised as I glared at him.
“You gonna behave yourself?”
I snorted. “No.”
His lips cracked in a smile. “How’re you feeling?”
“Hungry.”
Emile offered me his hand. “Come on upstairs.”
“What did you do to me?”
“Drugged you, brought you to this safe house, bought you banh mi,” he answered. “All of which you know already. Come on upstairs and take another look at this target.”
His hand was steady as he waited for me to take it. I looked at the bag of food in his other hand, and finally met his eyes. “What are you going to do with me?”
“Claim you,” he answered. “Which you also already know.”
“Why me?” My voice cracked, and I hated the vulnerability it revealed.
“Because you’re ours,” he said, as if telling me the sky was blue. “Now come on upstairs and eat.”
My heart was in turmoil, my instincts screaming for me to climb this alpha who stated his intentions so boldly but hadn’t actually bonded me yet. I wrapped my fingers around his, wondering if trusting him was the biggest mistake of my life. But goddess, I wanted to, so fucking bad.
Emile squeezed once, an attempt to reassure me, then led me down a long, carpeted hallway. “Movie theater on the left,” he said. “Mini-bar on the right. Another bathroom on the right.”
Right.
They were fucking rich.
And I was what? Nothing more than an unregistered omega, running drugs to make rent, killing traffickers in my spare time, broken beyond repair.
“Why’s your scent turning burnt?” he asked.
How did he know that? How did he know when I was unhappy? Only a—
“Scent match,” I breathed before I could stop the thought.
“C’est ca,” he agreed. That’s right. “You already knew that too. Like I said—perfect.”
These two alphas were scent matches—biological matches that could result in children—and they wanted me.
“I can’t have children,” I said, rushing the words out, as though saying them quickly could diminish their hurt. “My womb’s as broken as the rest of me.”
“So?” Emile said, starting up the stairs.
I stopped, tugging on his hand to bring him back down to my level.
“So that’s the only reason to scent match, right?”
He furrowed his brow as he looked at me. I couldn’t meet his searching gaze, the weight of it unbearable, like he was staring into my soul and seeing the most vulnerable parts of me.
“Conor and I are bonded scent matches, and we can’t have kids together,” he said. “Who the fuck cares?”
My chest heaved as I took deep breaths, trying to wrap my head around two alphas who didn’t care that my womb was broken, who didn’t care that I could never give them a litter of children.
I perfumed.
Emile tugged me against him and dropped a kiss on my forehead. “C’mon, let’s eat before I turn you over the closest piece of furniture and fuck the uncertainty out of you like your pussy is begging me to.”
My stupid little omega heart thumped twice before relaxing back into a steady, regular rhythm. I hadn’t told them everything, hadn’t admitted I’d killed my pack, but just for one goddess damned moment, I could pretend none of that mattered, that they wanted me with all my trauma and flaws.
I followed Emile up the stairs. Conor’s bright blue eyes lit up as we stepped into the living room.
“Hey there, slut,” he said, the insult cutting across my chest like a knife.
He must have seen my distress, because he dashed out from the kitchen area and took me in his arms, purring softly until I melted against him.
“I don’t—” I closed my eyes and leaned my face against his shirt, breathing in his delicious peppermint scent and summoning my courage. “I don’t like it when you call me that outside of sex.”
“All right, my tenacious, vicious murderer, I won’t.”
I smiled against his chest as he complimented the things I loved most about myself.
“Let’s get you fed. Then we can talk about this alpha we’re going to skin alive and kill together.” He grinned. “I was thinking we could make a whole evening of it—dinner, murder, a movie after?”
I choked down my laughter. “You’re planning our first date around a kill.”
“Yes.”
I hated how good that sounded.