17. Lark #2
I curled between them, letting myself be vulnerable in a way I’d never allowed before. No knives, no violence, no walls. Just me and my alphas in the nest I made, surrounded by softness and safety.
“I love you,” I said. “Both of you. So much it terrifies me.”
“We love you too, baby,” Conor whispered against my hair.
Emile gathered me into his arms. “And we’re never letting you go.”
Three days later, I stood in a garden behind a Victorian mansion in the suburbs, sipping champagne and making small talk with Emile’s fathers’ academic colleagues.
“The sociology of deviant behavior,” the omega beside me was saying,“is a fascinating field. Do you have any interest in social sciences, dear?”
“I’m more hands-on with my work,” I said pleasantly.
“What field are you in?”
“Consulting. Conflict resolution.” Technically, I’d told the truth. I did resolve conflicts. Permanently.
Emile appeared at my elbow with fresh champagne. “How are you doing?”
“Your father’s colleague has been telling me about her research on pack dynamics. It’s interesting.”
He relaxed slightly, as if he’d been worried about me, and I rolled my eyes. I’d been doing this for years—blending in, being charming, hiding in plain sight. Did he really think I’d forgotten how?
His father, Michel, found us a few minutes later. He was tall and elegant, with deep umber skin, silver hair, and laugh lines around his eyes. “Lark! I’ve been hoping to steal you for a conversation. Philippe is around somewhere— Et voilà, there he is!”
Emile’s other father appeared, shorter and rounder, with warm brown skin and an infectious smile. “The famous Lark! Viens, viens, viens. Sit and tell us everything.”
We settled at a small table in the corner of the garden. Philippe immediately launched into enthusiastic questions about my work and where I grew up. He told stories of Emile going to school in France, then immigrating so his parents could take up research positions in the States.
Michel asked more probing questions about my thoughts on omega rights and registration reform.
“The system failed you,” he said. “Presenting without family support, no access to resources—the Institute should have protected you.”
“The Institute has systemic issues,” I agreed carefully.
“That’s putting it mildly.” Philippe shook his head. “The corruption, the trafficking networks they enable, it’s unconscionable.”
I glanced at Emile, who gave a small nod. His parents knew—not everything, but enough.
“Someone should do something about it,” I said lightly.
Michel’s eyes glinted. “Indeed they should.”
An elderly omega approached our table. “Michel, Philippe! And you must be Emile’s omega. How wonderful! When are you planning to have kids?”
The question hung in the air.
“We’re not,” I said simply. “I’m infertile.”
Her face fell. “Oh, I’m so sorry—”
“I’m not.” I kept my voice gentle but firm. “It’s not a tragedy.”
“But surely you must want—”
“What I want is to build a life with my pack,” I said. “Children aren’t part of that plan. And that’s okay.”
Philippe raised his glass. “Well said. Not every omega needs to follow the same path.”
“Speaking of paths,” a familiar voice said behind me, “I’m stealing Lark for a moment.”
Conor’s mother steered me away from the table, toward the roses at the far end of the garden.
“You’re handling them beautifully,” she said once we were alone.
“They’re lovely.”
“I meant it as a compliment to you, not them.” She sipped her champagne, her expression not revealing a thing about her thoughts. “I know what happened to your first pack, darling.” She met my eyes. “I want you to know that I respect that immensely.”
My emotions went haywire—terror, pride, relief. I felt, rather than saw, my alphas’ worry through the bond.
“Why are you telling me this?” I asked, stiffening my spine and tilting my chin up. I was her son’s packmate—she couldn’t hurt me without hurting him. And if she wanted to hurt Conor, I’d end her.
Cordelia smiled, toothy and predatory. “You’re safe with me. I admire a woman who takes her destiny into her own hands. It’s the reason I haven’t objected to my son packing up with you. Do you think it’s possible to become a billionaire without getting blood on your hands?”
Oh, I liked this alpha. I smiled back. “Maybe billionaires shouldn’t exist in the first place. Or use omegas as bargaining chips. Or refuse to accept that their sons don’t want to follow them into the family business.”
“Perhaps,” she murmured. “But we can also be useful resources to omegas who take matters into their own hands. I may be able to provide ... resources. If you’re interested.”
“What kind of resources?”
“Information about a matchmaker who sold an orphaned omega over a decade ago, for example.”
My eyes flew to hers. “Why?”
“Because he hurt the omega my son adores, and I refuse to allow that.” She touched my arm gently.
“You’re asking me to kill him.”
“I’m offering you information. What you do with it is your choice.” She pulled out a small thumb drive. “Consider it a welcome to the family gift.”
I took it, the weight of it heavy in my palm. “Thank you.”
“Thank you.” She smiled. “Now let’s get back before the boys have heart attacks. They’re both hovering, trying to look casual about whatever emotions you’re sending through the bond.”
Sure enough, Conor and Emile were making absolutely terrible attempts at appearing relaxed about thirty feet away.
“They’re adorable,” Cordelia observed.
“They’re ridiculous.”
“Same thing, really.”
I rejoined my alphas, who immediately flanked me like nervous bodyguards.
“What did she say?” Conor asked.
“She likes me.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Emile muttered.
“She gave me information on the man who sold me.”
“My mother just handed you a murder file at a garden party,” Conor said faintly.
“Your mother is incredible.”
He laughed and tugged me in for a forehead kiss. I didn’t think I’d ever tire of those.
Through the bond, I felt his pride and affection and determination. We were going to take down the alpha who started my nightmare, and we were going to do it together.
“Come on,” I said, threading my fingers through theirs. “Your dads want to introduce me to someone from the sociology department.”
“Please don’t tell them you’re a murderer,” Emile said.
“I’m a consultant,” I corrected primly.
“That’s not better.”
Conor laughed, pressing a kiss to my temple. “You’re perfect.”
“I know.”
We made our way back through the garden party—me and my two ridiculous, murderous, perfect alphas—the thumb drive heavy in my pocket. Laurent had no idea what was coming for him.
But he would soon.
Later, after we said our goodbyes and survived the drive home, we collapsed into my nest. I curled between Emile and Conor, breathing in their scents, our bond pulsing with contentment and anticipation.
“So,” Conor said eventually. “We’re really doing this.”
“We’re really doing this,” I confirmed.
Emile pulled me closer. “When?”
“Soon.” I smiled into the darkness. “Very soon.”
“I love you,” he murmured.
“Love you too,” Conor added.
They surrounded me with warmth and safety, and as I drifted toward sleep, I thought about how far I’d come. From a terrified omega sold to an abusive pack, to a serial killer living alone in the shadows, to this—a woman with a nest and a pack and people who loved her exactly as she was.
Laurent had taken everything from me once.
Now I would take everything from him.
But first, I was going to enjoy being home.