13. Jonathan
Chapter 13
Jonathan
T he weight of my fathers' visit lingers in the penthouse like a toxic cloud. I stand at the window, watching the city spread out below.
My shoulders ache with tension, a dull throb at the base of my skull signaling the onset of a migraine. I press my fingers against my temples, trying to ease the pressure. The command to find a beta, to control Storm, to present a ‘united front’ echoes in my mind, each word a hammer strike against my carefully constructed plans.
My fathers have always seen me as nothing more than an extension of their will, a vessel for their ambitions. And despite everything, despite all my efforts to build something separate from them, I'm still dancing to their tune.
My phone feels heavy in my hand as I stare at Alex's number. Twelve missed calls from him. I should have called him back immediately after the ceremony, but every time I thought about telling him what had happened, I found a reason to delay. Now I have no choice.
I press call and bring the phone to my ear, tension coiling in my shoulders as I wait.
"You finally decided to call me back," Alex's voice is tight with barely controlled anger when he picks up. "What the hell is going on, Jonathan? I've been trying to reach you."
"I know," I say, keeping my voice level. "Things have been... complicated."
"Complicated?" He barks out a laugh. "The entire city is talking about you claiming an omega from your own lottery. Fox is terrified that this is going to lead back to us somehow. That's more than 'complicated,' Jon."
I close my eyes briefly, running a hand through my hair. "Our fathers were here this morning."
The line goes silent for a moment. "What did they want?" Alex finally asks, his voice softer now, tinged with the same dread we both feel whenever our fathers are involved.
"What do you think? They're furious. The Kingsley name is being dragged through the mud, the press is circling, and they're demanding answers I can't give them." I move away from the window, lowering my voice, though I know Storm is still in her room. "They gave me one week to fix this. To present a united front to the public."
"And how exactly do you plan to do that?"
"You need to come back to the city," I say, bracing for the explosion I know will follow.
"What? No. Absolutely not." The panic in Alex's voice is immediate. "I can't leave Fox. You know that."
"I wouldn't ask if it wasn't necessary," I say, keeping my voice firm. "Our father’s are asking questions about your absence. Four months, Alex. The public is starting to notice."
"I don't care what the public thinks."
I bite back the growl that rises in my throat. Of course he doesn't care. Alex has always had the luxury of following his heart—mother's cherished son, the one who received her smiles, her lullabies, her soft touches. I was the one who had to be practical, the one who had to earn approval with cold efficiency.
"You should care," I say instead, an edge creeping into my voice. "Because if our fathers decide to look into where you're spending all your time, they'll find Fox. And then what do you think happens? To him? To you? To all of us?"
I almost tell him how our father Michael talked about expanding surveillance on all of us, how our other father Joseph suggested having Alex followed. I almost confess that I'm afraid for him, for Fox, for what could happen if our carefully constructed facade crumbles. But I swallow the words. Alex and I don't have that kind of relationship.
The silence on the other end of the line stretches for several heartbeats. "Just for a few days," I add, modulating my tone to something more neutral. "Just long enough to make an appearance, satisfy their questions, and then you can go back to him."
The unsaid words hang between us. Go back to him. To the warmth and connection I've never known. To the relationship, that makes all this deception worthwhile.
"Fine," he says finally. "I'll come. But only for three days. And you better have a plan for how we're going to fix this mess."
"I'm working on it," I reply, relief mingling with the tension that still coils in my stomach. "There's one more thing. I need to find a beta for the pack. Our fathers were explicit about that."
"A beta? Why? We've never needed one before."
"Storm," I say simply. "A proper pack has a beta to tend to the omega's needs. That's what our fathers expect."
Alex snorts. "Since when do you care what they expect?"
"Since they threatened to take matters into their own hands if I don't handle this their way."
The weight of that threat hangs between us, unspoken but understood. We both know what our fathers are capable of.
"Fuck," Alex mutters. "This really is a mess."
"Yes," I agree. "It is."
"I'll be there tomorrow afternoon," he says. "Try not to make things worse until then."
The line goes dead, Alex hanging up without waiting for a response. I slip my phone back into my pocket, turning to find Reed standing in the doorway, watching me with an unreadable expression.
"Alex coming back?" he asks, though I know he heard every word.
I nod. "Tomorrow. We need to find a beta before then."
Reed raises an eyebrow. "Got anyone in mind?"
I think of Storm, of the cameras in the Omega House, of the hours I spent watching her interactions. One face appears more often than the others—the shy beta guard.
"Yes," I say. "I know exactly who we need."
* * *
The Omega House feels different as I enter through the staff entrance. I've belonged here for the past four years, my authority unquestioned. Now the beta guards give me wary glances, the house mothers whisper as I pass. News travels fast in places like this. Everyone knows I'm no longer in charge.
I resigned officially this morning—a formality, really, since claiming Storm made my position untenable, anyway. Protocol dictates that alphas who wish to enter the lottery must resign first, a rule intended to prevent exactly the sort of scandal I'm now embroiled in.
Veronica is waiting in my former office, her expression tight with disapproval. She's been the head house mother for fifteen years, managing the day-to-day operations with cold efficiency. I've never particularly liked her, but I've respected her dedication to the rules.
"Jonathan," she says. "I didn't expect to see you back."
"Just tying up some loose ends," I reply, keeping my tone neutral as I take a seat across from her. It feels strange to be on this side of the desk. "I assume the transition to new management is going smoothly?"
"As smoothly as can be expected, given the circumstances." Her mouth thins to a disapproving line. "I must say, I was... surprised by your actions at Choosing Day. We had no record of your pack entering the lottery."
I meet her gaze directly, wanting her to ask me directly if I entered.
Veronica's eyebrows rise slightly. "How convenient."
"I don't have to explain myself to you, Veronica." My voice hardens.
"Indeed." She shuffles some papers on the desk, a pretense at busy work. "Though it does raise questions. Especially coming so soon after Miss Harley's own... questionable selection."
I had forgot that I had been questioning Harley over her seemingly known match that day. Just as my name was drawn by Storm. It’s obvious the two omegas are friends and they rigged the draw. I don’t say anything.
"Pack Bentley," Veronica says with a small, sharp smile. "They were never on our list. No ticket, no registration. Yet somehow, they were chosen. And now you. I find the coincidence rather striking, don't you?"
I feel my carefully maintained composure slip for a moment, my scent spiking with shock before I can control it. Veronica notices—her eyes narrow slightly, her smile growing more satisfied.
"Something wrong, Mr. Kingsley?" she asks, false concern dripping from her voice.
I force my expression back to neutral, though my mind is racing with thoughts. How many times has the lottery been rigged by the omegas since I’ve been in charge?
"Not at all. As I said, I'm just here to tie up loose ends."
"I'm sure," Veronica says, not bothering to hide her skepticism. "And what loose ends might those be?"
I reign in my racing thoughts, refocusing on the immediate task. "I need to reassign one of the beta guards before I officially leave."
Veronica's eyes narrow. "Which one?"
"Frankie Calloway."
Her eyebrows shoot up. "The one who's always following Storm around like a lost puppy? Why am I not surprised?" The implication is clear in her tone.
"I need a pack beta," I say simply. "He's qualified."
"I'm sure that's the only reason," Veronica says, her voice dripping with disdain. "It has nothing to do with how he looks at your omega. Or how she looks at him."
I feel a muscle tick in my jaw but maintain my composure. "Do you have objections to the reassignment?"
"Would it matter if I did?" She sighs. "When do you need him to start?"
"Immediately."
"You know, Jonathan," she says without looking up, "I always thought you were different from the other alphas. More controlled. More rational." She slides her eyes up to meet mine. "I see now that I was mistaken. You're just as driven by your baser instincts as the rest of them."
"Your opinion has been noted, Veronica."
"For what it's worth," she adds as I stand to leave, "Storm was never going to be happy in a pack of alphas. Perhaps this arrangement with the beta will calm her. Though I doubt she'll be any more obedient."
A hint of amusement creeps into my voice despite myself. "I wouldn't expect her to be."
Veronica's expression softens fractionally. "Good luck, Mr. Kingsley. I suspect you'll need it."
* * *
I find Frankie in the guards' quarters, sitting at a table with three other betas playing cards. He looks up as I enter, his eyes widening in recognition. The other guards quickly stand, murmuring respectful greetings. Frankie scrambles to his feet a beat behind them, nearly knocking over his chair in the process.
"Mr. Kingsley," he says, his voice catching slightly. "We didn't expect—I mean, I thought you'd resigned?"
"I have," I confirm. "But I need to speak with you, Frankie. Privately."
The other guards exchange glances, a silent communication passing between them. They gather their drinks and filter out of the room, leaving me alone with Frankie, who shifts nervously from foot to foot.
"Is this about Storm?" he asks once the door closes, surprising me with his directness. "Is she okay?"
Interesting. His concern for her is genuine, and exactly what I need.
"She's fine," I say, studying his reaction. "Better than fine, actually. She's adjusting to her new situation."
Relief flashes across his face briefly before uncertainty returns. "That's... good. I'm glad."
"I need a beta for my pack," I say, getting straight to the point. "I want you to fill that position."
Frankie stares at me, mouth falling open slightly. "Me? But—why? I mean, I'm just a guard."
"I know this isn’t the way it’s done. But you know Storm," I reply simply. "She trusts you. That's valuable right now."
He blinks rapidly, processing what I'm saying. "You want me to... what? Take care of her? Be her beta?"
"Among other duties, yes."
"I don't understand." Frankie runs a hand through his hair, confusion plain on his face. "Why would you want someone she likes… I mean?—"
Smart question. Most betas wouldn't dare ask it.
"Because right now, I need her cooperation more than I need her submission," I say truthfully. "Having you there will help with that."
Frankie considers this, his expression thoughtful. "Do I have a choice?"
"Everyone has choices," I reply. "But consider what your options truly are. Continue working here, never seeing Storm again, knowing she's alone in a situation she doesn’t want to be in. Or come with me, be part of the pack, help her adjust."
Put that way, it's hardly a choice at all.
"When do I start?" he asks quietly.
"Now. Pack your things. You'll live in the penthouse with the rest of the pack."
He nods, moving to a small locker in the corner of the room. It takes him less than five minutes to gather his belongings—a few changes of clothes, a worn paperback, a small wooden box I don't ask about. The betas here don't accumulate much. They're encouraged not to.
The drive back to the penthouse is silent, Frankie staring out the window, his scent a complex mix of anxiety, excitement, and something else I can't quite place. I wonder if he realizes what he's really getting into. Pack dynamics are intricate, hierarchical, and often brutal. Especially with Reed in the mix.
We reach the penthouse, and I lead him into the elevator, using my key card to access the private floor. His nervousness increases as the elevator rises, his scent spiking with each floor we pass.
"She doesn't know I'm bringing you," I say as the doors open. "This will be a surprise."
Frankie nods, clutching his small bag of belongings to his chest like a shield. Reed is waiting in the foyer, his eyebrows rising slightly at the sight of Frankie. I can feel his assessment, the way he takes in every detail of the beta's appearance.
Reed's posture shifts subtly, straightening to his full height, his shoulders broadening in an unconscious display of dominance. I've seen this before—the instinctive response of an alpha to a potential rival. Not that a beta could ever truly be a rival to an alpha like Reed, but instincts run deep.
I hear movement from the hallway and turn to see Storm emerging from her room, her expression guarded. She stops short when she spots Frankie, her eyes widening in shock.
"What the—" she begins, then cuts herself off, her gaze darting between me and Frankie.
"You liked this beta," I say, watching her reaction carefully. "Always saw you with him."
Storm's shocked expression quickly shifts to one of defiance, her chin lifting in that familiar stubborn angle. "Wow, stalker much? That's a new level of creepy, even for you, Jonathan."
Frankie's eyes widen at her tone, clearly expecting me to react badly to her disrespect. Instead, I feel my mouth quirk up slightly at one corner. Four years of her attitude has made me nearly immune.
"Frankie," I say, addressing him directly while keeping my eyes on Storm, "you are the pack beta. Welcome to Pack Kingsley."
He swallows hard, glancing between Storm and me. "Thank you, sir."
"You know what to do in a pack as a beta?" I ask.
Frankie shakes his head, looking increasingly out of his depth. "Not really. I mean, I know the basics from training, but..."
Reed steps forward, his voice low and edged with something that might be jealousy. "You can look, but not touch the omega."
His words hang in the air, charged with tension. Reed's eyes are fixed on Frankie with an intensity that makes the beta shrink back slightly.
"There are rules about interactions between betas and omegas," Reed continues, his voice deceptively casual as he circles around Frankie. "Breaking them has... consequences ."
Frankie’s beta scent spikes with fear. I swear to god, my pack mate needs to read the situation.
"Reed," I say. His possessiveness is unexpected—and potentially problematic. "Show Frankie to his room. The one next to the kitchen."
Reed holds his position for a moment longer, his gaze flicking between Frankie and Storm, before giving him a curt nod. "This way," he says to Frankie, his tone making it clear this is a command, not a suggestion.
As they move down the hallway, Reed leans in close to Frankie, saying something too quiet for me to hear. Whatever it is, makes Frankie's scent spike with anxiety. I'll need to keep an eye on that dynamic.
Once they're out of earshot, I turn back to Storm, who's watching me with a mixture of confusion and suspicion.
"Why did you bring him here?" she snaps.
"You need a beta," I reply simply. "It's expected. And it was either someone you know, or someone my fathers would choose. I thought you'd prefer this option."
She studies me for a long moment, clearly trying to figure out my angle. "Is this a trick? Some kind of test?"
"No trick," I say. "Just practicality. My fathers want a united front, a complete pack structure. Frankie fills that role neatly. And his presence will make things easier for everyone."
"Easier how?"
"You'll be more comfortable with a familiar face. He'll be given a better position than he had at the Omega House. And having a beta who actually cares about your welfare will smooth some of the... adjustments you'll need to make."
Storm's eyes narrow. "What adjustments?"
"We have dinner with my fathers in three days," I say, watching her face pale slightly. "Alex will be back tomorrow. We need to present a united front—a proper pack with a proper omega. That means you need to start acting the part."
"And Frankie's supposed to help with that? Turn me into some perfect little omega for your family's approval?" Her voice drips with disdain.
"No," I reply honestly. "He's here to make sure you don't feel completely alone in this mess."
She blinks, clearly not expecting that answer. Before she can respond, I turn to leave. I've spent enough time managing Storm for one day. I have other problems to solve—preparing for Alex's return and figuring out how to handle my fathers' expectations.
"Jonathan," she calls after me, her voice uncharacteristically uncertain. "I know there are rules about betas and omegas. But Frankie and I..." She trails off, not needing to finish the thought.
I pause, turning back to face her. Her scent has shifted, concern threading through the dark chocolate notes. She's afraid—not for herself, but for Frankie. It's the most genuine emotion I've seen from her since Choosing Day.
"There are," I agree, my voice level. "And breaking them would have serious consequences. For both of you, but especially for him." I hold her gaze, making sure she understands the gravity of what I'm saying. "My fathers would not be lenient about such a transgression. Neither would the authorities."
The color drains from her face as the implication sinks in. She doesn't need me to spell it out more clearly. We both know what happens to betas who cross that line with omegas—especially omegas claimed by elite alphas.
"Three days," I remind her, my voice softening fractionally. "Make them count."
I leave her standing in the hallway. Her scent is a complex mix of emotions I don't care to analyze. One problem temporarily solved. A dozen more to go.
As I walk away, I can still feel the heat of her gaze on my back, still taste her scent on the back of my tongue. Dark chocolate and defiance, a combination that's becoming increasingly and dangerously addictive. I'd never admit it, not even to myself, but there's something about Storm that gets under my skin in ways no omega ever has before.
Maybe it's the way she refuses to submit, the way she meets my gaze directly when most omegas would lower their eyes. Maybe it's the fire that burns in her, undiminished despite four years in the Omega House. Or maybe it's simply the forbidden nature of it all—she's meant for Holloway, bound to him by something deeper than young love or a ceremony.
Whatever it is, I need to get it under control. Storm is a means to an end, a complication to be managed, nothing more. I have a plan to execute, a pack to protect, a reputation to salvage.
I step into my study, closing the door firmly behind me, shutting out Storm's intoxicating scent as best I can. Alex returns tomorrow.
Then the real work begins.