Chapter ten #2
“Yeah. My doctor’s monitoring it.”
“What’s the prognosis? In terms of fertility.”
I blink. “Sorry?”
“Fertility,” he says again, like I didn’t hear him. “Suppressants can cause damage to the reproductive system if abused. We want to make sure we understand the full picture before we proceed.”
Kyle nods. “We did some research. There’s a specialist downtown who works with omega fertility. If you decided to stay with us, we’d have you in her office first thing. Get a baseline.”
“That’s… very thorough.” My voice feels like it’s coming from somewhere else.
“We believe in planning,” James says. “A strong pack is a prepared pack. Don’t worry though, it’s not a deal breaker if there’s been permanent damage. We wouldn’t reject you because of that.”
The waiter shows up and James orders for the table, rattling off steaks, wine, and appetizers without even asking what I want. He does it with a smile, like it’s thoughtful, not controlling.
Ren pours my wine, his fingers brushing mine as he passes me the glass.
“So, how many children are you thinking?” James asks, slicing into a bread roll. “As a pack, we’re hoping for at least four. Maybe more. But at least one for each of us.”
“I haven’t really thought about numbers,” I say, careful. “I’d want to be bonded first. Settled. Get to know everyone.”
“Of course, of course. But it helps to be on the same page early. Kyle’s sister has four already and she says the first year is the hardest. After that it gets easier.” He chews, swallows, keeps going. “We’ve already converted one of the upstairs rooms into a nursery. Just in case.”
They have a nursery. Before they even have an omega. And they’re telling me about it on our first meet.
“That’s very forward-thinking,” I say, because what else am I supposed to say?
“We’ve been waiting a long time,” Jamie says. His first words since we sat down. He sounds flat, almost bored. “Registry hasn’t made it easy for us. A lot of omegas are… difficult.”
“Difficult?”
“Picky,” he shrugs. “They want the fairy tale. The scent match, the instant connection. They don’t get that a good bond takes work. Compatibility isn’t just chemistry. It’s about commitment. Gabriel obviously understands that or he wouldn’t be trying to give you away.”
I want to stab him with my fork. But somehow I suppress the urge.
“I agree that compatibility matters,” I tell him instead. “That’s why I’m here. To see if we connect.”
James beams. “That’s exactly the right attitude.”
The appetizers arrive. Some kind of carpaccio, thin and shiny with oil. Ren serves me before I can even reach for a serving spoon, arranging the food on my plate like I’m helpless.
“Thank you,” I say, trying to keep it polite. “I can serve myself, though.”
“Old habits.” He grins, winking. “I like taking care of people. Especially omegas. I mean, that’s what alphas are for.”
Under the table, his hand lands on my knee. I pick it up and move it back to his own lap.
Because who cares about subtlety?
“So,” James goes on, not missing a beat, “let’s talk about the claiming. We like to be up front. No surprises.”
“The claiming,” I repeat.
“Where the mark goes. Some omegas want it on the shoulder, hidden. But I prefer the neck.” He leans forward, reaches out, and touches my throat, drawing his finger up from below my ear to the hollow above my collarbone. “Right here. So it’s visible. I’d want everyone to know you’re ours.”
I lean back. He follows, just for a second, before letting his hand drop.
“James, I appreciate the honesty, but I think claiming placement is something you talk about after everyone has agreed to bond. Not on a first meeting.”
“Fair enough.” He looks entertained, not offended. “You’re cautious. I respect that.”
Kyle leans over to Jamie. “Told you she’d be careful. She’s hung up on the Santos pack.”
I bristle and bite my tongue.
The steaks arrive, huge and rare, bleeding red into the plates. James digs in. Kyle starts talking about their house, all five bedrooms, the big yard, the pool. Jamie lists off the schools in their district, like I’m supposed to care what kindergarten their theoretical kids might go to.
Ren’s hand is back on my thigh. I move it again.
“You have really soft skin,” he says after brushing against my bare arm.
“Please don’t touch me without asking.”
“I’m sorry.” Both hands up, like he’s harmless, but grinning. “You just smell so good. It’s hard to resist.”
Thirty seconds later, Ren’s hand is back on my knee, tracing circles like it’s a nervous tic, or a signal only I’m supposed to notice.
I’m annoyed that my body is responding to the unwanted touch of an alpha.
I hate that it helps. I hate that my body doesn’t care who it comes from.
It isn’t sexual, but the low headache that’s been threatening to turn into a high one this morning has eased ever since I was stuck in the truck with them. It helps even more when he touches me.
Still not worth it.
I move my leg, thinking maybe that’ll be the end of it, but he just follows, persistent as ever. So I reach down, pick up his hand, and plant it firmly on the table. “Ren. I’ve asked you three times now.”
James glances over, eyebrows up. “Ren, give her space.”
“I’m giving her space.” He hasn’t moved his hand, though. He keeps it right where I left it, and the look he’s giving is definitely toeing the line of ownership. Like my boundaries are a puzzle he’s already solved in his head.
James pivots the conversation, smooth as always: “Where do you see yourself in five years?”
“Bonded. Healthy. Hopefully happy.”
“Children? You know where we stand, but what about you?”
“If it happens naturally.”
“We’d want to be proactive about it. Like I said, the specialist—“
“James.” I set my fork down and attempt to keep the anger from my tone. “Can I ask you something?”
He leans back in his seat, smiling. “Anything.”
“What do you want to know about me? Not my fertility, or my heat cycle, or where you’d put a claiming mark. About me. What I like. What I’m afraid of. What makes me laugh.”
The table goes quiet. James just blinks, thrown for a second.
“Of course we want to know those things,” he says, regaining composure. “We have time. Tonight is just the beginning.”
But he doesn’t ask. None of them do. The conversation floats right back to logistics—their house, their finances, their expectations. James paints a picture: morning runs as a pack, structured meal times, weekly date nights on rotation.
It sounds more like a dog training schedule than a partnership.
Ren’s hand finds my arm again. This time, I don’t bother removing it.
I just let it rest there, heavy and inevitable, and stare down at my plate.
I think about Garrett’s warmth as he held me and Cyrus saying “she smells right.” How Gabriel told me I deserve a pack worthy of me, even if it can’t be his.
Nobody at this table has asked a single question that matters. Nobody here sees me—not really. They see an omega-shaped vacancy and they’re holding me up to the light, checking for cracks. Deciding how much damage they’re willing to tolerate.
When the check comes, James pays. He doesn’t so much as glance at the total. He helps me into my coat, his hand settling on my lower back, steering me to the truck. Ren opens my door and I get in.
“Wait here a second, darling,” he tells me. “My lead wants a pack word.”
He shuts the door before I can answer and I watch them talk to each other through the tinted window. I can’t hear what they’re saying and I don’t want to. I’ve had enough of this pack.
They finally finish and get in the truck. Ren slides in next to me again. This time, when his thigh presses warm and solid against mine, I don’t move away.
What’s the point? In just a few weeks, this might be my whole life.
The drive back is quiet. James hums along to the radio, tuneless but content. Kyle and Jamie talk shop. Ren’s hand is back on my knee, like it belongs there.
I watch the trees sliding by in the dark, counting off the miles to the Santos house. Thinking about the pack that wants me and can’t have me, and the pack that could have me but doesn’t even see the person they’d be getting.
When we pull up, the porch light is on. I have never been so relieved to see a house in my life.
James’s pack walks me to the door, where Gabriel is already waiting. They all follow me inside. Gabriel greets everyone and then he and James disappear into his study down the hall.
That leaves me in the living room with the rest of the Whitfield pack. Thankfully Garrett is sprawled on the couch and Cyrus is in the armchair, so I won’t be stuck with grabby hands Ren without protection. Miles is in the kitchen doorway, arms folded, eyes tracking every move.
“She’s wonderful,” Kyle tells Garrett, stretching out like he’s already moved in. “Really sweet. Quiet. Good omega energy.”
“Very responsive,” Ren adds, right at my side on the couch, his arm draped behind my shoulders.
He starts rubbing the back of my neck, like he can’t help himself.
“And that scent—god, she smells good up close. You guys must be going crazy. If it’s this good to me, I can’t imagine what it’s like for you… ”
Garrett’s smile freezes, just a little. “She’s our guest.”
“For now,” Ren grins. “If James gets his way, she won’t be for much longer.”
“What a lucky little omega,” Jamie says, looking me over like I’m a new car he’s thinking about leasing. “She’ll make a good mate. Nice and obedient.”
Ren’s hand drifts down, from my neck to my shoulder, lower, toward the small of my back. I twist away. He laughs and sets it right back where it was, like this is a game.
Cyrus sets down his drink. It’s a soft click on the table, but it’s deliberate enough that everybody notices.