Chapter 2 #2
But the fact remains, people are going to freak.
Being out here, away from our former social circles in New York, will help us ride out the inevitable tabloid shitstorm.
In fact, if I had to guess what finally won Atlas over, once and for all, I’d say it was the promise of being able to live openly as our true pack alpha… and publicly have Gideon as his omega.
No matter how strange it is for the rest of us.
As Atlas approaches, Gideon’s unmasked scent suddenly winds into the air.
After ten years of suppressants and neutralizers, that’s definitely going to take some getting used to.
My Alpha staggers back, a distinct note of confusion echoing in the hollow under my ribs.
He isn’t angry, exactly. More like aghast that he’s been duped—an omega has been around all this time and I didn’t tell him? Or insist he do anything to help???
God fucking forbid.
I stifle an eye roll as Ryker twitches, his vanilla-bean musk darkening. Gideon winces. He straightens to face the entrance to the east wing with jerky motions.
Gideon’s nutty, toasted scent deepens as he dusts the front of his tuxedo. Atlas strides closer, his own black-tie ensemble doing little to hide the fact that he’s built like a damn warrior underneath.
He’d clearly feel more comfortable in his usual tweed.
Most people look ridiculous in elbow patches, but this alpha-hole always pulls it off.
I think his warm, rich complexion helps.
He’s also the only one who has thicker hair than I do.
His black flow cut brushes the stark collar of his dress shirt, but doesn’t quite hide the love bite behind his ear.
Honestly? Good for them.
Nerds need love, too, am I right?
Light glimmers at the edges of Gideon’s gray-blue eyes—some blend of fear and anticipation. Atlas never lets the poor bastard down, though. He steps into Gid’s side and peers into his omega’s waiting gaze, issuing a sound beat of alpha approval.
“So handsome, little prince.” His large hand skims over Gideon’s shoulder. A spark hits his dark eyes. “As always.”
Oh, yeah. Did I forget to mention? These two are nauseatingly in love.
And I mean that literally. My stomach hurts.
“Can you guys get a room?” I ask, smirking while I recline sideways on our ancient antique loveseat. “We have forty-three of them now, and guests will start arriving soon.”
Atlas casts me a dry glower, winding his arm around my best friend. “It isn’t even four yet. And you know Gideon and I have chosen the Omega Suite on the second floor.”
Both of their scents swell. Atlas’s bittersweet blend of whipped cream and espresso warms into something more inviting. Meanwhile, Gideon’s sugared pecan perfume fully unleashes.
I’ve lived with the guy since we were nineteen—and I’ve known about his true designation the whole time.
But I never really felt it. He used to be fanatical about taking his suppressants, de-scenting himself, and completing his heats alone.
Even after he found Atlas, they used clinics out of town, where no one recognized either of them.
Over time, the more Gideon pretended to be another alpha, the easier it was to just… believe it. There’s no denying his real designation, now, though. Not when he’s pumping needy nuttiness all over the place.
Given my usual roster of hookups—and the fact that Atlas would have my balls for looking at his man the wrong way—I’m confident I can get used to it. Ryker, on the other hand…
He hates omegas. As a rule.
He’s the only alpha I’ve ever met who truly doesn’t feel attracted to them in any capacity. Ordinarily, their perfume curls his bearded upper lip.
It’s always worked out well for us. Despite not being bonded yet, Atlas is fanatically possessive of Gideon. There’s no way he would have brought Ryker into our pack if he thought the other alpha would compete for Gideon’s affections.
Instead of snarling, Ryker shifts in his seat, wrinkling his nose. I decide to throw the poor bastard a bone. Tossing an easy grin toward Atlas, I drop my voice to a casual tone. “You wanted to talk to us before the party, right, Professor Varma?”
I only call him that to mess with Gideon. My best friend’s cheeks flush at the reminder of how he met his soulmate, back when we were in undergrad.
“We made certain promises,” Atlas sighs, ignoring my dig. “And I, for one, would like to put them behind us.”
Oh.
That.
Personally, I’m all for shoving our past misdeeds in the bottom drawer and forgetting about them like last season’s chinos. But, yeah. We do technically have a debt to repay.
A pretty big one. Owed to Gideon’s cousin, Cillian, and his lunatic packmates.
Look—it’s not that I’m afraid of the Blackwoods… But let’s just say, my testicles try to crawl back into my body when I remember the murderous, half-hidden expression their masked alpha wore the last time I saw him.
That motherfucker doesn’t even need the lower half of his face to be terrifying.
Not to mention the bowing knife he carries around.
“Insurance,” he called it—all while holding the blade to my inseam and muttering a series of surprisingly eloquent threats.
“The favor they’ve called in is a very simple one,” Atlas goes on, his patience and dominance infinite. “It will only take a few hours… and I’d like to bring one of you with me.”
I’m still not used to watching Gideon soften for our alpha. I guess it was always happening, in private, but every time he openly whines, I blink in surprise. Gid’s eyes turn beseeching. He shoots his alpha a desperate look. “I told you, I can go. We don’t need to bother the guys—”
Ryker interrupts by sitting forward in his seat.
It sounds fucking crazy, but when someone literally doesn’t speak, every movement can be a message. He might not be covered in tattoos and obvious marks like Cillian’s henchman, Dane, but Ryker’s scars are worse. Because no one can see them.
So none of us ever know what he’s going to do.
Like right now. He hasn’t spoken in a little over four months, but for a second, I hold my breath, thinking he might break his silence. Instead, he shifts his focus to Gideon, asking for details without speaking a single word.
How does he do that?
Gideon blurts a stream of details that bore me more with every word. Something about a condemned building in a village near here?
No clue why the hell Cillian and his pack want us to go check it out. Maybe he’s thinking about buying it as an investment? Then again, I do remember them being pretty intense about looking for someone. A chick, I think? Their mate’s cousin or something?
Idk. I can’t listen when someone is holding a knife to my balls.
Ryker clearly recalls the details, though. He nods, then lumbers to his feet, crackling with the barely leashed rage none of us really understand. The wave of his hand is distinctly exasperated—but somehow also agreeable. He thinks this is a fair trade for what we did.
Which means the vote is three to one.
And I’m fucked.