Chapter 43
Graham
The Rolls is a terrible car for someone my height. Objectively, it’s probably one of the nicest cars in existence. I know this. My knees do not care.
“I still think I should be in the back,” I mutter, shifting my legs for the third time.
“No,” Lark replies immediately from behind me.
I glance at her over my shoulder. She’s sitting directly behind me, one leg crossed over the other, Saint relaxed at her side. The deep red of her dress catches the soft interior lighting, turning it into something darker. She’s distracting, even when I can’t see her.
“You’re up front because it’s the only place you fit,” she continues, completely unbothered. “And because you need to get out first.”
“Those are two separate arguments,” I point out. “One of which is logistical and the other of which is debatable.”
“Neither is debatable.”
I huff out a quiet breath. She’s right about the legroom. The back seat would be a disaster. But that’s not the point.
“I still would have preferred to sit with you,” I say. “It’s my big night.”
“I know,” she says. “But you’re the guest of honor. The press will be waiting for you. You step out first, they get their shots, and then you help me out.”
She leans forward just a little, her voice dropping into something more conspiratorial. “And I look incredible in this dress. You’ll want to be the one handing me out.”
I smile despite myself. “Yes,” I say. “I’d hate to waste that.”
Saint chuckles quietly beside her. “He’s been fidgeting since we left the house,” he mutters.
“I am not fidgeting,” I say.
“You are absolutely fidgeting,” Lark counters.
I don’t argue that. Because I am. Not about the press. Not even about the gala. About her. And what comes after.
Plus, that dress should be illegal.
The deep red makes her skin glow. And the fabric skims every curve of her body. I don’t know which I want more: to show her off, or to rip it down the seam and see every inch of skin that lies beneath it.
I cut that thought off before it can go any further. If I think about it for another second, I’ll be too indecent for the cameras.
Silas slows the car as we approach the curb, the low hum of voices outside growing louder, sharper. Flashes of light bleed through the tinted windows.
“Ready?” Silas asks.
I nod.
The car stops. The door opens, and the sound hits all at once.
“Dr. Wiley!”
“Dr. Wiley, over here!”
“Can we get a statement?”
I step out, straightening automatically.
I lift my hand to the waiting press, then turn and open the back door.
Lark places her hand in mine, then steps one long leg out, giving the cameras a perfect view of her calves before I help her from the car.
She slides her hand up my arm, her fingers curling around my bicep. I tuck it close to my side.
Mine.
“Ready?” I murmur.
“Always,” she says.
We move forward together.
A cluster of student journalists near the front catches my attention. I angle us toward them first. Students always get priority.
“Dr. Wiley,” one of them says, her voice just a little shaky. “Can you tell us more about your scent-matching research?”
“We’re still in the early stages,” I say. “There’s a lot we don’t know yet. But what we’re seeing is promising. If we’re right, this could fundamentally change how alphas and omegas find compatible partners.”
Another student leans in. “You’re one of the featured guests tonight. What does that mean for your work?”
“It means visibility,” I say. “And hopefully support. The more data we have, the more accurate our models become. Right now, we’re looking for scent-matched couples, and packs, who are willing to participate in further study.”
“Will your own pack be part of that research?”
Lark shift slightly against me. I glance down. She’s already looking up at me, completely steady.
“I hope so,” I say.
She doesn't hesitate. “Of course,” she says, clear and certain. “I want everyone to experience what we have.”
Something tightens in my chest. She just, in front of everyone, claimed us.
Claimed me.
It’s not a surprise. In a few hours, she’ll claim me officially. It’s just… special. That she said it out loud. To the press.
I look down at her, not even trying to hide my pleasure. “Me, too,” I murmur.
I glance past the edge of the crowd. Silas and Saint stand just out of frame. Watching. Silas’ posture is relaxed, but his chest is lifted slightly, his expression openly pleased. Saint looks like he’s trying not to grin. He’s failing.
They’re proud. Both of them. Like they want to step forward and make it very clear exactly who she belongs to.
I turn back to the cameras, guiding Lark just a fraction closer to my side. “Let’s go greet the rest of the press.”
We move forward together, answering a few more questions, some thoughtful, most repetitive. Lark stands by my side, smiling and answering appropriately when something is directed at her. She’s a pro. Calm. Sharp. Just the right amount of warmth.
I answer what I need to, redirect when I can, and keep us moving. And then I spot Finn, my research partner and complete introvert.
He’s half-turned toward a local reporter, shoulders a little too tight, one hand shoved into his pocket. There’s a bead of sweat on his brow that tells me exactly how much he’s enjoying this. Not at all.
“Excuse me,” I say to the group in front of us, already shifting direction.
Lark goes with me easily. Silas and Saint fall in behind.
Finn glances up as we approach, and I watch the exact moment he realizes he’s being rescued.
“Finn,” I say, stepping in beside him. “I see you’ve been cornered.”
He exhales quietly. “Just a little.”
I angle slightly so Lark is brought into the space. “Finn, this is Lark Jensen,” I say. “Lark, this is my research partner, Dr. Finn Gaudreau.”
“Nice to finally meet you,” he says.
“You too,” Lark replies easily.
I gesture toward the edge of the crowd where Silas and Saint stand. “You’ve already met Saint and Silas,” I add.
Finn nods in their direction. “I have.”
I glance toward the entrance. “Let’s go inside,” I say. “I think we’ve given them enough soundbites for one night.”
He doesn’t even pretend to argue. “Please.”
Inside, the low buzz of conversation replaces the chaos of cameras and journalists.
Saint and Silas peel off. “Drinks,” Saint says over his shoulder.
“Good plan,” I reply.
Finn adjusts his cuff slightly, scanning the room. “You didn’t seem to be bothered by that,” he says to Lark.
“I’ve dealt with the press before. Plus, it wasn’t me they wanted to speak to.”
I huff out a quiet laugh.
Lark tilts her head slightly. “Tell me about yourself. Do you have a pack?”
Finn nods. “I do,” he says. “Unfortunately, our schedules didn’t line up tonight.”
“That’s a shame. It’s a big night for you. Maybe we can have you over one night for dinner. Silas is an excellent cook.”
Finn smiles, “I would love that.” He looks around the room. “I’m going to circulate,” he says.
“Good luck,” I say, then huff a laugh when he rolls his eyes and trudges off like he’s going to war.
We watch him go.
“Does he have an omega?” Lark asks.
“Not yet. Why?”
Lark hums, thoughtful. “We should introduce him to Cammie.”
I physically recoil. “Absolutely not.”
She looks at me.
“Cammie is terrifying,” I say flatly. “And Finn is far too introverted to survive that encounter. She would eat him alive.”
Lark laughs and swats my arm. “She’s only like that with you,” she says. “Because she knows you’re afraid of her.”
“I am afraid of her,” I say immediately. “She threatened to castrate me, remember?”
Her mouth twitches, just slightly.
I offer Lark my arm again. “Come on,” I say. “Let’s find Silas and Saint before they drink all the champagne without us.”
She slips her hand back into place, squeezing my arm gently.
We don’t get far before we’re stopped. Donors. Board members. People who suddenly know my name. I introduce Lark over and over again. She’s calm, composed, and articulate. People like her immediately.
Eventually, we’re pulled toward the center of the room where the university president is holding court. He greets me with a smile and then turns immediately to Lark.
“And this must be the woman everyone’s buzzing about,” he says. “The scent match.”
Lark offers her hand to him, unbothered. “We were very lucky to find one another. Graham’s research will help other omegas and alphas find that same connection.”
He takes her hand in his, pumping it once. “And bring prestige to East Rock University.”
“Yes, it will set you up nicely for more grants and donations.”
He smiles at me, a genuine one this time. “I see your omega understands the business side of the university.”
I chuckle. “She’s a successful businesswoman herself, so she gets it.”
We exchange a few more polite words before I guide us away again.
I spot Silas and Saint across the room, each holding two glasses of champagne. Silas hands one to Lark as we approach. Saint passes one to me.
“About time,” Saint mutters.
Silas looks at me. “You ready?”
“Yes,” I say.
We make our way to our table, tucked close enough to the stage that I can easily make my way to the microphone when my name is called. I pull Lark’s chair out for her, then lean down and kiss her cheek before taking the seat beside her.
Dinner starts. Plates are set before us. Conversations pick up again. I take a few bites, then look at her. Her plate is untouched.
“You don’t like it?” I ask quietly.
She shakes her head. “It’s good. I just—” She presses a hand lightly to her stomach. “I feel a little off. Maybe the champagne.”
I frown.
“I’m fine,” she says quickly.
I reach up, brushing my fingers across her forehead. She’s warm. Not hot, but warmer than she should be.
My attention shifts to the stage as the president wraps up his speech. Polite applause moves through the room. I barely hear what he says next.
Silas nudges my shoulder. “He just called you up.”
Right. I lean in, pressing a quick kiss to Lark’s cheek.
“Watch her,” I murmur to Silas. “She’s not feeling well.”
“I’m fine,” Lark insists again, but I don’t miss the way she leans slightly into Saint as I stand.
I look at Silas. He nods once.
I straighten, adjust my jacket, and head for the stage.
Time to perform.
I take my place at the podium, smoothing my hand over the front of my jacket more out of habit than necessity. Finn stands beside me, composed on the surface, but I catch the look in his eyes. There is no way he’s saying a word to this crowd.
I glance out at the audience, letting the room settle. “Good evening,” I say. “Thank you all for being here.”
After that, it’s easy. I've given versions of this talk a hundred times. The words come without effort. I talk about the research. About the theory. What we’re seeing in the data.
“If we can prove what we’re seeing,” I continue, “we completely change how alphas and omegas find each other.”
I gesture lightly toward the room. “We can connect people across distance, across nations. We can help build stronger packs. More stable ones.”
Near the edge of the room, a group leans in. Three alphas, all watching me with a focused intensity that’s hard to miss. Oh, yeah. They’ll give money.
“And to do that,” I add, shifting gears, “we need data. We need participation from scent-matched packs. And quite frankly, we need funding.”
A few nod. Soft applause from a table in the back.
“Grants are essential,” I say. “But they don’t cover everything. Not for research at this scale. If we want real answers, this is the kind of work that needs to be supported.”
I settle into it. Unlike Finn, I’ve never minded this part.
“This is research that has the potential to impact millions of people. And with the right support—”
A sound cuts through the room. It’s soft and low. And wrong. My words stop. I hear it again. A groan.
Feminine.
My head turns. Saint and Silas are already on their feet, chairs pushed back, both of them moving at the same time, hands under Lark’s arms, helping her stand.
And then I smell it. Rich, sweet, salted caramel. Thick with need.
Lark's heat.
Tonight.
Mine.
The room shifts. Every alpha goes still. They’re too aware. Too interested. Instincts snapping tight and attention sharpening in a way that has nothing to do with my speech anymore. My vision goes red at the edges.
Oh, hell no.
I turn, shoving the microphone into Finn’s hand. “Take it,” I say, already moving.
I don’t wait. I’m off the stage before any other alpha in the room can catch up. By the time I reach them, Saint and Silas already have her between them, her weight sagging as they guide her toward the exit.
Her face is pale and tight with pain. “Graham—” she breathes.
“I’ve got you,” I say.
We push through the ballroom doors. A few people still linger outside.
“Dr. Wiley!” someone calls.
I ignore it.
Lark makes a small, strained sound, her body tightening. I scoop her up, one arm under her knees, the other around her back, pulling her close.
She presses into me immediately, fingers clutching at my jacket. “I—"
“I know,” I murmur against her hair. “We’ve got you.”
Silas is already ahead of us. “Valet!” he calls sharply. “Now.”
Saint stays close at my side, one hand braced lightly against Lark’s leg.
“It’s okay, princess,” he says quietly. “We’ve got you. Just hold on.”
She whimpers, her body tensing again. “Bond,” she manages, breath hitching. “I need—”
My chest tightens. I press a kiss to her forehead. “We will,” I say against her temple. “We will, beautiful. But we need to get you home first.”
The car doesn’t come fast enough. Lark shifts in my arms, another wave hitting her. All three of us lean in closer without thinking, closing ranks. Blocking her from the outside world.
“Easy, little bird,” Silas murmurs, reappearing at my side. “Almost here.”
Headlights cut across the drive. Finally.
The Rolls pulls up hard to the curb. I don’t wait for the door to open properly. I’m already ducking into the back seat and pulling her in with me.
My legs immediately protest the tight space. I ignore them. Lark curls into me, breath uneven, her scent already thickening in the enclosed space.
To hell with comfort.
“All right,” I murmur, tightening my hold on her as the doors slam shut and the car lurches forward. “Let’s go.”