Pack Darling Part Two

by Lola Rock

For the first time in my life, I have admirers. Turns out, I hate having admirers.

My scent is the only thing about me that’s sweet. A smoky caramel that hides my sour personality.

So, I promise myself that no matter how my hormones whine at me to hand over my ass, I’ll never mate a pack that can’t treat me the way I deserve to be treated. Because who needs mates? Screw destiny, fate, and all things meant-to-be. I take care of myself. And I’m done hurting.

What would I even do with a baby? Teach it to stab the other kids?

Half of me wants to smother myself with a pillow so I don’t have to keep inhaling the heavy scents that fuck with my iffy omega psyche. The other half, the horny, just-awakened, needs-sex-yesterday half wonders if they’d let me call them daddy. Oh shit. I need brain bleach. Fucking hormones.

I’ve earned the right to be psycho.

I failed her. When I left Lilah with Craig, let her be dragged from our home, and instead of thanking her for saving Orion’s life, I sent her to suffer.

My head’s a mess, instincts torn between wanting to lick the sweat off Mr. Nut Butter’s thick neck, and wanting to run, run, run, because now that I’m awakened, I’m the goat at the dinosaur park.

It’s an insane tug-of-war between licking my lips at alpha bulges and wondering what the fuck is wrong with me. I feel like a little kid who’d happily hop in the creeper van for the promise of candy. Except the candy is dick, and I fucking pray the Wyverns aren’t behind the wheel, because if this is how I react to randos, I don’t know how I can keep myself away from them.

“Your omega’s home alone and probably tearing out his hair. That’s where you should be. Not here.” “You’re ours,” Finn growls. “Mine.”

“I’m not even mine. Go take care of Orion. Then you can book an appointment to see me like the other alphas.” “You don’t need other alphas,” Atlas growls. “Let us take care of you.” “You can’t even take care of yourselves!” I wave at them, fighting their own men, making a fucking scene now after leaving me alone for days.

I’m listening to their actions. All that other shit lies. Actions don’t. “Lilah—” Hunter starts. Too freaking late.

She’s going to hate their plan. And if they piss her off even more? I need to distance myself. Because if I have to choose between the pack or her… I choose Lilah. Every time.

His half-whispered bark is an icicle to the ribs. The sound isn’t for me, but just in case, I scoot my chair out of murdering distance.

Watching me the same way I watch lava cakes, Finn offers me a shard of green pottery. “Killed it for you.” “What…” I suck in a breath because holy shit. The toe-breaking toad is dead. The perfect gift. He pushes it into my palm before I can react.

Jett is not a prince. He’s the king of mixed fucking signals.

“I don’t want to be alone,” he whispers, fingers in my hair. “I feel like I can only be alone.” His warmth fills up my empty spaces, but this soul-soothing touch is only temporary.

But can’t risk myself on jokers. I need kings.

“Prove you can be the alpha she needs. We have zero street cred, so we have to show her we’re ride or die or she’ll never want to build a life with us.”

I don’t forget to keep myself in check. Hunter’s the one who took care of me from the beginning. He bandaged my feet and made sure I got fed, but he was only doing the minimum you’d do for a stray dog. Give them a bowl and a place to curl up in the basement. So, yeah, I have to deal with the constant urge to lick his tattoos, but he was the one Wyvern who could’ve done better. Now if he wants to watch, have at it. He can watch my legging-lifted ass disappear.

“I know.” Hunter squeezes my fingers. “All you have to do is follow your dreams. It’s our job to convince you we’re part of them.”

“Why, Mister Wyvern. Look at all that sweetness you’ve hidden away.” Celeste fans herself, and her swoon snaps me back to my public audience where I’m dry-humping a dummy and purring like a pregnant cat. I cough. “Was that right?” “Did it feel right?” It felt fucking creepy.

Like, let me ride, but I’ll end you if you try shit. That’s why I picked pole instead of another style. Tap won’t get me knotted.

I can enjoy the moment. I can even admit how weak I am for the omega spun from sunshine. What I can’t do is trick myself into thinking this ends in the fairytale. Because even if Wyvern Pack pulls off a miracle and totally handles their shit, I’ll still be what I am—the lone wolf who wants to disappear into a forest cave, only returning to civilization to get heat-treated.

“You knew and you never told us we were meant to be.” Atlas grips his chest. “If I’d known, I—” “You still wouldn’t have believed. You thought I was another omega trying to scheme my way into your money.” “We’re assholes. I’m just saying. You went to such extremes to hide from us. Give us a chance to go to the same extremes for you now that we believe the truth.” I pretend his ask doesn’t knock out my knees, hopping onto the pole and spinning. “Do your best.” “I am.” Atlas keeps watching me practice. He doesn’t blink.

“You realize what packs are after me? My main criteria is no kidnapping.”

I have packs to fake charm.

Finn and Jett fucking dismantle them in bones-broken, pounded-into-the-floor, brutal efficiency that leaves the room holding its breath. Not me. I’m gasping, squeezing my thighs together because apparently, I get wet over Wyverns who maim in my defense.

I’m done. I’m done playing chatty, pretending to smile, and putting myself out there for alphas who aren’t worth the risk. I suck at it, it’s awkward, and I desperately need to get back to my regularly scheduled sweatpants, shifter novels, and hermitdom.

Stop being attracted to psychos.

I’ll poison the guys with chilis or flip them on their asses if I want to take them down. What I won’t do is play games. I don’t want a who-will-I-pick tango. It’s just that I haven’t picked. Because the more my nature roars to lock this shit down and beg my mates for their teeth in my throat, the more my nurture rebels. I’m afraid.

Holy shit. I’m a soft little princess. And I drowned a drug lord, but who ever earned a crown without some blood?

“After your heat, I’ll make your fries.” I groan. “Unfair dirty talk.”