Manix (Shadow Bred, #1)

by Grace McGinty

Step one of feminism: you did not have to be polite to people who were trying to abduct you in nothing but a thong. Maybe that should be steps one through five. There was a lot there to unpack.

The guy on the couch pointed to himself. “I’m Gatlin.” Okay, Gatlin with the gray eyes and the incredible jaw. I could remember that. “You know Ellar, he is a Beta. Raiden, our Omega male.” He pointed to the calm guy whose eyes were warm and imploring, though I didn’t know what they were imploring me about just yet. The guy holding up the doorframe pointed to himself. “Finlo. I’m an Alpha like Gatlin, and this is our second Beta, Seven. He’s the one who found you.”

“Understandable. So next year, when I go into heat again, and my milkshake brings all the Manix to the yard, what then?

Finlo was lithe and fair, his body lean yet muscular. He looked like some kind of sleek predator. Gatlin was like the dark side of Finlo’s moon, with a beard that had to be a couple of days old creating a shadow across his cheeks. He was a touch shorter, but broader across the chest, and gave off the vibe of being an immovable wall.

Modesty had packed her bags and left, and the only person left to man the ship was a wanton hussy.

He was so fucking sexy that he immediately made my dick hard again. I could be dead and I would pop one last boner for a naked Gatlin.

People always went on about the prestige of Omegas, and how every Pack needed strong Alphas, but no one ever mentioned that it was the Betas who held us all together. They were the glue, and I had gotten so lucky with the two that were mine.

I couldn’t help it though. A Beta’s gotta Beta. It was in our makeup.

Was it still a walk of shame, or was it a stride of pride?

My mom gave me the are you stupid or did I actually do damage that one time I dropped you on your head look. She had that look down to a fine art.

Even my baggage had baggage. I was one of those Russian dolls, but with issues. There were issues inside my issues.

I’m pretty sure if there was a Valhalla, the VIP area was set aside for people who died fucking.

“I’m a Beta, Gatlin.” Now it was my turn to frown. “Yeah, I’m aware.” “If you make me wade into that office to break up a fight, I’m doing it with a taser set to ‘crispy balls,’ and I swear, I’ll zap you until your pubes catch on fire. Got it?”