Claimed by the Team

A HOCKEY REVERSE HAREM OMEGAVERSE

FAMEVERSE

BOOK THREE

HARPER LENNOX

RIVER RAMSEY

Copyright © 2025 by Harper Lennox and River Ramsey

All rights reserved.

No generative AI was used in the creation of this book. No part of this book may be distributed, used for LLM training, or reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations by readers and reviewers.

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Cover and formatting by ArtisticBooks

Editing and proofreading by Gail Barnes

A Note from the Authors

Spoiler alert!

While Claimed by the Team is a positive book with themes of found family, acceptance, and overcoming adversity, there are references to being cheated on by exes, discrimination against omegas, and a male alpha charges at a male omega with likely intent to assault him. It is NOT a close call, thanks to murder puppy (if you know, you know). The beta FMC does not magically transform into an omega in the end. She doesn’t need to change to get her HEA with her guys.

All the usual Omegaverse goodies are present, including heat cycles, scent matching and marking, and spicy scenes involving the entire pack. There is MM in this pack between the alphas and their male omega, who they previously believed was a beta. And so did he! Oops. Life comes at ya fast.

Zero cheating, abuse, or bullying within the pack. No OW drama, no breakups, ALL the feels.

Xoxo,

Harper & River heart suit

Blurb

Always the placeholder, never the heart of the pack.

After being dumped by four exes who found their scent-matched packs, Lexie has a few simple rules for dating.

No packs.

No alphas.

And definitely no omegas.

When an algorithmic matchmaking glitch lands her with a pack that embodies her entire nope list, Lexie is ready to call a penalty. Even if Pack Lawson's very male omega is a six-foot-five, ridiculously hot defenseman.

The last thing the world of professional hockey expected was for Darren "The Brick" Malloy, the most ruthless player on the Grizzlies, to present as an omega after a nasty concussion.

Especially Darren himself.

And when his four equally shocked alpha packmates—Jax, Dmitri, Aidan, and Zayn—start looking at their massive new omega like he's fresh meat, he knows it's time to bring in a substitute.

But Darren's newly awakened territorial instincts won't abide another omega. So when an app matches his pack to a pretty beta with an apartment full of oversized sweaters and a lifetime of commitment issues, it's obsession at first scent.

Now they just have to convince the beta who's certain she'll never be anyone's first choice that she's their MVP.

Chapter

One

LEXIE

The label printer jams for the third time this morning and miraculously, I resist the urge to throw it across the room. The way this day is going, I wouldn’t be surprised if it spits out a big sticker that reads “LOSER” for me to plaster on my forehead.

“Come on, you overpriced piece of garbage.” I fiddle with the paper feed, extracting a crumpled shipping label. “We’ve got twenty more packages to go.”

The flickering lightbulb I haven’t gotten around to replacing makes the sea of cardboard boxes surrounding me on the living room floor look more like some serial killer’s seedy lair than the home studio my cramped rental has become. My laptop sits perched atop a stack of inventory spreadsheets, open to my store’s admin panel where the orders keep piling up. Good for business. Bad for my Saturday.

My system is efficient. Print label, pack item, seal box, repeat. I’ve streamlined everything down to the second. When your entire business runs from a two-bedroom apartment, efficiency isn’t optional.

The bare walls stare back at me as I reach for the packing tape. I’ve been here eight months and still haven’t hung a single picture. The cardboard boxes labeled “decor” remain stacked in the hall closet, unopened since I moved in after breaking up with Mark. What’s the point? This place is temporary, just like the last three apartments. Just like Mark. Just like they all turned out to be.

My phone vibrates against the hardwood floor, the screen lighting up with Jessica’s face. My sister is caught mid-laugh at last Thanksgiving, when things still felt possible. I pick up on the fourth ring.

“Let me guess, you’re working.” Jessica doesn’t bother with hello.

“No, I’m reorganizing my sock drawer alphabetically,” I say, wedging the phone between my ear and shoulder as I seal another package. “What’s up?”

“It’s Saturday morning, Lex. Normal people are having brunch or going for hikes or, I don’t know, interacting with other humans.”

“I interact with the delivery guy every day. We have a very fulfilling relationship. He brings me cardboard, I give him packages. It’s beautiful, really.”

She sighs. I can practically hear her rolling her eyes. “When was the last time you left your apartment for an occasion other than buying more packing materials?”

I glance at the empty takeout containers stacked neatly by the door, waiting for my next trip to the trash. “I went grocery shopping on Wednesday.”

“That doesn’t count.”

“The cashier and I had a lovely conversation about cucumbers.”

“Alexandra.” Only Jessica uses my full name, and only when she’s gearing up for one of her concerned-sister speeches. Even our mom hasn’t uttered it since she popped me out twenty-six years ago.

“Jessica,” I mimic her tone, sealing another box with more force than necessary.

“I’m worried about you.”

I stop taping. “Don’t be. Business is booming. I’m thinking about hiring help for the holiday rush.” I don’t mention that the thought of interviewing people, of having someone else in my space, makes me queasy.

“I’m not worried about your business. I’m worried about you being alone all the time.”

Here we go. I resume packing, focusing on folding a cashmere cardigan into tissue paper. “I’m not alone. I have a thriving relationship with my Netflix account.”

“Lexie,” her voice softens. “It’s been six months since Mark. And I know you’re doing that thing again.”

“What thing?” I ask innocently, taking out my frustration on a role of packing tape.

“That thing where you bury yourself in work instead of dealing with it.”

“There’s nothing to deal with.” The edge in my voice betrays me, but I decide not to remind her it’s actually been eight months. Eight months since my world imploded. Again. “Mark found his perfect little omega pack, just like the others. Good for him.”

A beat of silence stretches between us. I know what’s coming next.

“I found something I think you should try,” Jessica says, her voice taking on that careful tone people use when approaching wounded animals.

“If it’s another yoga class⁠—”

“It’s a matching service.”

I bark out a laugh. “Absolutely not.”

“Just hear me out. It’s not like the others. This one actually screens for compatibility beyond just scent matching. They use psychological profiles, lifestyle preferences, long-term goals⁠—”

“Let me save you the pitch and remind you of my history with so-called ‘compatibility’.” I start counting off on my fingers though she can’t see me. “Tyler left me for a pack with an omega after two years. Daniel lasted eighteen months before he found his ‘true family.’ Chris made it almost three years before deciding he needed ‘something more.’ And Mark… well, Mark at least had the decency to wait until after my birthday party to tell me he’d been visiting pack houses behind my back.”

“This is different⁠—”

“It’s not different, Jess. I’m the common denominator here. I’m what they try until someone better comes along. Alphas, betas, it doesn’t matter. They all want a pack, and a pack only wants one thing. An omega.”

The silence on the other end tells me I’ve said too much, revealed the soft underbelly beneath my armor of practicality. That’s something I usually don’t share even with the one person in this world who knows me the best. I clear my throat.

“Besides, I don’t have time for dating,” I add, forcing a bit of levity into my voice. “The holiday orders are already coming in.”

“The service is called Beyond Bonds,” Jessica continues as if I haven’t spoken. “My coworker Chelsea found her mate through them. They’ve been together for two years now.”

“Good for Chelsea.” I grab another box, folding it into shape with practiced movements. “Some people get lucky.”

I’m not one of them.

“It’s not about luck,” she insists. “It’s about finding the right person, not just any alpha or beta who happens to catch your eye at a bar.”

I think about the four “right” people who all eventually realized I wasn’t right for them and slam my walls up hard. “I’ve got twenty more orders to pack, Jess.”

“Just promise you’ll think about it.”

“Sure, I’ll add it to my to-do list right after ‘develop telekinesis’ and ‘learn underwater basket weaving.’”

“I’m emailing you the link,” she continues, ignoring my sarcasm. “They’re having a special right now. Three months for the price of one.”

“What a bargain. Three months of rejection for the price of one.”

“Lexie.” Her voice drops to that gentle tone that makes my throat tighten. “Not everyone will leave you.”

Hearing my fear spoken out loud hurts more than I want to admit, even if it probably is as painfully obvious to her as to me.

“I need to go, Jess. These packages won’t seal themselves.”

“Promise me you’ll at least look at the website.”

“I promise I’ll think about looking at the website.”

“That’s not⁠—”

“Bye, I love you, thanks for calling!” I hang up before she can push further, tossing my phone onto the couch like it’s suddenly burning hot.

My sister means well. I know she does. And of course she still believes in things like destiny and true love. It happened for Jessica. It’s happened for other people I know, Mark included, but me? I’m very clearly not one of those outliers, and I’m too exhausted from holding out that kind of hope.

The apartment feels quieter now, the silence heavier. I look around at the blank walls, the functional furniture, the single plant by the window that’s survived my inexperienced care through sheer stubbornness. Nothing here marks this space as mine. Nothing says someone lives here who expects to stay.

I reach for another box, but my rhythm is broken. Jessica’s words echo in my head.

Not everyone will leave you.

Easy for her to say. Jessica found her mate in college. Ten years later, they’ve got the house with the yard and the dog and the two perfect children. She’s never known what it’s like to build a life with someone, brick by careful brick, only to watch them knock it down and walk away with the pieces that mattered.

My phone pings with an incoming email. Jessica, true to her word, has sent the link to Beyond Bonds. I ignore it and open Instagram instead, which is my first mistake.

Mark’s story appears at the very tippy top of my feed. My finger hovers, knowing I shouldn’t look, knowing it will only twist the knife. I tap it anyway, which is my second mistake.

The image loads. Mark grinning, his arm around a petite blonde woman, surrounded by three others in what looks like a cozy living room.

The caption reads: “Pack movie night! #blessed #foundmypeople”

A cold weight settles in my chest. They’re in our apartment, the one I moved out of eight months ago because I couldn’t bear to sleep in that bedroom anymore. But now the walls that were bare when I left are covered with photos. The couch where I used to grade design samples now holds a tangle of people who look like they belong there, like they’ve always belonged.

They’ve built a home in the space where I couldn’t.

I close the app and stare at my reflection in the black screen. My practical bun has started to come loose, tendrils of reddish-brown hair framing a heart-shaped face that looks more tired than I want to admit.

For just a moment, one moment of weakness, I let myself imagine what it might be like. To have someone who stays. To hang pictures and paint walls and buy furniture that isn’t just functional but chosen together. To build something permanent.

The label printer beeps, pulling me back to reality. Right. More packages.

I reach for the next box, forcing myself back into the rhythm. Print, pack, seal, repeat. No time for daydreams that never materialize. No space for wishes that always disappoint.

But as I work, the email from Jessica sits unopened, a quiet challenge. By the time I finish the last package, stacking them neatly by the door for tomorrow’s pickup, my resolve has weakened.

Just look at the website. That’s all Jessica asked. It doesn’t commit me to anything. It’s not like a pack is going to reach through the screen and yoink me into their world only to leave me at the curb when they’re ready to move on like all the others.

I grab my phone and open the email. The link stares back at me.

Beyond Bonds. Find Your Forever.

My finger hovers over the registration button. This is stupid. I’ve been down this road before.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I tap the link. The page loads with an elegant simplicity. Soft colors, tasteful font, none of the desperate neon flash of other dating sites. A banner across the top reads: “We go beyond traditional matching to build connections that last.”

I scroll down, despite myself. The testimonials show couples and groups of all configurations. They’re photos with names, ages and locations, not just stock models. Traditional alpha and omega pairs, beta triads, mixed pack families. The common denominator isn’t their designation but the look in their eyes. They all seem... settled. Like they’ve found their place. Their people.

A knot forms in my throat. I want to dismiss it as marketing, as carefully curated success stories hiding a mountain of failures like mine. But something about the simple certainty in their faces makes my practiced cynicism falter.

I go through the sign-up process on autopilot. Practically an expert at this point.

I get halfway through before deciding this is a mistake.

I lock the screen and set the phone face-down on the floor. I have inventory to count, designs to finalize for next season, a business to run. I don’t have time for false hope.

And I sure as hell don’t have time for a pack.

Chapter

Two

DARREN

The crowd’s roar hits me like a tidal wave as I push off from behind our net. Eighteen thousand fans packed into the arena, and every one of them on their feet as Zayn breaks away with the puck. Typical. The pretty boy never misses a chance to showboat.

I dig my skates deeper into the ice, driving forward to catch up. My breath fogs my mask as I bear down, scanning for openings. We’re tied 2-2 in the second period against the Raptors, and if Copeland tries another one of his fancy solo shots instead of passing, I might just check him myself.

“Zayn!” I bark out, voice barely audible over the crowd. “On your right!”

He ignores me, of course. Alpha prick. Three alphas converge on him, and just like that, the puck’s gone, stolen by the Raptors’ captain who cuts a clean path toward our zone. Exactly what wouldn’t have happened if he’d just passed to me in the first place.

I pivot hard, feeling the familiar burn in my thighs as I hustle back on defense. That’s my job, always cleaning up after the glory hounds.

The rush of cold air against my face steadies me as I gain speed. The rink narrows to the simple geometry of angles, trajectories, the quickest path between me and the guy threatening our net. Nobody gets past the Brick. That’s not just a nickname, it’s a fucking promise.

“Cut him off!” Jax’s voice, our captain, commanding from somewhere behind me.

I don’t need the instruction. I’m already moving to intercept, positioning myself between the Raptors’ forward and our rookie goalie. The kid’s talented but green as summer grass.

The Raptors forward feints left. I don’t bite. He shifts right, and I’m already there, seven years of training giving my body the freedom to move without thinking. He tries to thread the needle between my legs and⁠—

CRACK

My shoulder connects with his chest, the impact jarring through my bones. The puck skitters away as the forward goes sprawling, and the crowd erupts. I hear the telltale banging on the glass, fans hammering their approval as I straighten up, satisfaction warming my chest despite the sweat freezing against my back.

“That’s how it’s done,” I mutter, knowing Zayn can hear me as he skates past.

His near-black eyes narrow behind his visor. “Could’ve played the puck instead of the man, Malloy.”

“Could’ve passed when you had the chance, Copeland,” I shoot back, skating toward the bench for a line change. Coach Mitchell gives me an approving nod as I swing over the boards, dropping onto the bench beside Dmitri.

The “Wolf” grunts what passes for acknowledgment from him, his massive shoulders taking up space meant for two men. White platinum hair and eyes the color of an angry glacier, he barely speaks during games, saving his energy for the moments when we need his particular brand of enforcement. And yet, he manages to be more intimidating with a single look than most players are with a body check.

I yank my water bottle from the holder, squirting a stream through my mask’s cage. Sweat stings my eyes as I scan the ice, watching our second line take the faceoff.

“Good hit,” Jax says, sliding onto the bench beside me. Our captain always makes time for the little gestures, the acknowledgments that keep a team together. It’s why nobody questioned when management gave him the C three years ago. At six-six and built like a solid wall of muscle nearly as imposing as Dmitri, he certainly looks the part. But there’s a surprising gentleness in his gray eyes that tempers his more aggressive instincts and makes him solid, both as a team captain and our pack leader.

“Thanks.” I keep my response short, eyes tracking the puck. “Zayn needs to pull his head out of his ass. He had three passing lanes.”

Jax gives me a sidelong look. “He’ll adjust. First game back from injury.”

“Injury, my ass. That ‘pulled groin’ was so he could spend a week with whatever model he’s banging this month.” I know I sound bitter. Don’t care.

The truth is, Zayn Copeland irritates the shit out of me in ways I can’t even fully explain. Maybe it’s his perfectly styled black undercut that somehow looks good even after he removes his helmet. Maybe it’s how he moves on the ice like he’s dancing instead of battling. Or maybe it’s just that everything comes so damn easy to an alpha like him, while I’ve had to claw and scrape for every minute of ice time in my career.

Coach barks out the next line change. I stand, rolling my shoulders, feeling the coil in my muscles. As I step over the boards, my eyes catch on a sign in the crowd held by a little kid, maybe eight years old, with a carefully drawn picture of me. My number 47 is prominent, and the kid’s captured my broad shoulders and the way I hunch slightly forward when I skate. Pretty sure those blue dots and brown scribbles behind my cage are supposed to be my eyes and hair. There’s even a crude rendering of my mythology-themed arm tattoos peeking out from the jersey sleeves, even if it looks more like spaghetti than the kraken on my right bicep.

Not bad, kid. Pretty close, actually.

I make a point to wave in his direction as I glide onto the ice. The image sticks with me as I position myself for the faceoff. That’s how they see me, solid, immovable.

The Brick.

Six-foot-four, two hundred and thirty pounds of muscle built through relentless training. Tattoos that started as one modest band around my bicep at eighteen and now cover both arms in a roadmap of my career, a new addition after every significant milestone.

I’ve earned my place here, beta or not.

The referee drops the puck, and everything else falls away.

Hockey is beautiful in its simplicity. Control the puck, put it in their net, keep it out of yours. The complexity comes in the execution, in the split-second decisions, in knowing your teammates well enough to anticipate their movements.

Which is why it’s so fucking annoying when Zayn cuts across my path again, disrupting the play I’d set up with Jax.

“Stay in your lane, Copeland!” I bark as we reset.

He smirks, skating backward with that effortless grace that makes me want to check him into next week. “Maybe you should keep up, old man.”

The “old man” comment hits a nerve. At twenty-seven, I’m only a year older than him and he knows it, but my body feels ancient some mornings. The toll of being a defensive workhorse, of absorbing hits meant for our scorers, accumulates in ways the fans never see. The ice baths. The cortisone shots. The mornings I have to roll out of bed because my back won’t let me sit up straight.

Then there’s the fact that I don’t have those alpha benefits. Faster muscle regeneration, lightning reflexes. Life on easy mode, at least when it comes to pro athletics.

I push the thought aside as the puck comes my way. A clean pass from Jax, threaded through traffic with the accuracy that’s made him an All-Star. I control it, looking for options, spotting our new left defenseman at the far post signaling for the drop pass.

“Jones, cut right!” I call, feinting toward the boards to draw the defender next to me. Jones doesn’t belong to the pack, but he’s damn good at his job and unlike Zayn, he doesn’t let his alpha ego take point.

Jones follows my lead perfectly, finding open ice just as I slide the puck his way. His shot is quick, but gets denied by the Raptors’ goalie with a glove save that sends the crowd into groans.

“Nice try!” I pat Jones’ helmet as we reset.

The game intensifies as the clock ticks down. Five minutes left, still tied. Every shift matters, every decision crucial. I can feel the familiar burn building in my legs, the sweet agony of pushing past exhaustion. This is when betas like me prove our worth, when the flashy alpha plays lose their luster, and grinding determination becomes the difference.

I’ve spent my career living in that difference.

Three minutes left. The Raptors gain the zone, cycling the puck like hungry jackals. I position myself in the shooting lane, dropping to one knee as their defender winds up from the point. The puck hits me square in the shin pad, a burst of pain that I welcome. Better me than Aidan having to make a save through traffic.

“Good block, Brick!” Coach yells from the bench.

I push to my feet, clearing the rebound toward the neutral zone where Dmitri picks it up. The Wolf accelerates, powerful strides eating up ice as he leads a counter-attack. I follow, jumping into the rush despite my legs screaming in protest.

This is our chance. Raptors caught in a change, scrambling to recover.

Dmitri crosses the blue line, drawing both defenders before sliding a perfect pass to Zayn on the wing. Even I have to admire the beauty of what happens next. Zayn’s hands are liquid magic as he dekes the goalie, pulling the puck to his backhand and lifting it into the top corner.

3-2 Grizzlies.

The arena explodes, and I find myself embracing Zayn in the celebration pile, our rivalry temporarily forgotten in the rush of taking the lead. His face is flushed with triumph, those perfect teeth flashing in a grin that almost makes me forget what an annoying shit he can be.

“Nice finish,” I admit, helmet knocking against his.

“Nice start,” he counters, nodding to Dmitri who made the play happen.

The Wolf acknowledges us with his typical stoicism, pale blue eyes giving nothing away beneath his visor. He might be the most alpha of all of us, not in the peacocking way like Zayn, but in the quiet certainty of his dominance. Nobody fucks with Dmitri, on our team or any other. His presence on the ice changes the entire dynamic of a game.

“Lock it down now,” Jax calls as we skate back for the faceoff. “Two minutes to go.”

The energy shifts immediately. Defense mode activated. I can feel my focus narrowing, blocking out the crowd noise, the scoreboard, everything but the task at hand. This is where I thrive, in the desperate minutes when the other team throws everything they have at us.

My next shift is a blur of blocked shots and cleared rebounds. Every muscle strains as we weather the storm of the Raptors’ six-man attack, their goalie pulled for an extra attacker. Sweat stings my eyes again, but I don’t dare wipe my visor. Can’t take my hand off my stick for even a second.

Fifty seconds left. The puck ricochets off the boards behind our net. I battle for position with the other team’s hulking forward, making use of my lower center of gravity to hold my ground. We’re at war, stick against stick, when I feel it… the slight give in his stance. He’s trying to spin off me, to create space for a centering pass.

Not happening.

I lean into him harder, pinning him against the boards, using every ounce of strength I’ve built through countless hours in the weight room. This is what separates me from the alphas. The willingness to do the unglamorous work, to sacrifice my body on the altar of winning.

“Get off me, beta bitch,” he grunts, loud enough for only me to hear.

The slur ignites something primitive in my chest. I drive my shoulder higher, compressing him against the glass. “Make me, dickwad.”

The whistle blows, faceoff coming. We disengage, but not before he “accidentally” clips me with his elbow. Officials miss it. Typical.

“You okay?” Jax asks as we line up for the faceoff.

I nod, tightening my grip on my stick. “Just another Tuesday in Alphaland, boss.”

The truth is, I’ve heard worse. Much worse. The beta comments started the day I entered the league and never stopped. The league doesn’t know what to do with betas like me, players who don’t fit neatly into their alpha-glorifying narrative.

So I built myself into someone they couldn’t ignore. When they said I was too slow, I trained until my legs could outpace most forwards. When they said I wasn’t tough enough, I became the guy no one wants to meet in the corners. When they questioned my place among the alpha stars, I earned it with blood and broken bones.

The faceoff. Jax wins it clean, and Dmitri clears the puck down the ice. Twenty seconds left.

The Raptors retrieve, mounting one final desperate rush. Their forwards fly through the neutral zone, a coordinated attack designed to overwhelm. I backpedal, angling to force the puck carrier wide. He cuts inside instead, a move I didn’t anticipate.

I pivot to recover, but my edge catches a rut in the ice, a momentary loss of balance that’s all the opening he needs. He’s past me, driving toward the net with speed. Aidan squares up, but he’s alone against a skilled forward with momentum.

No. Not on my watch.

I launch myself in desperate pursuit, legs burning as I close the gap. The forward cocks his stick for the shot. I dive, stick extended in a last-ditch poke check.

My blade catches the puck, disrupting the shot, but the forward’s momentum carries him forward, his knee connecting directly with my temple as I slide beneath him.

White-hot pain explodes behind my eyes. The world tilts sickeningly as I skid across the ice, helmet wrenched sideways from the impact. But it’s the crack of my head against the ice on the way down that turns the world black for a few seconds. Vaguely, I register the final buzzer, the roar of the crowd celebrating our win.

But those sounds come from somewhere far away, muffled behind the high-pitched ringing in my ears. I try to push up onto my knees, but my arms won’t cooperate. Ice pressed against my cheek. Cold. Shouldn’t it feel cold? I can’t tell anymore.

“Darren! Don’t move.” Jax’s voice, urgent. Huge hands on my shoulders, steadying me.

I blink, trying to focus, but everything blurs. Faces swim into view, all familiar, all wearing various shades of worry. Even Zayn.

Shit, I really must be fucked up if that asshole is fretting over me.

“Med team’s coming,” someone says. Aidan, I think. The rookie sounds scared.

I want to tell them I’m fine, but my tongue feels too big for my mouth. The rink spins around me in nauseating circles. Definitely concussed. Not my first, probably won’t be my last. Part of the job description.

“Just... need a minute,” I manage to slur. The words don’t sound right even to my own ears.

That’s when I notice something strange. A scent, threading through the usual smells of sweat and equipment and ice. It’s warm and rich, like woodsmoke. Like the bonfires we used to have after high school games, the whole team gathered around the flames, celebrating or commiserating.

Why am I smelling that now?

“Do you guys... smell that?” I ask, confusion making my voice small. “Like... smoke?”

The team exchanges looks I can’t interpret. Jax leans closer, sniffing subtly, then freezes. His eyes widen, meeting Dmitri’s over my head. The winger’s expression shifts from concern to one I can’t identify.

No, that’s not true. He’s looking at me like I’m a fucking porterhouse steak.

“What the hell?” Zayn mutters, backing up slightly.

Aidan just looks confused.

“Smell what, Brick?” Jax asks carefully, his hand still on my shoulder. But I get the feeling the fucker knows exactly what I’m talking about.

“Bonfire. Woodsmoke.” The words feel thick in my mouth. “S’weird.”

The medical team pushes through the gathered players, dropping to their knees beside me with a clinical casualness that puts me a little more at ease. One shines a penlight in my eyes, making me wince.

“Pupils unequal,” she announces. “Definite concussion. Let’s get him stabilized for transport.”

As they work, securing my neck in a brace, I drift in and out of awareness. The woodsmoke smell isn’t the only one competing for dominance now. There are others, too. Scents I know well, but more intense than they’ve ever been, like someone cranked up a dial. And they’re all growing stronger by the second, wrapping around me like a warm, soft blanket.

Winter and pine. Bourbon. New leather. Vanilla and sugar. All swirling together, forming an irresistible concoction I can’t get enough of, all somehow mingling perfectly with the woodsmoke. Maybe the concussion is messing with more than just my balance.

“It’s coming from him,” I hear Zayn whisper to Dmitri, voice pitched low but not low enough. “That… that scent.”

I don’t like the way he says that. That low, almost reverent tone. That’s not Zayn. That’s sure as fuck not how Zayn talks about anything involving me.

Dmitri grunts something in Russian that sounds like agreement. And he’s still looking at me like he wants to eat me.

The fuck?

They slide me onto a backboard, the movement sending fresh waves of nausea through me. The crowd has gone quiet, that eerie hush that falls when an injury looks serious. I hate being the center of this kind of attention. Hate the weakness.

“You’ll be okay, Brick,” Jax says, skating alongside as they begin moving me off the ice. His voice remains steady, but there’s an undercurrent I can’t place. “We’re not leaving you.”

The way he says that, and the edge in his tone makes me uneasy. Or maybe it’s the way the team is looking at me now, like they’re all seeing something that doesn’t make sense. Or smelling something that doesn’t.

The smell of woodsmoke intensifies as my adrenaline fades, my body registering the full extent of the pain. It reminds me of comfort, of safety, of the pack bonds that have only ever been there in the background, suddenly roaring to life. Intensifying.

“Jax,” I rasp, grabbing his wrist as they lift the backboard and panic shoots through me. “Something’s wrong.”

He meets my gaze, and I see the confirmation I was dreading. He can smell it too. Whatever “it” is. He’s just better about hiding his emotions than the others.

“We’ll figure it out, Brick,” he promises, but there’s shock written across his features. “You just focus on getting better.”

As they carry me toward the tunnel, I catch fragments of urgent conversation behind me.

“...not possible at his age...”

“...what this means for the team...”

And then, just as consciousness begins to slip away, I hear Aidan’s voice, incredulous and carrying clearly across the ice.

“Holy shit, Darren is an omega?”

Chapter

Three

LEXIE

Ispot the waitress approaching with my order and fight the urge to slide down in the booth. The pie, a whole golden-crusted apple pie with a scoop of vanilla ice cream already melting on top, looks even more ridiculous now that it’s actually being placed in front of me.

“Can I get you anything else?” she asks, setting down an extra plate as if anyone might be joining me in this shameful endeavor.

“Just a water refill, thanks.” I manage a smile and try not to think about how she must be judging me. Single woman. Whole pie. Tuesday afternoon. The math isn’t complicated.

The first forkful hits my tongue, cinnamon and butter and just the right amount of tartness from the apples, and I briefly forget to care what anyone thinks. I close my eyes and let the sweetness coat my anxieties.

Jessica is fifteen minutes late, which is right on time for her. My sister operates in her own time zone where punctuality is a loose concept and “I’ll be there in five” means “I haven’t left yet but I’m thinking about it.”

I’m halfway through demolishing the first quadrant of pie when the bell above the door chimes. I don’t need to look up to know it’s her with the clack of sensible heels on tile followed by a dramatic sigh that somehow manages to convey both exhaustion and judgment.

“Oh God, it’s bad.” Jessica slides into the booth across from me, dropping her purse beside her. “I haven’t seen you in a full-pie mental state since the traffic from that magazine feature crashed your entire website.”

I point my fork at her. “I was going to share.”

“No, you weren’t.” She shrugs off her coat, revealing one of those crisp blouses that somehow says both ‘I’m a professional’ and ‘I could be on the cover of a magazine if I wanted to.’ It’s one of the gifts I gave her from my first collection, before I decided to focus on sweaters, since those have always been my bestsellers. “What happened?”

I consider telling her about the email I got this morning. Mark’s pre-announcement of his upcoming mating ceremony with his new pack to everyone on the invitation list. Which, apparently, I’m on for some reason. I consider mentioning the string of one-star reviews from a customer who ordered the wrong size sweater and decided to wage a personal vendetta instead of returning it. I consider bringing up the fact that my apartment feels emptier every time I walk through the door.

“Nothing specific,” I say instead, stabbing at a chunk of apple. “Just... Tuesday.”

Jessica’s eyes narrow in that way that says she knows I’m deflecting but is choosing to let it slide. For now. “Well, scoot over then. If we’re having pie for lunch, at least let me pretend I tried to talk you out of it.”

The waitress returns with a second fork before Jessica even asks, proving that normal people share desserts rather than ordering them as main courses. Jessica takes a bite and makes an appreciative noise.

“Okay, this was actually a solid life choice.”

“I have them occasionally.” I take another bite, feeling the knot in my chest loosen slightly. There’s something about Jessica’s presence that always grounds me, even when she’s driving me crazy.

“So,” she says, in that too-casual tone that immediately puts me on alert. “Have you given any thought to the dating app?”

And there it is. I knew we wouldn’t make it through half a pie without circling back to this. I push a piece of crust around the plate, buying time.

“I looked at it,” I admit. “But I’m not sure there’s anything that would work for me. Marketing materials aside, it’s probably all just the usual. Packs seeking an omega.”

Jessica’s lips curve into a smile that can only be described as Machiavellian. She reaches into her bag and pulls out her tablet. “That’s where you’re wrong. Luckily for you, I’ve done extensive research.”

“Of course you have.” I take another bite, larger this time.

Jessica turns the tablet around and slides it across the table. “Look.”

I peer at the screen, expecting to see the same polished landing page I’d clicked on after our last conversation. Instead, I’m looking at a profile. A group of three betas, all men, with warm smiles and matching sweaters. A little creepy, but… wholesome. And I can respect the sweater game.

“Beta triad looking for a fourth,” Jessica explains, swiping to the next profile before I can process the first. “This one’s interesting. He’s an alpha who lost his scent match and isn’t looking for another, just someone compatible with his lifestyle.”

She swipes again. “Here’s a mixed beta-alpha pair seeking a third who specifically states omega or beta, doesn’t matter.”

Another swipe. “Single beta looking for one-on-one relationship, no pack aspirations.”

Swipe. “Alpha-omega couple looking for a beta housemate with friendship potential, no romantic expectations.”

My fork freezes halfway to my mouth as Jessica keeps scrolling through profile after profile, each one defying my expectations. People seeking connections beyond the traditional alpha-omega pairing, beyond scent matching, beyond everything I’d come to believe was the only option.

“How many of these did you find?” I ask, my voice quieter than I intended.

“Dozens.” Jessica’s expression softens. “Lex, not everyone is looking for the same thing.”

I set my fork down, suddenly less interested in the pie. “You really did your research, didn’t you?”

“Actually...” Jessica draws out the word, and I immediately sense danger. “I may have taken a few additional steps.”

“What does that mean?”

She taps the screen a few more times, then hands me the tablet again. I blink in shock as I stare at a profile I definitely didn’t create, but that’s undeniably my face looking back at me from the screen. A picture Jessica took of me at our table in the audience of a theater play last year.

I have to admit, it’s a good one. My hair is actually down and styled into sleek, reddish-brown waves rather than piled up in its usual messy bun, and I look downright glamorous in a floor-length purple gown that brings out my brown eyes and hugs my curves gracefully. The only problem is, I look like that only two percent of the time. And that’s generous.

“You made me a profile?” The words come out higher than I intend.

“I took the liberty, yes.”

“That is definitely a liberty.” I scan the page, torn between horror and curiosity. The rest of the photos aren’t bad either, mostly shots Jessica has taken over the years at family gatherings. She’s chosen ones where I’m laughing or mid-conversation, looking more alive than I feel most days. “What does it say about me?”

“Just the basics. Small business owner, creative, values independence but seeks meaningful connection. Looking for a relationship with room to grow, open to various configurations.”

“Various configurations?” I narrow my eyes. “Did you just call me a relationship slut?”

Jessica chokes on her water. “I did not! I just kept your options open. The whole point of the app is that it’s not just about scent matching.”

I continue scrolling through my profile, conflicted. On one hand, I’m annoyed at Jessica’s overstepping. On the other, I’m relieved to not have to go through the awkward process of writing about myself. She’s managed to make me sound both reasonable and slightly interesting, which is a feat considering I spent last Saturday night sipping wine and fondling yarn samples.

“So, have you arranged a date for me too?” I ask dryly, handing the tablet back.

Jessica’s lips quirk up. “No, I figured you needed to pull your weight somehow.”

“You’re a pain in the ass, you know that?”

“What are sisters for?” She grins, reclaiming her fork to steal another bite of pie. “Besides, you have to actually talk to people yourself. I just cleared the path.”

I stare at the pie between us, no longer sure if I’m hungry or nauseous. The idea of putting myself out there again, of being vulnerable enough to hope, feels like willingly stepping into traffic after being hit by four consecutive trucks.

Trucks that send you unsolicited announcements about their mating ceremonies.

But those profiles Jessica showed me... they weren’t what I expected. They weren’t all alphas looking for their perfect omega to complete their pack. They were just people. Complicated, specific people with their own histories and desires, looking for something that worked for them, not just what biology or society dictated. I can relate to that.

“I’m not promising anything,” I warn.

“Of course not.” Jessica’s tone is too innocent.

“And if I get my heart stomped on again, I’m moving in with you and Luke and becoming a spinster. I already have the considerable yarn collection.”

“We’ll clear out the guest room.” She says it like she means it, which only makes me love her more despite my irritation.

I take a deep breath and release it slowly. “I’ll look tonight. That’s all I can promise.”

Jessica beams like I’ve just announced I’m running for president. “That’s all I’m asking.”

“You’re asking for way more than that, and we both know it.”

“True.” She doesn’t even try to deny it. “But we’re starting small.”

We fall into easier conversation after that, discussing her kids’ latest school adventures and my upcoming craft fair booth. By the time we’ve demolished most of the pie, I’m feeling almost optimistic, or at least less pessimistic, which might be as good as it gets for me these days.

As Jessica pays the bill at her insistence, I can’t help but wonder what it would be like to find someone, or someones, who might actually stay. Someone who sees me as more than a placeholder until something better comes along.

It’s probably a pipe dream. Four failed relationships don’t exactly suggest I’m headed for a happily-ever-after. But as Jessica hugs me goodbye outside the café, I find myself thinking about those profiles, about all those different people seeking connections that don’t fit the mold.

Maybe there’s room for the unexpected. A future that doesn’t end with me packing boxes and staring at bare walls.

Or maybe I’m just riding a sugar high from too much pie.

Either way, I guess I’ll be logging into Beyond Bonds tonight.

Chapter

Four

JAX

Hospital waiting rooms are built for misery. The stale air, the uncomfortable chairs, the fluorescent lights that make everyone look half-dead. It’s all designed to make time crawl. We’ve been here for four hours, and it feels like forty.

I stand with my back against the wall, arms crossed, watching my teammates—my pack—cycle through various stages of anxiety. Aidan paces, his lanky frame vibrating with nervous energy. Every few minutes, he runs his hand through his light brown hair, messing up the dyed blue streak that matches our team colors. Dmitri sits motionless in a corner chair, his massive frame making the furniture look child-sized, pale blue eyes fixed on the middle distance. Only the occasional twitch of his jaw betrays his concern.

Zayn’s the worst of us, somehow taking up more space than even Dmitri despite his leaner build. He alternates between scrolling through his phone and launching into theories about what’s happening with Darren. He hasn’t stopped moving since we arrived, like a shark that will die if it stays still or shuts up for two seconds.

“This is bullshit,” Zayn mutters, loud enough for all of us to hear. “Four fucking hours and they can’t tell us anything?”

I don’t respond. Leadership isn’t always about having answers. Sometimes it’s about knowing when to shut up and let people process. And right now, we’re all processing the impossible.

The scent lingers in my nostrils hours later. Woodsmoke, rich and earthy. Not light and sweet like most omegas, but unmistakable all the same. I remember the moment on the ice when I leaned in close to Darren, expecting the neutral beta scent I’ve known for years. Instead, I got hit with that warm woodsmoke aroma that triggered something primitive in my brain. Alpha recognizing omega.

My omega.

Impossible, but undeniable.

We’re all scent matched. Even Darren. I knew he belonged to our pack from the moment we met, but it’s always been… different. Subtler.

Now…

“You all smelled it too, right?” Zayn finally says what we’ve been dancing around. “That wasn’t just some weird concussion hallucination?”

Dmitri’s massive shoulders tense. “You’d have to be the one with the concussion to have a hallucination, bratan. But it makes no sense.”

“Makes perfect sense,” Zayn counters, dropping into the chair beside the winger. “Explains why he’s such an asshole sometimes. Repressed omega tendencies.”

Dmitri’s eyes narrow. “You are not funny.”

“Who’s laughing? I’m dead serious.”

“He cannot be an omega,” Dmitri says with the absolute certainty that makes him so intimidating on the ice. Even if he knows as well as the rest of us do that somehow, the impossible has happened. Knowing doesn’t make it any easier to process, though. “Darren is a beta. He’s always been a beta. You don’t just present at twenty-seven.”

“Well something fucking changed,” Zayn snaps. “You think I’m imagining what I smelled? We all noticed it.”

I push off from the wall. This conversation isn’t helping anyone, least of all Darren, who’s behind those doors being poked and prodded and God knows what else.

“It doesn’t matter right now,” I say, my voice cutting through their argument. “We don’t have all the facts. What we know is our teammate took a serious hit protecting our net, and he’s hurt. Everything else is secondary.”

They both look at me, alpha programming responding to the authority in my tone. Even Zayn, who challenges me at every turn, backs down slightly.

“Jax is right,” Aidan chimes in, his younger voice breaking the awkward tension in the room. “My cousin got a concussion last year and smelled weird for like a week after. Could be temporary.”

I don’t believe that for a second, but I nod gratefully at the kid. At twenty-two, Aidan’s seven years my junior, but he’s got good instincts. Knows how to smooth things over, and in this pack, that makes him a godsend.

The door to the examination area swings open, and we all straighten as a doctor approaches. She’s middle-aged with silver streaking her dark hair, wearing the slightly harried expression of someone who’s been on shift too long. Her eyes sweep across our group, recognition flickering briefly.

“You’re here for Darren Malloy?” she asks, though she has to know who we are. The Grizzlies practice jerseys we’re still wearing aren’t exactly subtle. Neither is the streak of Darren’s blood on my sleeve from when I was holding him.

“Yes,” I step forward. “How is he?”

“Are you family?” she asks, clipboard clutched to her chest like a shield.

“Pack,” I answer without hesitation. “I’m Jax Lawson, team captain.” I pull out my ID, which shows our pack affiliation, Pack Lawson. The same one listed in Darren’s records.

She examines it briefly, then nods. “I’m Dr. Casell. First of all, let me reassure you that Mr. Malloy is stable. The concussion is severe but not life-threatening. We’ve done a full workup, including blood tests and a CT scan, and...” She pauses, choosing her next words carefully. “There have been some unusual developments.”

“He’s an omega,” Zayn says bluntly.

An alpha’s scent can pick up more than any scan. At least when it comes to that.

Dr. Casell’s eyebrows rise slightly. “Yes. As unconventional as it is, Mr. Malloy appears to have presented as an omega. We suspect the severe head trauma may have triggered a latent presentation.”

“That’s not possible,” Dmitri rumbles. “He’s not some twenty-year-old kid.”

“It’s rare,” Dr. Casell corrects, “but not unprecedented. There have been documented cases of late presentations following significant physical trauma or extreme psychological stress.” She glances at her clipboard. “Sometimes all of the above. Has Mr. Malloy experienced any major life changes or stressors recently?”

I think about the last few months, the trade rumors that circled Darren during the off-season, the new contract negotiations that nearly fell through, his ongoing rivalry with Zayn. Nothing out of the ordinary for a professional athlete, but cumulative stress is still stress.

“Nothing unusual for our line of work,” I answer diplomatically.

“How is this even possible?” Aidan asks, his light freckles standing out against his paler-than-usual skin. “Everyone in Darren’s family is a beta, right?”

“Darren was adopted,” I say, the words leaving my mouth before I remember it’s not common knowledge. Not even to our newest pack member. Darren mentioned it once, drunk after a playoff elimination two years ago. “He never knew his biological parents, only that his mother was a beta. No information about his father.”

Dr. Casell nods. “That would explain it. An alpha-beta pairing can, in extremely rare cases, produce an omega or an alpha. These cases often present late, and physical trauma can be a triggering factor.” She tucks her clipboard under her arm. “For what it’s worth, the tests are conclusive. Mr. Malloy’s hormonal profile shows classic omega markers, albeit at early stages.”

Aidan steps forward, worry etched across his face. “But he’s going to be okay, right? I mean, aside from the... omega thing.”

A flicker of sympathy crosses Dr. Casell’s face. “The concussion will heal with proper rest. As for his status change… physically, he’ll adapt. His body will go through changes as his hormonal system stabilizes. His first heat could arrive within weeks or months.”

Heat. The word goes off like a bomb. I’ve been around enough omegas to know what that means for Darren. Vulnerability, need, biological imperatives no amount of suppressants can fully control. The thought of Darren Malloy, the man who once played through a broken rib without telling anyone, experiencing that kind of vulnerability is almost impossible to imagine.

“Considering his new status,” Dr. Casell continues, her tone carefully neutral, “his continued career in the NHL would be inadvisable at best. There are significant health risks for omegas in contact sports, even males, particularly when it⁠—”

“We’re taking this one step at a time,” I cut in, bristling at the way she’s already writing Darren’s career obituary. “Can we see him?”

Dr. Casell studies me for a moment, then nods. “Of course. He’s awake, but keep in mind he’s still processing the concussion. We thought it would be best for people he knows to break the news about the designation without a bunch of medical professionals crowding him, but it may take him some time to adjust to this new reality.”

On the one hand, I’m glad we get to break the news to him. On the other… holy shit, we have to break the news that Darren is an omega.

To Darren.

This is not going to go well.

She leads us down a short hallway to a private room, pausing at the door. “Try not to overwhelm him,” she adds before pushing it open.

Darren looks smaller somehow, propped up in the hospital bed with monitors beeping steadily beside him. The bruise spreading across his temple has darkened to an ugly purple, and a bandage covers the gash where his helmet strap cut into his chin.

He looks up when we come in, his eyes widening as they drift over each of us.

“Darren?” Aidan asks warily, moving closer to the bed like Darren might shatter if he moves too quickly. “Do you remember us?”

Darren blinks at him. “Who… who are you people?”

A look of panic flashes across Aidan’s face, and he exchanges a look with the others, who clearly haven’t picked up on his telltale sarcasm.

“You don’t remember?” Zayn asks, an edge in his tone anyone else might mistake for anger, but I can tell he’s as worried as the rest of us. He might be an asshole on and off the ice, but he’s still an alpha. He still cares for his pack.

“It’s kind of fuzzy,” Darren says, rubbing his head, before he fixes his attention on Zayn and squints. “But you seem really familiar.”

“Oh, yeah?” Zayn’s voice gets rougher as Dmitri and Aidan look increasingly agitated. “How so?”

“I can’t place it,” Darren says with a troubled grimace. “It’s like… like something in the back of my mind is telling me…” he trails off as Zayn leans in close, hanging on his every word. Finally, Darren’s eyes lock on his and he shifts to his usual deadpan delivery as he adds, “that you’re a giant fucking douchebag.”

Zayn’s expression falls flat, and he flips Darren off with a slew of curses.

Dmitri scowls, but Aidan howls a laugh as if he wasn’t just freaking out. “Nice one! Zayn, you should have seen your face.”

“Fuck off, rookie,” Zayn growls.

Darren rolls his eyes. “About fucking time,” he growls, voice rougher than usual. “They won’t tell me shit except that I have a concussion, which… no shit. Been there, done that.”

Relief floods through me. This is the Darren I know. Irritable, impatient, already chafing at the restrictions of medical care. He had even me going for a second there. But beneath his usual scent, that woodsmoke aroma lingers, stronger now in the confined space of the hospital room.

“How are you feeling?” I ask, moving to stand at the foot of his bed.

“Like I got kneed in the head by a freight train,” he replies with a grimace that might be an attempt at a smile. “But it’s just a knock. I’ll be back in shape by next game.”

Zayn snorts, leaning against the wall with forced casualness. Dmitri shoots him a warning look.

“What?” Darren’s eyes narrow, darting between us. “What’s with the funeral faces? Did we lose the fucking game or something?”

“We won,” Aidan pipes up. “Your block saved the game. It was awesome.”

Darren’s shoulders relax slightly. “Well, at least there’s that.” He shifts in the bed, wincing as the movement jostles his head. “So when can I get out of here? These beds are shit, and it smells like antiseptic.”

The awkwardness in the room thickens. Darren’s enhanced sense of smell is already working, even if he doesn’t realize it yet. Before, he would have barely noticed the hospital scents.

“The doctor says you need observation,” I say carefully. “Concussion protocol.”

“Bullshit. I’ve had worse.” He starts pushing himself up to sitting, grimacing through the pain. “Just need some rest in my own bed.”

No one speaks. The silence stretches, uncomfortable and loaded. I search for the right words, the captain’s speech that will make this easier, but they won’t come.

“Jesus, what?” Darren snaps, looking at each of us in turn. “You’re all acting weird as hell.”

“You’re a fucking omega, dude,” Zayn blurts out.

I close my eyes briefly. Of all the ways to break the news, trust Zayn to choose the blunt force approach.

Darren stares at Zayn for a long moment, then barks out a laugh that makes him wince in pain. “Very funny. Concussion jokes. Classy.”

“It’s not a joke,” I say quietly. “The doctors ran tests. Your scent changed on the ice. We all noticed it.”

Darren’s face goes through a rapid sequence of emotions. Disbelief, confusion, anger. “That’s bullshit,” he says flatly, finally settling on denial. “I’m a beta. Always have been.”

“Apparently not,” Zayn says, earning another glare from Dmitri.

“The doctor says the head trauma might have triggered a latent presentation,” I explain, keeping my voice steady. “It’s rare but⁠—“

“It’s fucking impossible is what it is,” Darren cuts me off, his heart monitor beeping faster. “I’m twenty-seven years old. I’m not some teenager hitting puberty.” His hands clench into fists in the blanket. “This is some kind of mistake.”

“No mistake,” Dmitri says, his deep voice gentle in a way I’ve rarely heard. “We all smell it. Woodsmoke.”

Even he’s come to terms with it. But Darren is going to be another matter entirely.

Fear appears on Darren’s face, but it’s quickly transformed into anger. “So I smell different, so fucking what? That doesn’t make me an omega. Maybe it’s a side effect of the concussion, or the drugs they’ve got me on.”

“The blood tests confirmed it,” Dmitri adds simply.

Darren goes still, processing this. The monitor beside him shows his heart rate climbing steadily. “No,” he says finally, yanking the IV from his arm with a wince. “This is bullshit. I’m getting out of here.”

Aidan steps forward, hands raised placatingly. “Darren, you need to rest. The doctor said⁠—”

“I don’t give a fuck what the doctor said!” Darren swings his legs over the side of the bed, the movement nearly toppling him as he underestimates his own weakness. “I’m not an omega. I can’t be. Do you know what that would mean? My career, my whole fucking life⁠—“

He tries to stand and immediately sways, grabbing the bed rail for support. Blood trickles down his arm where he ripped out the IV. The heart monitor wails as the sensors lose contact.

“Darren, stop,” I say firmly, moving toward him. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”

“Back off, Jax,” he warns, voice low and dangerous despite his obvious weakness. “I’m fine.”

But he’s not fine. His face has gone pale, and he’s swaying on his feet. The sudden movement after hours of lying down has left him dizzy, vulnerable to further injury if he falls.

“You need to get back in bed,” I say, stepping closer.

“I said back off!” He pushes away from the bed, stumbling toward the door. His legs give out halfway there, and he starts to fall.

Instinct takes over. “STOP!” I bark, my alpha voice cutting through the room with enough force to make even Zayn flinch.

Darren freezes mid-stumble, his body responding to the command before his brain can process it. He drops to his knees, a textbook omega response to an alpha command that leaves us all shocked into silence.

We all freeze. Then awareness gradually floods back into Darren’s eyes, replacing shock with something far more dangerous. His head turns slowly toward me, blood from his arm dripping onto the linoleum floor, face twisting into an expression I’ve never seen directed at me before.

Pure, unadulterated rage.

Oh shit.

Chapter

Five

DARREN

The rage burns like the surface of the fucking sun inside me, an inferno consuming every rational thought. I’m on my knees—on my fucking knees—because Jax barked an order at me. And my body just... obeyed. Like I’m some kind of pet.

No. No fucking way.

I stare at the droplets of blood marking the floor beneath me, watching them spread into tiny crimson pools. Each one a sobering reminder of what I’m losing with every second I stay in this goddamn hospital room.

My career. My identity. Everything I’ve fought for.

“Darren,” Jax says, his voice careful now, stripped of that commanding tone. “You need to stay calm.”

Calm? My heart hammers against my ribs like it’s trying to escape. I close my eyes, but that only makes it worse. Behind my eyelids, fragmented memories surface. Medical staff hovering over me earlier, speaking in hushed tones.

“Hormone levels rising rapidly...”

“Late presentation, very unusual...”

“We’ll need to register his status change...”

I’d thought it was a dream, a concussion-induced hallucination. But the words circle back now with terrible clarity.

“Get away from me,” I growl, the sound barely human in my own ears.

None of them move. They’re all watching me like I’m a bomb about to detonate. And they’re right.

The scents… Gods, the scents. How did I never notice before? Jax smells like bourbon, rich and warm. Dmitri’s scent is sharp, like winter air and pine. Zayn’s leather scent curls around the edges of my awareness, more appealing than it has any fucking right to be considering how much I hate him. If there was any logic to the world, he’d smell like hair gel and too much testosterone. And Aidan smells like vanilla and sugar, like a fucking bakery, but the rookie’s scent makes my mouth water in a way even my favorite desserts never have and that’s the most disturbing part of all.

And all of it mixes with the woodsmoke they claim is coming from me.

So that wasn’t just a hallucination. At least, not one that’s going away anytime soon.

I guess I should count my blessings I don’t smell like a fucking rose.

“This can’t be happening,” I mutter, more to myself than them.

“It is happening,” Zayn says, because of course he can’t keep his fucking mouth shut. “And throwing a tantrum won’t change it.”

“You’re not helping right now,” Jax growls, always the leader. The peacemaker.

Usually, it’s not a job I envy him. Right now, his reasonable bullshit is pissing me off even more than Zayn is. Especially considering he’s the one who used his fucking bark.

On me.

Now that the hazy cloud the bark formed in my head has dissipated, leaving only cold realization in its wake, something snaps inside me.

I lunge from my knees, ignoring the way my vision swims and my head screams in protest. My shoulder connects with Jax’s midsection, driving him back against the wall with enough force to rattle the medical charts hanging there. His breath leaves him in a rush, eyes widening in surprise.

“Darren!” Aidan yelps somewhere behind me, but I’m locked onto Jax.

“Fight back,” I snarl, pinning him to the wall, forearm pressed against his chest. “Fucking fight back so I can knock your ass out!”

But Jax doesn’t. His gray eyes hold mine, calm and infuriatingly steady despite the situation. His hands come up, but only to stabilize himself, not to strike at me.

“I’m not going to fight you,” he says quietly.

The control in his voice makes my blood boil hotter. He’s treating me like I’m made of glass already. Like I’m some tiny little yappy dog that needs to be handled with care. A fucking omega.

“Don’t you dare,” I hiss, grabbing the front of his jersey. “Don’t you fucking dare start handling me with kid gloves.”

I draw back my fist and swing. Jax turns his head at the last moment, taking the blow on his cheek instead of his jaw. It’s a glancing hit, nowhere near what I’m capable of, but it splits his skin all the same. A trickle of blood appears at the corner of his mouth.

It’s not enough to provoke him. He still doesn’t fight back.

“Knock it off, Darren!” Zayn shouts, moving to intervene. Usually, he’s the one we’re pulling off of some asshole on the ice. Occasionally, that asshole is me.

I release Jax with one hand, pivoting to shove Zayn away. He stumbles back, surprise flashing across his features. The movement makes my head spin, but rage keeps me upright.

“Stay out of this,” I warn Zayn.

“Or what?” He steps closer, defiant as ever. “You’ll use your little omega whine on me?”

I swing at him next, a wild haymaker that connects with his shoulder as he tries to dodge. It’s far more satisfying than punching Jax. The impact sends pain shooting up my arm, a reminder that I’m injured, weak, and apparently about to shift into a whole new biology I never asked for.

Strong arms suddenly lock around me from behind. Dmitri, using his considerable size advantage to restrain me. I struggle against him, but it’s like fighting a brick wall.

“Let me go!” I thrash in his grip.

“Nyet, my friend,” Dmitri’s voice rumbles against my back. “Not until you calm down.”

Aidan appears in front of me, hands raised placatingly, freckles standing out sharply against his pale skin. “Darren, please. The nurses will hear. They’ll sedate you.”

Sedate me. Like an animal. Is this what my life is going to be now? Restrained, medicated, handled?

“They wouldn’t dare,” I spit, but I stop struggling quite so hard. The mention of sedation conjures images of being even more powerless than I already feel, and that thought is unbearable.

My chest heaves with exertion, each breath sending stabs of pain through my skull. The room tilts and spins around me. Dark spots dance at the edges of my vision. I’m pushing myself too hard. The concussion combined with the adrenaline crash is taking its toll.

“That’s it,” Aidan says encouragingly. “Just breathe.”

I glare at him. “Don’t patronize me, rookie.”

I don’t want to hit him, but I’ll put the fucker in a headlock just to remind him of his place if I have to.

“I’m not,” he insists, those green eyes wide and earnest. “I’m trying to help.”

“Help? There’s no fucking help for this.” I laugh, the sound hollow and bitter. “What am I supposed to do now? Wait around for my first heat? Let the league push me into retirement? Become somebody’s⁠—“

I can’t even say the word. The thought of being claimed, marked, owned. It makes me want to vomit.

“You don’t know what will happen,” Aidan says softly. “Maybe, uh… maybe because it took so long for you to present, there’s a way to reverse it.”

I stare at him, wanting desperately to believe the kid’s words. For a fleeting moment, hope flickers. Maybe this is temporary, a fluke that can be fixed. But deep down, beneath the denial and the rage, I know better.

I’ve never heard of anyone un-presenting. This is my new reality. No unbaking the shit cake once it’s out of the oven.

“Let him go, Dmitri,” Jax says, wiping blood from his mouth with the back of his hand.

Dmitri hesitates. “You sure about that, Cap? He still seems to want to rearrange your face.”

“I know,” Jax meets my eyes steadily. “But restraining him isn’t helping.”

Slowly, Dmitri releases his hold. I step away immediately, putting distance between myself and all of them, backing up until I feel the edge of the hospital bed against my legs.

The room falls silent except for our collective breathing. I look at each of them in turn. My teammates, my pack. People I’ve trusted with my life on the ice for years. Now they’re looking at me like I’m a stranger.

Or worse, like I’m suddenly fragile.

And I didn’t miss the way they looked at me when they first caught my scent. Like I was the last fucking cupcake in the bakery window and they’d all been cutting for weeks.

Zayn’s dark eyes study me with an intensity that makes my skin crawl. There’s a new element in his gaze, one I can’t name but instantly hate. It’s not quite pity, not quite curiosity, but equally unwelcome.

“Stop looking at me like that,” I snap at him.

Zayn doesn’t flinch. “Like what?”

“Like I’m different.” My voice cracks on the last word, betraying me.

“You are different,” he says bluntly.

I lunge forward again, but this time, it’s Aidan who steps between us. “He didn’t mean it like that,” the kid says quickly. “Right, Zayn?”

Zayn shrugs, which only fuels my anger. But I’m suddenly too exhausted to act on it. The adrenaline is fading, leaving me hollowed out and aching everywhere. My head throbs in time with my heartbeat. The blood from my arm has slowed to a lazy trickle, making my skin itch where it dries.

And the scents. Gods, they’re overwhelming now. Each of them distinct yet somehow harmonized, like they belong together. Like we belong together. The thought freaks me out in ways I can’t even begin to articulate.

“I want you all to leave,” I say, the words dropping into the tense silence like stones on a lake.

They exchange glances, a silent pack communication that, for the first time, leaves me feeling like an outsider. Even more than when I was just a beta.

“Darren,” Jax begins, “I don’t think you should be alone right now.”

“I don’t care what you think.” I sink onto the edge of the bed, suddenly too weak to keep standing. “Get out. All of you.”

None of them move. Jax’s eyes, those piercing gray eyes that can silence a locker room with a single look, fill with concern.

“Now!” I roar, the effort sending fresh pain lancing through my skull.

Aidan flinches. Dmitri’s massive frame tenses. Even Zayn looks taken aback by the force of my outburst.

“Okay,” Jax says calmly, holding up his hands like I’m a wild horse he’s trying to tame. “We’ll give you space. But we’re not going far.”

“Wherever you go, make it away from me,” I mutter, refusing to meet his eyes.

They file out slowly. Zayn first, then Aidan with a last worried glance over his shoulder. Dmitri follows last, his bulk making the room feel suddenly larger with his absence.

Jax lingers at the door. “This doesn’t change who you are to us,” he says quietly.

I laugh, the sound scraped raw from my throat. “It changes everything, and you know it.”

He doesn’t argue. After a moment, he steps into the hallway, pulling the door closed behind him.

When I’m finally alone, I cover my face with my hands. My body shakes with emotions I can’t even name. Grief, maybe. Rage, definitely. Fear, undeniably. The bandage on my head feels too tight, the hospital gown thin and exposing.

I lift my head, catching my reflection in the darkened window across the room. Same stubbled jaw. Same blue eyes. Same short brown hair mussed from the game and the struggle. I still look like me. But according to everyone else, I’m not me anymore.

The scents linger even with them gone. Bourbon, winter, leather, vanilla. And underneath it all, woodsmoke. My scent. An omega’s scent.

I grab the nearest object, a glass water pitcher, and hurl it against the wall. It shatters satisfyingly, water splattering across the floor. But the brief relief fades almost instantly, leaving me emptier than before.

Twenty-seven years as a beta. Seven seasons in the NHL. Three All-Star selections. An identity built on being the toughest, most dependable defenseman in the league. All of it ripped away by one hit, one concussion, one biological twist of fate I never saw coming.

I curl forward, pressing my forehead against my knees, trying to block out everything. The scents, the memories, the terrible certainty that nothing will ever be the same again.

I’m an omega.

And there’s no coming back from this.

Chapter

Six

LEXIE

Istare at my reflection in the full-length mirror propped against my bedroom wall, tilting my head as if a different angle might transform me into someone else. Someone who doesn't look like she's about to attend a funeral rather than a date with two supposedly compatible men.

"This is a mistake," I tell my reflection. She silently agrees.

The black dress hugs my curves in all the right places, but its severe neckline and knee-length hem scream "business meeting" more than "take me home tonight." I grab a chunky silver necklace from my dresser, hoping it might inject some personality into the outfit. The jewelry lands heavily against my collar bone, looking about as natural as Christmas lights on a cactus.

I yank it off and toss it onto the growing pile of rejected accessories. My phone buzzes from somewhere beneath the mountain of clothes on my bed, all discarded options that failed to strike the impossible balance between "I made an effort" and "I didn't try too hard because I don't actually care."

Jessica's name flashes on the screen. Perfect timing, as always.

"What?" I answer, wedging the phone between my ear and shoulder as I dig through my closet for the fourth time.

"Wow, so pleasant," Jessica chirps, undeterred by my greeting. "Just checking you haven't bailed on your hot date yet."

"I still have an hour before I need to leave." I pull out a burgundy sweater dress that I'd forgotten about, considering its possibilities. "Plenty of time to develop a sudden case of food poisoning."

"Don't you dare." Jessica's voice sharpens. "What are you planning to wear? Please don't say one of your sweaters."

"What's wrong with my sweaters?" I ask, dropping the burgundy dress onto the bed. Good thing she can't see through the phone, even if I sometimes wonder.

"Nothing!" Jessica says quickly. Too quickly. "They're just not exactly first date material unless you're going to pick pumpkins at a pumpkin patch."

I roll my eyes. "I have sweaters that aren't... festive."

I glance at the stack of merchandise across my living room, where a particularly festive pumpkin-themed sweater catches my eye. It has little embroidered pumpkins with different expressions along the hem. The smiley one near the cuff practically winks at me.

She knows me too well.

Jessica snorts. "No wool. And no embroidered critters."

I drop the mini dress with little cats embroidered on the collar like it's made of lava. Shit.

I sigh, flopping onto the one clear corner of my bed. "I'll have you know people pay good money for my designs. You're wearing one right now, aren't you?"

"Yes, and it's perfect for sitting on my couch with a glass of wine and my husband. Not for meeting two potential matches at Martin's."

My stomach drops. "Martin's? Nobody said anything about Martin's."

"Oh." Jessica's voice takes on that faux-innocent tone she uses when she's been caught. "Did I forget to mention that? Andrew—the doctor—messaged me to change the reservation. Said the other place was too noisy for conversation."

"Andrew messaged you?"

"Through the app! I made the account, remember?"

I pinch the bridge of my nose. "So you've been chatting with my dates behind my back?"

"Not chatting. Just... facilitating. And aren't you glad? Martin's is a much nicer restaurant. We've been trying to get reservations for months, you lucky dog, you."

I glance at the black dress I'd selected for the cozy little Italian bistro they'd originally suggested. Martin's requires an entirely different level of effort.

"I'm going to look underdressed now."

"Wear your blue dress," Jessica suggests immediately. "The one with the⁠—"

"Rhinestone collar?" I finish for her, already moving to the back of my closet where the dress hangs in its dry cleaning bag. I'd bought it for Jessica's anniversary party last year and have worn it exactly once. It's beautiful but impractical. The kind of dress that requires specific undergarments and careful movement to avoid wardrobe malfunctions that could end in public indecency charges.

"Yes! It's perfect. You look amazing in it."

I pull it out, eyeing the deep blue fabric. It is a knockout dress, with a neckline that showcases my collar bones and a hemline that stops mid-thigh. "Fine. I'll wear the blue dress."

Jessica makes a triumphant sound. "Send me a picture when you're done."

"Will you let me get ready if I say yes?"

"Absolutely. And I want all the details later. Preferably tomorrow morning," she adds with loaded meaning.

"You're impossible," I say, hanging up before she can respond.

I toss the phone onto my bed and stare at the blue dress. I haven't even met these men yet, and already this date feels like it's spinning out of my control.

Andrew, the doctor as Jess reminded me, seemed nice enough in his profile. Tall, with salt-and-pepper hair and a wry smile that suggested he didn't take himself too seriously despite his impressive credentials. Brandon, the insurance salesman, was a few years younger, with a boyish charm and enthusiasm that came through even in text messages. Both betas, both seemingly normal, well-adjusted men.

No alphas, no packs—just two men looking for connection outside the traditional dynamics. Exactly what I claimed to want.

So why does my stomach feel like I've swallowed a fistful of pebbles?

I slip into the blue dress, readjusting straps and smoothing fabric. The fabric makes my curves look deadly. Jessica was right, it's a good choice.

To be honest, I wouldn't really mind getting some action tonight. My needs haven't magically disappeared just because I've sworn off relationships. The magic wand in my bedside drawer does its job, but it doesn't laugh at my jokes or run its fingers through my hair or press its lips against the sensitive spot where my neck meets my shoulder.

I may not be an omega who goes into heat, but I still have needs. Needs that aren't going away anytime soon unless I actually leave my front door.

I yank my thoughts away from that dangerous path. This is just a first date. It's two first dates, technically. A getting-to-know-you dinner with two strangers who might become friends or more or nothing at all.

No expectations. No pressure.

I repeat this mantra as I finish my makeup, opting for smoky eyes and nude lips. After a moment's hesitation, I leave my hair down, the reddish-brown waves falling past my shoulders in a way that makes me look softer, more approachable.

My reflection stares back at me, transformed from funeral attendee to someone who might actually be looking forward to a night out. I look good. Desirable, even.

Not that it matters. History suggests that nothing will come of this except another story for Jessica's entertainment. But maybe the universe owes me one decent night out with normal people who want normal things, even if they're not my happily ever after.

I grab my purse, check that I have everything I need, and head for the door. As I pass the stack of merchandise, I pat the pumpkin sweater affectionately.

"Next time, buddy."

Martin's glows with understated elegance. The place has soft lighting, crisp white tablecloths, and waiters who move like they're floating on air. I give my name to the host, who checks his tablet and nods like they've been expecting me.

"Your party is already seated, Ms. Goodwin. Right this way."

I follow him through the dining room, aware of eyes tracking my progress. I didn't overdo it with the dress, but I'm definitely not underdressed either. Score for me.

I spot them before we reach the table. Andrew's silver-streaked hair catches the light as he gestures to emphasize whatever point he's making. Brandon leans forward, nodding, his back to me as I approach. They look like they're already deep in conversation, comfortable with each other in a way that suggests they get along well. I guess their careers are compatible enough.

Andrew notices me first, his face brightening as he stands. "Lexie! Wonderful to meet you in person."

Brandon turns, rising as well, his smile wide and genuine. "Wow. You look amazing."

They're both taller than I expected, both even better looking in person than in their photos. Andrew has the distinguished appeal of a man who's matured like a fine wine, with laugh lines around keen gray eyes. Brandon is more youthfully handsome, with perfect teeth and the kind of jawline that belongs in commercials.

"Sorry I'm a few minutes late," I say, accepting the seat that Brandon pulls out for me. "Traffic was worse than I expected."

"Worth the wait," Andrew says, his voice warm as he retakes his seat.

The waiter materializes with water and wine menus. We make small talk about the restaurant while considering our options. Andrew suggests a bottle of pinot noir that Brandon enthusiastically endorses.

"So," Brandon says once our wine has been poured and our orders taken, "we were just saying how refreshing your profile was."

I take a sip of wine to hide my surprise. "Refreshing how?"

"Direct," Andrew supplies. "No games, no unrealistic expectations. You'd be surprised how rare that is."

I think of Jessica crafting my profile and wonder what exactly she wrote that these two found so appealing. "I believe in being upfront about what I want."

"And what do you want, Lexie?" Brandon leans forward slightly, brown eyes focused on mine with an intensity that sends a pleasant shiver down my spine.

I take another sip of wine. "Honestly? Something simple. Connection without complications."

Andrew nods approvingly. "Precisely what we're looking for as well."

"We've both done the traditional route," Brandon adds. "Didn't work out."

"I know that feeling," I say, relaxing a fraction. Maybe this won't be a disaster after all.

The conversation flows easily after that. We discover shared tastes in music, debates about movies, and a mutual disdain for reality television. Andrew tells stories from his residency days that have me laughing despite myself. Brandon reveals he was almost an Olympic swimmer before an injury derailed his plans.

They're charming, attentive, and genuinely interesting. When our entrees arrive, I'm almost disappointed that we have to pause our conversation to eat. Then I taste the food.

"This is delicious," I say after sampling my seafood risotto.

"Martin's never disappoints," Andrew agrees, cutting into his steak. "Though I hear the chef is considering a move to Chicago next year."

"Speaking of business changes," Brandon says, setting down his fork, "what exactly do you do, Lexie? Your profile mentioned a small business?"

"I design and sell clothing," I explain, warming to my favorite topic. "Mostly sweaters and accessories. It's a one-woman operation at the moment, but I'm hoping to hire help soon."

“Fascinating.” Brandon's eyes light up. "So you work from home?"

"My apartment doubles as my studio," I nod. "Not ideal, but it keeps overhead low until I can justify the expense of a separate workspace."

"Do you have insurance?" The question comes abruptly from Brandon, his tone shifting subtly.

I blink. "Insurance?"

"For your business," he clarifies, reaching for his wine. "Home-based businesses often fall into a coverage gap. Your renter's policy likely excludes business activities."

My fork pauses halfway to my mouth. "I haven't really thought about it."

"You absolutely should," Brandon says, his enthusiasm growing. "Especially with inventory in your living space. One fire, one burst pipe, and you could lose everything."

Andrew clears his throat. "Perhaps we could discuss something more⁠—"

"No, this is important," Brandon insists, turning back to me. "As it happens, my firm specializes in small business coverage. We could put together a package that would protect both your inventory and your liability exposure."

The wine turns sour in my mouth as realization dawns. "Are you... trying to sell me insurance? Right now? On our date?"

Brandon's smile doesn't falter. "I'm just offering to help protect something you've obviously worked hard to build."

"Brandon," Andrew says, his voice carrying a plea that suggests this isn't the first time. But it might be the first time someone puts a pasta fork through his partner's hand.

"What? It's a genuine concern." Brandon reaches down beside his chair and produces a slim leather portfolio that I hadn't noticed before. "I actually brought some materials that outline our small business packages."

He opens the portfolio and slides out glossy brochures, spreading them across the table between our wine glasses and dinner plates. The company logo gleams under the restaurant lighting, mocking me.

"These premiums are extremely competitive," Brandon continues, completely oblivious to my stunned expression. "And given your specific situation of operating from a residential space, I'd recommend our comprehensive package that includes⁠—"

"Excuse me," I cut him off, placing my napkin beside my half-eaten risotto. "I need to use the restroom."

I don't wait for a response, just stand and walk away from the table, my face burning with embarrassment and anger. This isn't a date. This is a fucking sales pitch.

Is this real life?

The restroom is mercifully empty. I lean against the marble counter, staring at my reflection in the ornate mirror. My cheeks are flushed, my eyes too bright.

After a few seconds, I burst into hysterical laughter. It was either that or belly-aching sobs. I'll take it as a win.

That settles it. I must have been a volunteer meter maid in a past life who evicted two-legged puppies in her free time. That's the only explanation for why the universe has it out for my dating life. Four failed relationships weren't enough of a lesson, apparently. I needed this humiliation to really drive the point home.

I pull out my phone and text Jessica.

LEXIE: I am never doing this again. Never, ever, ever.

Three dots appear immediately. Then a message.

JESSICA: What happened??

Before I can respond, Jessica's name flashes on my screen. I answer, keeping my voice low.

"He tried to sell me insurance."

"What? Who did?" Jessica sounds genuinely confused.

"Brandon. The insurance 'executive.' Who is actually just a salesman looking for new clients." I pace the small bathroom, grateful again that I'm alone. I'm at least eighty percent sure he's not desperate enough to close a sale that he'll follow me in here. "The whole date was a setup to sell me a policy."

"No way. Are you sure? Maybe he just⁠—"

"Jessica, he brought brochures." My voice cracks. "Glossy fucking brochures about small business coverage that he just happened to have with him. On a first date."

"Oh my God." For once, my sister is speechless. "Are you serious?"

"Do I sound like I'm joking?" I hiss.

"Maybe you misunderstood? Maybe it wasn't planned and he just⁠—"

"He had the paperwork with him, Jess." I stare at the small window above the toilet stall. It's not large, but it might be just big enough. And I could reach it if I climb on the radiator. "I'm getting out of here."

I can't believe I'm actually thinking about climbing out a window to get away from a bad date. And that's not even the craziest part of the evening.

"Lexie, don't you dare⁠—"

"Watch me." I hang up and tuck my phone into my purse.

The window is higher than I'd like, but there's a trash can that seems sturdy enough to serve as a step stool. I test it with one foot, then hoist myself up, thanking whatever workout gods have blessed me with enough upper body strength to manage this.

The window slides open with minimal resistance. Cool night air rushes in, carrying the sounds of traffic and faint conversation from the restaurant's outdoor patio. I squeeze through the opening, thanking my lucky stars that the blue dress is stretchy enough to accommodate my undignified escape.

I land with a less-than-graceful thud in the alley behind the restaurant. My knees protest the impact, but nothing seems injured except my pride. I smooth down my dress, adjust my purse strap, and walk quickly toward the street, already searching for a cab.

My phone buzzes insistently. Jessica again.

JESSICA: Are you okay? What's happening?

LEXIE: Escaped through the bathroom window. Looking for a cab.

The response is immediate.

JESSICA: WHAT?? I'm calling you right now.

Sure enough, my phone lights up with her call.

"Please tell me you didn't actually climb out a window," Jessica says when I answer.

"Okay, I didn't actually climb out a window," I say flatly, spotting a cab and raising my hand to flag it down. "I levitated through it using my previously undiscovered psychic powers."

"Lexie, oh my God!"

"Look, I couldn't face going back to that table." I start walking toward the approaching cab. "Not one of my proudest moments, but I couldn't stand the thought of sitting through another minute of his sales pitch."

"I can't believe he actually tried to sell you insurance." Jessica sounds stunned. "On a date!"

"Believe it." I reach the curb as the cab pulls up. "He probably scours dating apps looking for small business owners to target. I bet he⁠—"

"Lexie!"

The voice isn't coming from my phone. I freeze, hand on the cab door, and turn slowly to see Brandon jogging toward me, waving something that looks suspiciously like one of his insurance brochures.

"Oh no," I murmur into the phone.

"What? What's happening?" Jessica demands.

"He followed me out of the restaurant." I stare in horrified disbelief as Brandon approaches, not even slightly out of breath. His hair must be some kind of helmet, because not a strand is out of place.

"Where are you going?" he calls, closing the distance between us. "We were in the middle of discussing your coverage options!"

"Is that him?" Jessica asks, loud enough that I have to pull the phone away from my ear.

"Yes," I hiss, yanking open the cab door. "Yes, it is."

Brandon reaches me just as I'm stepping into the cab. “Lexie, wait—you didn't even see the premium calculations I worked up based on your business description!” He holds out the papers, his expression earnest. “Look. I can offer you twenty percent off if you sign up tonight.”

"I have to go," I tell Jessica, then drop into the taxi seat. "Sorry, work emergency," I tell Brandon, and pull the door closed. "But don't worry, I'm covered!"

The cab pulls away from the curb. Through the back window, I can see Brandon still standing there, papers in hand, looking genuinely confused about what just happened.

Jessica's voice comes through the phone: "Holy shit, Lexie. I am so, so sorry."

"It's not your fault." I lean back against the seat, suddenly exhausted. "But I hope you'll finally accept the fact that I am cursed when it comes to love."

"Maybe the sixth time's the charm?" she suggests weakly.

I laugh, the sound hollow even to my own ears. "You'd better get that guest room ready. The yarn and I are moving in permanently."

I hang up before she can respond, staring out the window as the city lights blur together. Another disaster. Another story for the collection. Another night I'll spend alone in my apartment surrounded by sweaters that, unlike men, have never let me down.

Maybe I'll start a new fashion line. The Rejection Collection. Perfect for climbing out bathroom windows and hailing cabs in the middle of disastrous dates.

I close my eyes, wondering if that doctor is still sitting at the table and whether he'll pay the bill or just leave. Then, I find myself wondering if he was in on it or if he was as duped as I was. Then I decide I don't care.

Some people find love. Some people find packs. And some people, like me, find insurance salesmen with glossy brochures and twenty percent discounts.

At least the blue dress looks good.

Chapter

Seven

AIDAN

The carpet outside Darren's door has a worn path now from all my pacing. Seven days since we brought him home from the hospital, and I've probably walked miles just in this hallway, back and forth, trying to work up the courage to knock.

I raise my fist, then drop it again. This is the sixth time I've almost knocked today. But I can't just stand here forever, can I?

The doctors sent him home with pain meds for the concussion and a stack of pamphlets about "transitional biology" that he immediately threw in the trash. When Jax tried to fish them out, Darren nearly broke my wrist.

I take a deep breath, smelling the faint traces of woodsmoke that leak from under his door. It's strange how quickly I've come to associate that scent with Darren. Before his injury, he just smelled vaguely smoky. Now he smells like a campfire on a crisp fall night, warm and inviting.

My knuckles finally connect with the door. Three quick taps.

"Darren? You awake?"

Silence stretches so long I wonder if he's sleeping. Or ignoring me. Probably ignoring me.

"I know you're in there," I try again. "I, uh, just wanted to check if you need anything."

"I'm fine." His voice is rough, like he hasn't spoken in days. He probably hasn't. "Go away."

At least he responded. That's progress from yesterday.

"Jax and Dmitri went to practice. Zayn's at some photo shoot." I shift my weight, pressing my palm against the door. "I thought maybe you'd want to come out? Eat something that isn't from the mini-fridge?"

"I said I'm fine."

I should leave. He clearly wants to be alone. But I can't shake the memory of him taking that hit for me on the ice. If he hadn't jumped in front of that shot, we might have lost the game. I might have been the rookie goalie who let in the tying goal in the final seconds.

Instead, he's the beta defenseman who became an omega overnight.

"Coach asked about you," I say, the words tumbling out before I can stop them. "He's talking about putting you on injured reserve until... until things stabilize."

Something crashes against the wall inside his room.

"Great," Darren snarls, his voice closer now. "Tell him I'm having a wonderful time 'stabilizing.'"

"I didn't tell him anything," I say quickly. "None of us have. Besides us, only the hospital staff knows you're a… well, you know. We figured you'd want to⁠—"

The door yanks open so suddenly I almost fall forward.

Darren stands there, looking like hell warmed over. His hair sticks up in all directions, dark circles underline his bloodshot eyes, and several days' growth of stubble darkens his jaw. He's wearing sweatpants and a wrinkled T-shirt that he's been wearing for at least a couple of days. His scent is stronger on it, but not unpleasant.

Not by a long shot.

And that's a problem, no matter how much I'm trying to ignore it. Because I think ignoring it is exactly what he wants right now.

But it's what's behind him that makes my eyes widen.

His bed is covered in blankets. Not just normal sleep-under-them blankets, but a carefully constructed mound of them. Pillows, throws, what looks like every spare bedding item from the linen closet, all arranged in a circular pattern with a depression in the middle. Like a nest.

Darren follows my gaze, then slams the door three-quarters shut, blocking my view.

"What do you want?" he demands, glaring at me through the narrow opening. The scent of woodsmoke intensifies, but there's something sharper, too. Embarrassment, maybe, or anger.

"I, uh—" My brain short-circuits, trying to process what I just saw. Nesting. He's already nesting. Like omegas do before⁠—

Nope. Not thinking about that.

"I just wanted to see if you're okay," I manage. "We're all worried."

"I don't need your worry." He runs a hand through his messy hair, making it stand up even more. "I don't need anything from any of you."

His words sting, but I try not to take it personally. My mom always says people lash out when they're hurting, and Darren's hurting worse than anyone I've ever known.

"I know," I say softly. "But maybe you need food? Real food, not just whatever snacks you've got stashed in there."

His stomach growls loudly, betraying him. A flush creeps up his neck.

"You said everyone's gone?" he asks, suspicion narrowing his eyes.

I nod. "Just you and me. I skipped practice. Told Coach I was still feeling that shot I took to the collarbone." It's not completely a lie. The bruise is still there, a purple-yellow reminder of how close that game was.

Darren hesitates, and I see the conflict playing out across his face. Pride versus hunger. Isolation versus basic human needs.

"Fine," he says finally. "Give me a minute."

The door closes in my face. I hear shuffling, then the sound of a drawer opening and closing. He's changing clothes, probably. Or maybe hiding the evidence of his nesting instinct kicking in.

My chest tightens. I don't know much about male omegas—they're pretty rare, and I've never known one well at all—but I know enough to recognize pre-heat nesting behavior. It's too soon. The doctors said it could be weeks or even months before his first heat.

Unless they were wrong.

Or maybe he's just adjusting to his new instincts in general.

Before I can spiral down that worrying path, the door opens again. Darren's changed into clean jeans and a henley, and he's made a half-hearted attempt to smooth his hair. He still looks rough, but at least he doesn't smell like he's been marinating in misery for a week.

I back up to give him space as he steps into the hallway. He moves cautiously, like he's not sure his body belongs to him anymore.

"Thanks," he mutters, so quietly I almost miss it.

"For what?"

"For not making a big deal about..." He gestures vaguely back toward his room. "That."

I swallow hard. "No big deal. I mean, who doesn't like blankets, right?"

He snorts, the closest thing to a laugh I've heard from him in days. "Right."

We walk down the hallway in silence. I'm hyper-aware of his presence beside me, of the woodsmoke scent that surrounds him, more potent now that he's out in the open. It doesn't smell like any omega I've encountered before. It's richer, deeper, almost like⁠—

Stop it. Stop analyzing his scent like a creep.

"Kitchen's stocked," I say as we reach the main level. "Dmitri went shopping yesterday."

Darren grunts in acknowledgment, his gaze sweeping the open-concept living area like he's checking for threats. Probably Zayn. The pack house is quiet, just the hum of the refrigerator and the faint sound of traffic outside.

"Or we could order in," I suggest. "Whatever you want."

He heads straight for the kitchen, opening the fridge and staring at its contents. "I'm an omega, I'm not a helpless baby bird, McKinney."

"I know that." I lean against the counter, trying to look casual and not like I'm watching his every move. "Just offering options."

I guess at least he's not in denial anymore and beating the shit out of anyone who reminds him of his new reality. Progress?

He grabs a Gatorade and cracks it open, downing half in one long pull. His Adam's apple bobs, a droplet of blue liquid escaping to trace a path down his stubbled throat.

I realize I'm staring only when Darren shoots me a look that could thin paint. "Problem, rookie?"

"No," I croak, and quickly look away, confused by my own fascination. I've never been attracted to men, certainly never to one as… manly as Darren. But something about the way he smells now pulls at this primal force in me. Protective instincts, maybe. The alpha in me wanting to take care of a packmate in need.

Yeah, that's all it is. Just normal alpha protectiveness.

"Let's order in," Darren decides, crushing the empty plastic bottle in his fist. "Nothing here looks good."

"What do you want? There's that Thai place down the street, or⁠—"

"Pizza." His voice leaves no room for negotiation. "Double pepperoni, extra cheese. From Gino's, not that chain bullshit Zayn likes."

I smile, relieved to hear him expressing a preference. "Gino's it is."

While I place the order on my phone, Darren prowls around the living room like he's seeing it for the first time. He stops at the large windows overlooking the city, hands shoved in his pockets.

"They're going to cut me," he says abruptly, his back to me.

I fumble the credit card I was about to input. "What? No, they're not."

"Don't bullshit me, kid." He turns to face me, blue eyes hard. "There are no omegas in the NHL. Not one. Not ever."

"That doesn't mean⁠—"

"It means exactly what it means." He cuts me off. "Once word gets out, I'm done. Seven years building my career, and it's over just like that."

The resignation in his voice twists my gut. I'm not used to seeing Darren like this. Not joking. Not talking shit. Just serious and defeated. I set my phone down, forgetting about the pizza.

"You don't know that for sure," I argue. "The team wants you back. Jax is already talking to management about⁠—"

"Jax needs to mind his own fucking business." Darren stalks to the couch and drops onto it, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. "No amount of captainly intervention is going to change biology and he can't bark the coach into submission."

So he's still pissed about that. Not that I can really blame him. I know Jax feels like shit, but saying that won't do much now.

I move to sit in the armchair across from him, choosing my next words carefully. "Maybe not. But that doesn't mean your career is over. You're still you. Still the best defenseman I've ever played with."

His eyes flick up to mine, suspicion warring with an emotion that looks almost like hope. "You're just saying that because you're afraid I'll punch you if you don't."

I laugh, the sound startling in the tense atmosphere. "Dude, I've been afraid you'd punch me since the first day of training camp when I let in that softie from the blue line."

A ghost of a smile touches his lips. "I wouldn't have punched you. Maybe just put you in a headlock until you promised to do better."

"That's because you're not an asshole."

"Debatable."

"No, it's not." I lean forward, matching his posture. "Look, I know I'm just the rookie, and I don't understand half of what you're going through. But I do know this. I've looked up to you since I signed with the team. Not because you were a beta or an alpha or whatever, but because you work harder than anyone I've ever met. Because you put the team first, always."

Darren stares at me, his expression unreadable. "You've been practicing that speech, haven't you?"

Heat creeps up my neck. "Maybe a little. In the hallway. Like, the first four times I almost knocked."

He shakes his head, but his gaze is softer now. "You're a weird kid, McKinney."

"So I've been told." I hesitate, then push ahead. "For what it's worth, I still think you're the same player. The same guy. Nothing's changed that matters."

"Everything's changed," he says quietly. "You just don't see it yet because you're young and stupidly optimistic."

"Maybe. Or maybe you're just old and grumpy."

He snorts again. "Twenty-seven is not old."

"It's young in people years, but it's ancient in goalie years."

This time he actually laughs. A short, rusty sound like he's forgotten how. "I needed this." He scrubs a hand over his face. "Just... normal shit-talking. No one tiptoeing around me like I'm made of glass."

I grin, absurdly pleased to have broken through, even momentarily. "I can shit-talk all day if it helps. It's like my one superpower."

"So I've noticed."

My phone chimes with a text from the pizza place offering me a coupon like they think the reason I haven't ordered yet is because I was on the fence. "Guess I'd better place that order."

"Please, I'm fucking starving," Darren grumbles. "You know how much it sucks to survive on cheese crackers and protein bars because you're avoiding Zayn?"

I laugh. “You could've texted me and I would have at least slid a PopTart under your door.”

"I'll keep that in mind for next time," he says, smirking.

My phone dings with a successful order alert. "Food's on the way. Twenty minutes."

Darren nods, then falls silent, his gaze drifting to the window again. I let the quiet stretch, afraid to break whatever fragile peace we've established.

After a while, he speaks again, his voice so low I have to strain to hear. "I don't know who I am anymore."

The vulnerability in those words hits me. Darren "The Brick" Malloy, the toughest guy on our team, sounds lost. Scared, even.

"You're still you," I say simply. "Still Darren. Still The Brick. Still the guy who makes sure rookies know which clubs to avoid and which restaurants won't give us food poisoning before games."

He looks at me, really looks at me, like he's trying to see if I actually believe what I'm saying. "It's not that simple."

“Maybe it is.” I shrug. “Maybe we're all making it more complicated than it needs to be.”

"Easy for you to say. You're not the one who's going to—" He stops abruptly, jaw clenching.

Go into heat. That's what he can't bring himself to say.

My mouth goes dry. The blanket nest flashes in my mind. The doctors must have been wrong about the timeline.

"Is it... starting already?" I ask carefully.

His face hardens immediately. "No."

But the flare of his nostrils, the way his scent spikes, make it clear he's lying. Or at least, he's not telling the whole truth.

"Because if it is, we should probably⁠—"

"It's not," he says firmly. "Just nesting instincts. The doctors said it might happen. Doesn't mean anything."

Except it does. It means his body is preparing for something it's never done before. Something that will make him vulnerable in ways he's never experienced.

"Okay," I say, backing off. "But if you—if anything changes, you know you can talk to me, right? Or Jax, or⁠—"

"I'm not discussing my biological functions with any of you," he cuts in, color rising in his face. "Ever. Got it?"

I nod quickly. "Got it."

The doorbell rings, saving us from the awkward turn in conversation. I jump up to answer it, grateful for the interruption.

When I return with the pizza, Darren has composed himself again, all traces of vulnerability locked away behind his usual gruff exterior. He takes the box from me and flips it open, the smell of cheese and pepperoni filling the air.

"Plates?" I offer.

He shakes his head, already grabbing a slice. "Napkins. I'm not eating off china with a fork and knife like Zayn."

I fetch a stack of napkins from the kitchen and grab two beers while I'm at it. When I turn around, Darren's already demolished half a slice, eating like a man who hasn't seen food in days. Which, to be fair, he hasn't.

I slide a beer across the coffee table to him and sit back down, helping myself to a slice. For a few minutes, we eat in companionable silence, the awkwardness from earlier slowly dissolving.

"Thanks," Darren says eventually, wiping his mouth with a napkin. "For this. For not being weird."

"I'm definitely weird," I correct him. "Just not about this."

He rolls his eyes, but there's no heat in it. "You know what I mean."

I do know. And it means more than I expected that he noticed I've been trying to treat him normally. Not like the others, who keep watching him with a mix of confusion and worry. Even Jax, who means well, can't seem to find the right approach.

"Yeah," I say simply. "I know."

Darren reaches for another slice, and I notice his hand trembling slightly, but I don't say anything. Probably whatever meds they gave him at the hospital.

"Tell me about practice," he says suddenly. "What's Coach saying about the lineup without me?"

I hesitate, unsure how much he wants to hear. But the look he gives me says he wants the truth, not some sanitized version.

"Shifted Zimmerman up to your spot on the first pairing with Jones. Called up Schmidt from Rockford to fill in on the third line. It's... not great."

Darren nods, a grim satisfaction in his expression. "Zim's not ready for first-line minutes. And Schmidt's enough of a liability in our own zone."

"Exactly what Jax said." I take a swig of beer. "Coach knows it too, but options are limited with you out."

"With me out," Darren repeats, bitterness creeping into his tone. "Like I have the flu. Like I'll be back in a week or two."

I don't know what to say to that. None of us know what comes next. Not the team, not Darren, not even the doctors who keep throwing around terms like "unprecedented case" and "adaptive biology."

"You know, Jax has been running interference. Making sure no one takes any of this to the press," I say carefully.

Darren grunts. "Only a matter of time."

"Maybe," I concede. "But if you get out there and play a few games, show the world you're still the same kickass defenseman you've always been, it might soften things when it breaks. Make people realize there's no point in overreacting."

He gives me an incredulous look. "Even if the press doesn't know yet, any alpha I play with will figure it out as soon as I step out on the ice."

"Unless your scent is blocked," I reason. "Unless they don't know you're an omega."

His eyes widen slightly. "Suppressants…?"

"They're better than they used to be," I say quickly. "My sister takes them and she goes to a college with alphas, omegas, and betas. And then there's that male omega rock star, Asher Wilde. The one who sings for⁠—"

"Wild Honey, yeah, I know," he mutters. He still sounds like his usual gruff self, but a little less pessimistic. Like he's actually considering it.

I'm surprised myself. Usually, people just dismiss whatever I have to say, as the rookie and all. Can't even say I blame them. I looked up to the Grizzlies—and Darren—for years before I went pro. Getting drafted was more than a dream come true. It was something I never even thought could happen, so I don't mind that they don't really take me seriously yet. I'm fine with proving myself.

Darren is the only one who's ever made me feel like I don't have to.

"It's not a bad idea," he finally says, scratching at his stubble. "Suppress all this bullshit long enough to prove myself out there."

"You've already proven yourself and then some," I remind him. "You're just… reminding them who you are."

He snorts, an unexpected glimmer in his gaze as he studies me. It makes my heart pick up speed a little. "You know, you're pretty smart. For a rookie."

Before I can formulate a response, the front door opens. My stomach drops as Zayn walks in, designer sunglasses pushed up into his perfect hair, leather jacket catching the light.

Here we go.

"Well, that's a surprise," he announces, spotting Darren on the couch. His dark eyes widen slightly. "Our omega is out of hibernation."

Darren's entire body tenses. The woodsmoke scent sharpens with anger.

"Don't call me that," he growls.

Zayn holds up his hands in mock surrender, a smirk playing at his lips. "What? Omega? It's not like it's an insult, it's just reality." He drops his keys on the sideboard with a clatter. "Though I have to say, you're looking a little rough around the edges."

I stand up quickly, trying to head off the disaster barreling toward us. "Zayn, not now, okay? We were just eating."

"I can see that." Zayn saunters closer, his gaze flicking to the pizza box. "Gino's. Solid choice." He reaches for a slice, but Darren slams the lid shut, nearly catching his fingers.

"Get your own damn food," Darren snarls.

Zayn raises an eyebrow. "Touchy, touchy. Is this an omega thing? Being territorial about food now?"

I wince. Wrong thing to say. So, so wrong.

Darren rises to his feet, the pizza already forgotten. He's taller than Zayn by an inch or two, broader through the shoulders, but Zayn doesn't back down. If anything, his smirk widens.

"Say that again," Darren challenges, his voice low and dangerous.

"For fuck's sake, Zayn," I hiss. "Can you not be an asshole for five minutes?"

Zayn ignores me, his focus entirely on Darren. "What part? The omega part? Or the territorial part? Because both seem to be hitting a nerve."

"And my fist is gonna be hitting the back of your fucking throat if you keep talking shit," Darren takes a step closer, invading Zayn's space. "So shut your fucking mouth before I shut it for you."

I move to place myself between them, but Zayn waves me off.

"Relax, Darren. I'm just trying to help you adjust to your new reality." His tone is light, almost friendly, but there's an edge underneath. "After all, we're going to be packmates forever, even if we're not teammates. And that makes you our omega. Might as well get comfortable with the terminology."

I may be the rookie, but he's an absolute fucking idiot.

"I am not," Darren enunciates each word carefully, "your fucking omega."

One step forward, ten steps back.

Zayn tilts his head, an expression of exaggerated confusion crossing his features. "Really? Because your scent says otherwise. And so do your test results. And that little nest I'm sure you've been building in your room⁠—"

Darren moves so fast I barely see it, a blur of motion as he grabs Zayn by the front of his expensive shirt and slams him against the wall. Pictures rattle. A framed team photo crashes to the floor, glass shattering.

"Fight back," Darren demands, echoing the words he said to Jax in the hospital. "Come on, knothead. Show me how tough you are."

But Zayn doesn't resist. He just hangs there in Darren's grip, that infuriating smirk still in place. "I don't fight omegas. It's not sporting."

Something breaks in Darren's expression, a flash of raw hurt quickly masked by fury. Just when I think he's about to turn Zayn into a new coat of paint on the walls—and I'm not exactly inclined to stop him—he releases Zayn with a shove and steps back, fists clenched at his sides.

"Fuck you," he says, voice flat and cold.

He turns and stalks out of the room. Seconds later, the sound of the front door slamming reverberates through the house, followed by a crash that might be an object being thrown against a wall outside. Probably one of the lawn sculptures of dogs Dmitri likes so much.

Great. Back to square one.

I round on Zayn, who's straightening his shirt like nothing happened. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

Zayn shrugs, unrepentant. "He needs to accept what he is. Coddling him isn't helping."

"And antagonizing him is?" I shove into his chest hard enough that he staggers back. "He was finally starting to open up. To talk. And you ruined it because you can't keep your mouth shut for two seconds."

"Open up? Please." Zayn moves to the kitchen, pulling a bottle of water from the fridge. "He was eating pizza and pretending nothing's changed. That's denial, not progress."

"He's processing!" I throw up my hands in frustration. "It's been a week, Zayn. One week since his entire life turned upside down. You think he's just going to roll over and accept it because you decide he should?"

Zayn takes a long sip of water, studying me over the bottle. When he lowers it, his expression is harder.

"You care an awful lot about his feelings, rookie."

The insinuation in his tone makes my face heat up. "He's my teammate. My packmate."

"Mmhmm." Zayn's eyes narrow slightly. "And does he smell like just another packmate to you? Or something else?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" My voice comes out sharper than intended.

"Nothing," Zayn says innocently. "Just wondering where all this protectiveness is coming from all of a sudden."

I clench my jaw, resisting the urge to punch that knowing look off his face. "I'm going to check on him."

"I wouldn't if I were you," Zayn calls after me as I head for the door. "He's not in a very receptive mood. And with those pre-heat pheromones he's putting out, you might find yourself⁠—"

"Shut up," I snap, not turning around. "Just... shut up."

I head for the stairs instead, taking them three two at a time, Zayn's laughter following me like a shadow.

Part of me wants to go after Darren, but I know he'd just think I'm being overprotective, and that's the last thing he needs right now.

I just don't know what I should do.

Chapter

Eight

DARREN

Ipull into the practice facility parking lot at 6:15 AM, two hours before I'm supposed to show up. Or at least, it would be if anyone was expecting me. My hands shake slightly as I cut the engine, not from nerves, but from the cocktail of chemicals currently flooding my system.

The suppressants tasted like battery acid going down. The doctor at the omega clinic warned me they might make me jittery, might mess with my sleep, might cause "mild discomfort" until my body adjusted.

Medical speak for "they'll make you feel like absolute horse shit." But feeling like horse shit is better than feeling like an omega.

At least for now.

The security guard does a double-take when I badge in. "Malloy? Thought you were on injured reserve."

"Not anymore." I keep walking, not slowing down for questions I don't want to answer.

The locker room is empty this early, exactly as planned. I need time to gear up, to get onto the ice before anyone can try to talk me out of this. I drop my bag at my stall, which is still there, still has my name on it, and take a slow breath.

The air feels different in my lungs now. Sharper. More information in every inhale, like suddenly upgrading from standard definition to 4K. Even with the blockers, I can still smell faint traces of my teammates lingering from yesterday's practice.

Bourbon. Pine. Leather. Vanilla.

I shake my head, trying to clear it. Focus on the task at hand.

I start dressing methodically, muscle memory taking over. Jock. Compression shorts. Base layer. Socks. Shin guards. Padded pants. I've done this thousands of times, but today it feels like I'm putting on armor for battle.

The doctors said I'm cleared for light activity. The concussion symptoms have mostly subsided, just occasional dizziness when I turn too quickly. But that's not why they wanted me to stay on IR.

"Your body is adjusting to significant hormonal changes," Dr. Casell had said, her eyes full of concern that made me want to punch a wall. "Physical exertion could accelerate the process. Your first heat could arrive sooner than expected."

Like I give a shit. I'm not sitting on my ass waiting for biology to dictate my life. I swear these people think omegas are just supposed to lay around spreading hole in the hopes that we catch a stray knot.

Fuck my life.

I pull my practice jersey over my pads, the familiar heft of my gear settling on my shoulders. In the mirror across the room, I look the same as I always have. Still 6'4", still built like the defensive wall I'm supposed to be. But underneath, everything's changing. Cells rewiring. Chemistry shifting. Body preparing for a clusterfuck I never asked for.

The suppressants should buy me time. That's what the doctor at the clinic said, the one I found only after three other assholes outright refused to prescribe to a fresh presentation without "stabilization time." But this one understood. Or at least, took my money without too many questions.

"These will delay your heat and mask your nature significantly if you pair them with the blockers," she'd explained, handing over the prescription like it was contraband. "But they're not a permanent solution."

I don't need permanent. I just need enough time to show them all I'm still me. Still The Brick. Still the same player who earned his spot on this team through seven years of blood and broken bones.

I press a fresh scent blocker patch against my neck, right over my scent gland. It burns like a motherfucker, but I just grit my teeth. Better than the alternative. Better than smelling like an omega, like something that needs protecting.

By the time I hit the ice, the fresh blockers and suppressants have kicked in fully. My hands are steady, my focus laser-sharp. I start with simple drills, testing my edges, my balance. Everything works like it should. Better, even. My reflexes seem quicker, my awareness of the space around me heightened.

Is this what being an omega is like? This hyperawareness? This sensitivity to everything?

I push the thought away and skate harder, faster. I slam pucks against the boards, each one a satisfying crack of rubber against fiberglass. I imagine each one is Zayn's smug face. His voice echoes in my head.

“I don't fight omegas. It's not sporting.”

Fuck him.

At least imagining him eating every puck I shoot helps me focus.

I'm so absorbed in my personal war against the pucks that I don't notice I'm no longer alone until I hear skates cutting ice behind me. I turn, puck balanced on my stick, to see Coach standing at the bench, arms crossed.

"Malloy." His face gives nothing away. "Didn't expect to see you here."

I skate over, heart hammering against my ribs. "I'm cleared for practice."

He gives me a long look. "Medical didn't send me anything."

"It just came through," I lie, meeting his gaze steadily. "Call them if you want."

He won't. He can't, not this early. By the time the office opens, practice will be halfway over. But I can hope he buys my bluff.

"You sure you're ready?" he asks, studying me carefully. "That was a nasty hit. Never seen you go down like that."

"I'm fine." The words come out harsher than intended. "Concussion symptoms are gone. Just needed some rest."

Coach's eyes narrow slightly, like he's trying to solve a puzzle. I hold my breath, waiting for him to mention the other thing.

The omega thing.

Aidan said no one else knows, but what if someone at the hospital leaked it?

"You smell different," he says finally.

My stomach drops, but I keep my expression blank. "New soap."

It's a ridiculous excuse, but Coach just nods slowly. "Well, good to have you back." He glances at the clock on the scoreboard. "Team's due in thirty. Nothing too aggressive today, you hear me? No contact drills for you."

I open my mouth to protest, but he cuts me off with a raised hand.

"That's non-negotiable, Malloy. You took a knee to the head a week ago and followed it up with an ice massage. We ease you back in."

I know better than to challenge him. Challenging him will only give him more reason to push, and if he pushes, he might notice something.

"Yeah, sure, Coach."

He nods once, then heads back toward the tunnel. I return to my drills, a new energy fueling each stride, each shot. I've got thirty more minutes to warm up properly, to prove to myself that I can do this.

Thirty minutes before I have to face them. My teammates. My pack.

I lose track of time, focused entirely on the rhythm of skate, shoot, retrieve. The sound of voices from the tunnel pulls me back to reality. They're here.

I straighten up, squaring my shoulders as the first players emerge onto the ice. Aidan comes first, as usual. The kid's always early, eager as a puppy. He stops dead when he sees me, jaw dropping comically.

"Darren?" His voice carries across the ice. "Holy shit!"

I can't help the small smirk that tugs at my lips. "Morning, rookie."

He skates over, eyes wide with surprise and relief. "You're back! I thought—we all thought—" He stops, obviously unsure what to say next. He tries to hide it, but I can tell he's scenting the air. Noticing what's there, or rather, what isn't.

His eyes are practically bugging out of his head.

"You—" He glances around, lowers his voice. "How did you...?"

I tap the scent blocker patch on my neck hidden beneath my hair and my gear. "Modern medicine. Amazing what they can do these days."

Understanding dawns on his face. "You actually did it. The suppressants and blockers."

"Your idea," I remind him. "Not a bad one."

Before he can respond, the rest of the team starts filtering onto the ice. Their instantaneous reaction is exactly what I hoped for. Confusion, surprise, disbelief. Dmitri stops mid-stride, his massive frame going still as a statue. Jones and Peterson, the other new sub, exchange glances, clearly wondering if they missed some announcement about my return.

Then Zayn emerges from the tunnel.

His reaction alone makes the battery-acid flavored suppressants worthwhile. He freezes, dark eyes narrowing as he spots me. The leather scent I've come to associate with him spikes with what I can only describe as outrage, even though it's not as intense to me right now. It's oddly satisfying.

"What the fuck?" he says, loud enough for everyone to hear.

I casually flip a puck with my stick, catching it flat on the blade. "Morning to you too, Copeland."

Zayn looks around wildly, like he's searching for someone to confirm he's not hallucinating. "You can't be here."

"Funny, I thought this was where the team practices." I toss the puck in the air, catch it again. "And last I checked, I'm still on the team."

Coach blows his whistle, interrupting whatever Zayn was about to say. "Alright, ladies! Circle up! Malloy's back with us today, non-contact only. Lane drills to start, then we'll run the power play."

The team gathers, most still casting confused glances my way. I keep my expression neutral, chin up, jaw tight, daring anyone to challenge my presence. Jax skates up beside me, his gray eyes intense.

"We need to talk," he says quietly. "After the circle."

I give him a slight nod. I knew this was coming. We haven't talked since he used his fucking bark on me, even if I'm pretty sure it wasn't on purpose now that I've had time to cool down and think.

Coach runs through today's practice plan, laying out drills and strategy adjustments for our upcoming game against the Blues. I listen intently, focusing on the hockey, on the comforting rhythm of preparation. This is what matters. Not biology, not designations, not the subtle changes I can feel reshaping my body even through the chemical haze of suppressants.

"Alright, split up! Lane drills, let's go!" Coach barks.

As the team disperses, Jax catches my arm, steering me toward the far boards where we can talk without being overheard. His scent, smooth bourbon, reaches me even through the blockers. It shouldn't be comforting. I refuse to let it be comforting.

"What happened to your scent?" Jax asks without preamble, his voice low.

"Blockers," I say, keeping my own voice equally quiet. "And suppressants."

His eyebrows shoot up. "Already? You just presented a week ago."

"Turns out not all doctors are as conservative as the one at the hospital." I shrug, trying to project a casualness I don't feel. "Found a clinic with a doctor who specializes in late presentations. They were more understanding."

Jax frowns, and I brace for the alpha lecture. The “you should be more careful” speech. The “think about your health” bullshit. I've rehearsed my counter-arguments a dozen times since picking up the prescription.

But he surprises me.

"You know people are going to find out eventually, right?" he says, his tone devoid of judgment.

The reminder sends a pulse of anger through me. "You think I don't know that?" The words come out sharper than intended. I take a breath, forcing my voice to level out. "I'm not trying to hide it forever. Just long enough to prove I'm still the same defenseman I've always been."

Jax studies me, and I can practically see the wheels turning behind those gray eyes. He's not sure. Weighing the risks, probably. Wondering if I'm making a colossal mistake that will blow back on the team. On him, as captain.

"Is this going to be a problem?" I challenge, feeling my hackles rise. Of course he's going to be an alpha asshole about this, just like Zayn. They're all the same when it comes down to it.

But once again, Jax defies my expectations.

"It's not the worst idea in the world," he murmurs, glancing over his shoulder at the team running drills. "If it buys you time to adjust while showing management you can still play..."

Relief floods through me, though I try not to show it. Having Jax's support, however tentative, matters more than I want to admit. "That's the plan."

I notice Aidan watching us from the drill line, trying to look like he's not eavesdropping. The kid's about as subtle as a fog horn, leaning so far in our direction he might topple over. I catch his eye and smirk.

"Got the idea from a friend," I say, loud enough for him to hear. The smile that breaks across his freckled face is almost painfully earnest.

Before Jax can respond, the familiar scent of leather and arrogance approaches fast. Zayn skates up, stopping hard enough to spray ice.

"What the hell is this?" he demands, glaring at Jax. "You're letting him practice?"

"Last I checked, I'm the captain, not you," Jax says coolly.

He earns some points for that. If he keeps this up, I might even forget the bark thing. Or at least pretend I have.

"He's an omega," Zayn hisses, like it's a dirty word. "He's not cleared to play. And what the fuck happened to his scent? Is he trying to⁠—"

"He's on blockers," Jax cuts him off. "And suppressants."

Zayn's eyes widen, then narrow dangerously as he turns to me. "Are you fucking insane? Those things are⁠—"

"Prescribed by a doctor," I finish for him. "It's my decision. My body."

"Darren is still part of this team," Jax says, his voice taking on that captain's authority that makes even alphas hesitate. "That hasn't changed. We're going to practice. End of discussion."

Zayn gives a disbelieving laugh. "Practice? How exactly are we supposed to play when we're all going to be instinctively protecting the omega?"

Something snaps inside me. Before I can think better of it, I've shoved Zayn hard, sending him stumbling backward. "Worry about protecting yourself," I snarl, pushing off and skating toward the drill line.

His outraged shout follows me across the ice, but I don't turn back. I join the lane drill already in progress, slotting in between Dmitri and Jones and Peterson. Dmitri gives me a subtle nod, acknowledgment without comment. Exactly what I need right now.

The drills start simple, quick transitions up and down the ice, nothing that tests my contact ban. I push myself hard, skating faster than necessary, my edges cutting deep into the ice. Every stride feels like a statement.

I belong here. I haven't changed. I'm still me.

When we shift to defensive positioning drills, I feel a surge of confidence. This is my specialty. Reading the play, anticipating movements, using my size and reach to fuck up passing lanes. I might not be able to hit today, but I can still be a wall.

"Looking good, Brick," Coach calls after I break up three consecutive entry attempts. "Sharp as ever."

The praise shouldn't matter as much as it does. I find myself straightening, pride warming my chest despite my best efforts to stay detached.

We move to special teams next, power play and penalty kill rotations. This is where it gets tricky. These drills are built on chemistry, on reading your teammates' intentions, on split-second adjustments. I'm hyperaware of everyone around me, even through the dampening effects of the suppressants. But I manage to tune out what I shouldn't be able to pick up on as a beta.

We run through several more rotations, and I stay sharp throughout. My body feels different. Lighter somehow, more attuned to the space around me, but my instincts remain unchanged. I still read the play the same way. I still make the same defensive choices.

By the time Coach calls for a water break, I'm riding a cautious wave of optimism. This can work. I can make this work.

I skate to the bench, grabbing my water bottle. Aidan slides up beside me, his vanilla scent flavored with excitement.

"You look great out there," he says, taking a swig from his own bottle. "Like nothing's changed."

"That's the idea," I mutter, but I can't help returning his smile. His enthusiasm is infectious, even to a cynical bastard like me.

"The suppressants are working then?" He drops his voice, glancing around to make sure no one's listening.

I nod. "So far. Still feel like I've got the world's worst hangover, but it's manageable."

"And the blockers?" He reaches up, brushing his own neck where the patch would be. "They're not too uncomfortable? My sister says they burn like crazy."

"They're fine." A lie, but a necessary one. The constant burning sensation is a small price to pay for normal. "Tell your sister thanks for the tip."

Aidan beams like I've just told him he's gonna be gracing the cover of Alpha Athletes magazine. Before he can respond, Coach blows his whistle, calling us back to the ice.

"Scrimmage time," he announces. "Blues versus Whites. Malloy, remember—non-contact only."

I groan inwardly. Scrimmages without contact are like pizza without cheese—missing the best part. But I'll take what I can get.

I'm assigned to the Blue team, along with Jax and Jones, and Dmitri, Zayn, and Aidan are on White, which means the rookie will be in net facing our shots. I catch his eye and make a shooting motion. His responding grin is pure challenge.

The scrimmage starts fast, both sides hungry after a week of practices without me clogging up the neutral zone. I stay disciplined, remembering my non-contact restriction, using positioning and stick work to compensate. It's not the same as being able to throw my weight around, but it's still effective.

"Outlet to Malloy!" Jax calls, retrieving a puck behind our net. I cut hard toward the boards, finding the seam for a clean breakout pass.

I take the puck in stride, scanning the ice as I cross the red line. Peterson is streaking up the opposite wing, creating a two-on-one against Dmitri. He's good, but even he can't cover two lanes at once.

I sell the shot, getting Dmitri to commit, then slide a pass across to Peterson who buries it past Aidan's outstretched glove. The kid curses colorfully, slapping his stick against the ice in frustration.

"Don't worry, rookie, I'd have saved it," I call out, skating past the net.

"In your dreams, bro!" he fires back, but there's no heat in it.

We reset for the next shift. As I pass the White bench, I catch Zayn watching me with an unreadable expression. Not quite anger, not quite concern. Somewhere in between that makes my skin crawl.

I push it aside, focusing on the next play, the next shift. One moment at a time. That's how I'll get through this, breaking it down into manageable pieces. This drill. This scrimmage. This practice. This game. Not thinking about heats or designations or the fragile future of my career.

The scrimmage continues, and I fall into the usual rhythm. Skate, defend, transition, repeat. My body feels good. Better than good, actually. There's a new fluidity to my movements, a heightened awareness of space and time that's hard to define. Is it an omega thing? Or just what I've always had, and lost since awakening as one? I guess the suppressants could be normalizing things.

I'm so caught up in the flow that I almost don't notice the subtle differences in how my teammates are playing around me. Almost.

It's small things. Jax positioning himself between me and an oncoming forechecker, even though there's no contact allowed. Dmitri pulling up on a puck battle near the boards when we both arrive at the same time.

Most telling of all is Aidan. When I find myself alone on a breakaway during the final minutes, he squares up in his net like always, competitive fire in his eyes. But when I make my move, a quick deke to the backhand I've scored on him with in practice dozens of times, he reacts a fraction of a second slower than he should.

Like he's hesitating. Like he's... letting me.

The puck slides across the goal line, and the Blue team whoops and hollers. But the victory feels hollow as I skate past the net, catching Aidan's eye. There's a flicker of protective instinct poorly disguised there that confirms my suspicion.

He let me score.

The little shit fucking let me score.

The realization hits like a crosscheck to the kidneys. Is this what Zayn meant? Are they all going to start handling me differently? Protecting me? Making allowances?

I’m going to fucking gag.

"Nice move," Aidan calls as I circle back for the next faceoff. His smile is genuine, but we both know the truth.

"Don't do that again," I mutter as I pass him.

He blinks in confusion. "Do what?"

"You know what."

Coach blows the final whistle before he can respond. Practice is over, but the unease that's settled in my gut remains.

As we file toward the tunnel, I catch fragments of conversation, snippets that wouldn't have meant anything a week ago but now feel loaded with subtext.

"Malloy's looking good out there."

"Yeah, moving really well for a guy who just had a concussion."

"Different, though. Did you notice how he⁠—"

I tune it out, focusing on putting one skate in front of the other. The suppressants are wearing thin, fatigue creeping in at the edges of my awareness. I need another dose soon, before the woodsmoke scent returns and confirms everyone's suspicions.

In the locker room, I keep to myself, avoiding eye contact as I strip off my gear. The practice went well. Better than I could have hoped, really. I proved I can still play. Still contribute. Nothing has fundamentally changed about my ability to do my job.

So why does it feel like everything has changed anyway?

Zayn walks past my stall, pausing just long enough for me to notice. "Guess I was wrong," he says, voice pitched for my ears only. "You did great out there."

I look up, suspicious of the sudden praise. "Thanks," I say cautiously.

His smile doesn't reach his eyes. "Though I did notice Jax shadowing you on that forecheck in the third shift. And Dmitri pulling up on the boards. Subtle, but sweet, right? The way they're looking out for you?"

My jaw clenches so hard I'm surprised my teeth don't crack. "Fuck off, Copeland."

"Just calling it like I see it." He shrugs, moving away. "Welcome to the omega experience, Brick. Hope you enjoy being the team's newest handicap."

I want to go after him, to grab him by his perfect hair and slam that smug face into the nearest wall. But the rational part of my brain, the part not overwhelmed by new, volatile emotions, knows he's baiting me. Trying to prove his point about omega instability.

I turn back to my gear, focusing on the routine of packing up. Across the room, Aidan is watching me, concern written across his features. When our eyes meet, he gives me a tentative smile that's clearly meant to be reassuring.

"Good first day back," Jax says, appearing beside my stall. His voice is casual, but his eyes are assessing. Checking in on me without making it obvious. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine." I stuff my skates into my bag with more force than necessary. "Why wouldn't I be?"

He doesn't rise to the bait. "Just asking. We've got a team meeting tomorrow morning before practice. Eight AM."

"I'll be there."

He nods, clapping me on the shoulder before moving away. It's a normal gesture, the kind of casual contact teammates share all the time. So why does it suddenly feel like he's handling me with kid gloves?

The answer is obvious enough.

Because he is. Because they all are.

I finish changing quickly, eager to escape the subtle wrongness that's descended over a space that used to feel like home. As I sling my bag over my shoulder, I catch Dmitri watching me from across the room. The big guy holds my gaze for a long moment, then gives me a single, solemn nod.

I don't like the way he's looking at me. The way they're all looking at me.

The way they look at an omega.

Yeah, I gotta do something about that.

Chapter

Nine

LEXIE

The sewing machine hums beneath my fingers, a soothing drone that drowns out the silence of my apartment. Fabric flows through my hands as I guide the needle along the seam of what will become someone else's comfort. A burgundy sweater with tiny gold stars embroidered around the collar. Fall's bestseller, if the pre-orders are any indication.

Three weeks since the insurance salesman incident, and Jessica has finally stopped sending me apologetic links to different dating sites. Progress of a sort. She even brought me a "I'm sorry my meddling led to you climbing out a bathroom window" cake last weekend, which was both ridiculous and delicious. I've forgiven her, mostly because the cake was chocolate ganache and partly because I know she means well.

It's not her fault I'm love-cursed.

I finish the seam and clip the threads, holding up the nearly completed sweater to check my work. Perfect. Exactly as I designed it.

Predictable. Reliable.

Unlike men.

My phone buzzes with a notification, but I ignore it. Probably Jessica checking in again, or maybe another review on my store. I'll deal with it later. Right now, I have six more orders to complete before my self-imposed deadline, and the steady click-clack of the machine is the only company I need.

Two hours later, my back protests as I stretch, arms reaching toward the ceiling. The stack of completed orders sits neatly by the door, ready for tomorrow's pickup. I should feel accomplished. Instead, I just feel...empty. Like I've poured everything into these creations and have nothing left for myself.

"Fresh air," I mutter to no one. "That's what you need."

I grab my keys and a light jacket. It's that perfect early autumn weather where the sun still has some warmth but the breeze carries promises of the coming chill. Perfect sweater weather, as I remind my customers in every newsletter. I should be thrilled. Instead, I'm just...here. Existing. Making sweaters. Paying rent. Rinse and repeat.

Outside, the neighborhood bustles with evening activity. Couples walking dogs. Families heading to dinner. Groups of friends laughing as they spill out of the craft brewery on the corner. I weave through them all, hands shoved in my pockets, head down.

Fifteen minutes of purposeless wandering later, I find myself circling back toward my building. As I approach the bank of mailboxes in the lobby, I realize I haven't checked mine in days. Probably nothing but junk and bills, but it's another small task to fill the endless string of minutes that make up my days.

I twist the key in the lock and pull out a small stack. Credit card offers, electric bill, supermarket flyer, and a thick cream-colored envelope with my name and address handwritten in an elegant script.

The return address catches my eye and my stomach drops through the floor.

Mark Werner & The Daniels Pack.

Seriously?

My fingers go numb as I stare at the envelope. It's heavy, expensive paper, the kind used for wedding invitations or...

Or mating ceremonies.

No. No way. He wouldn't.

It's one thing for him to be flaunting his new relationship all over social media, I didn't think he'd go as far as to actually print an invitation and send it to me. But of course he would. This is exactly the kind of thing Mark would do.

By the time I reach my door, I'm fuming, the envelope crumpled in my white-knuckled grip.

Inside my apartment, I throw the rest of the mail on the counter and tear open the cream envelope with enough force to rip the contents. A pristine card slides out, along with a glossy photo that flutters to the floor.

My eyes scan the elegant typography, each word a fresh slap in the face.

The Daniels Pack joyfully invites you to celebrate their official Mating Ceremony...

Joyfully. God, it even sounds like Mark, fake sincerity dripping from every syllable. I check the date. Eight weeks from now. Just enough advance notice to be proper, but not so much that I can conveniently make other plans.

I bend to retrieve the photo, already knowing what I'll find. Sure enough, it's one of those insufferable pack portraits with Mark in the center, his arm around the petite blonde omega I glimpsed on Instagram. Three other people are arranged around them in practiced casualness, all wearing coordinating outfits in muted blues and grays. And at their feet, a golden retriever sporting—I squint in disbelief—a custom sweater that matches the pack's color scheme as if they all agree on what to wear every morning.

Okay, now that's just adding insult to injury.

"You've got to be kidding me," I mutter, flipping the photo over. Someone has scrawled a brief note:

Hope you can make it! Would love for you to see how happy we all are! -M & Pack

The manufactured perfection of it all makes me want to scream. Or vomit. Or both. That would be a mess, but oddly satisfying.

How did he even get this address? I haven't even forwarded all my mail yet.

Unless...

I grab my phone and call my sister, but I know there's a fifty-fifty chance she's busy wrangling kids.

"Please tell me you didn't give Mark my address," I say the moment she picks up.

"Hello to you too," Jessica sighs. "And no, of course I didn't. What happened?"

I sigh, feeling like an idiot. This is making me paranoid. "I just got an invitation to his mating ceremony. With a pack photo. The dog is wearing a sweater, Jess. A coordinating sweater."

"Oh no." Her tone shifts from annoyed to sympathetic in an instant. "That's...wow. That's a special kind of cruel, even for that douchebag."

"How did he even get my address? I was careful."

"Maybe from the lawyer? When you finalized the apartment lease transfer?" she offers. "Or, uh… Jake might have given it to him if he asked. You know he always liked him."

I groan, slumping against the kitchen counter. Our oblivious older brother. Of course. Either option is plausible, and neither matters now. The damage is done.

"Are you okay?" Jessica asks softly.

"I'm..." I stare at the invitation on my counter, at the smiling faces in the photo. "I don't know what I am. Angry? But also... I don't even know. It's like he's rubbing it in my face."

"Because he is," Jessica says flatly. "He's a passive-aggressive jackass who can't just let you move on with your life. Though I'm surprised his omega would let him pull this stunt."

"Maybe she doesn't know. Or maybe she's just as awful as he is." I run a hand through my hair, loosening strands from my messy bun. "What am I supposed to do with this? If I go alone, I look pathetic. If I don't go, they'll think I'm bitter and couldn't handle seeing them together."

"Screw what they think. You don't owe any of them your presence."

"I know that. Rationally, I know that." I push away from the counter, pacing the small confines of my kitchen. "But it still feels like he's won somehow. Like all of them have won."

The line goes quiet for a moment. "You need wine," Jessica says finally. "And I would come over with a bottle, but Luke's out of town and the kids are already in their pajamas."

"I have wine. And I'll be fine. I just needed to vent." I eye the bottle of cabernet on my counter. Not my first choice for drowning sorrows, but it'll do in a pinch.

"Are you sure? I could call the babysitter⁠—"

"No, seriously. I'm okay." I force a lightness into my voice that I don't feel. "You're right. It's just a stupid invitation. I'll throw it away and forget about it."

Jessica doesn't sound convinced, but she lets it go. We chat for a few more minutes before she has to deal with what sounds like a toddler uprising in the background. After we hang up, I stare at the invitation again, an ugly feeling twisting in my gut.

It's not the fact that Mark has moved on. I've known that for months. It's the deliberate way he's shoving his happiness in my face. The careful orchestration of it all.

I snatch the bottle of wine and a glass from the cabinet, not bothering with the usual ritual of letting it breathe. The first sip burns going down, too tannic and too warm, but I welcome the bite of it.

Mark knows exactly what he's doing. This is his way of saying "See what you're missing? See how perfect we all are without you?" As if I was the problem all along. As if I somehow drove him to cheat, to lie, to secretly visit pack houses behind my back for months.

I take another, larger sip and carry my glass to the couch, sinking into the cushions. My laptop sits on the coffee table, still open to my inventory spreadsheet. I should finish reconciling those numbers. Instead, I find myself opening a browser and navigating to Beyond Bonds.

It's just curiosity, I tell myself. Just a distraction from Mark's bullshit. Nothing more.

The site remembers my login info, and suddenly I'm staring at my profile. Jessica's creation, with those flattering photos that look like someone else's life. Someone who goes to theaters and wears purple gowns and doesn't eat entire pies alone in cafés.

A red notification bubble shows in the corner. Messages. Two of them.

The first is from Andrew, the doctor from my disastrous double date. The timestamp shows it was sent weeks ago.

Lexie, I wanted to apologize for the other night. I thought Brandon was ready to look for something serious, but old habits die hard. If we can make it up to you again, just let me know.

It's nice enough, and probably sincere, but I can't muster any enthusiasm for a do-over. If Andrew had been truly interested, he would have shut down Brandon's sales pitch or followed me out of the restaurant. Instead, he sat there while I climbed out a bathroom window. Not exactly knight-in-shining-armor material.

And clearly, this is a pattern. I'm not quite that desperate.

I don't think.

The second message is from Brandon himself, sent three days ago.

Hey there! Sorry for the miscommunication at dinner. Didn't mean to come on so strong with the business talk! But since we're on the subject, I've been thinking about your situation, and I'd like to have another conversation. How about coffee? My treat!

Yeah, no, I'm definitely not that desperate.

"Unbelievable," I mutter, closing both messages without responding.

Brandon genuinely can't see why ambushing a date with insurance brochures might be inappropriate. And Andrew sat back and let it happen, only reaching out after I'd ghosted them both.

I guess some betas can give alphas a run for their money in the audacity department.

I take another swig of wine and go to the search page. Not because I'm looking. Just because Mark's smug invitation is still sitting on my counter, and I hate the idea that he thinks I'm home alone with no prospects while he plans his perfect pack ceremony.

Even if he's right.

I start scrolling through the available profiles, applying no filters, just mindlessly flipping through faces and descriptions. Most are the usual—alphas seeking omegas, omegas looking for packs, betas searching for compatible matches. Nothing catches my interest until I reach a profile with no photo, just a default silhouette.

The username is "PuckPack5" and the headline reads: High-profile pack seeks female beta to round out our dynamic (we're all hot, promise!)

I snort into my wine glass. Sure, buddy. That's why there's no photo, because you're all so devastatingly attractive you'd crash the server.

But the cockiness of it makes me click anyway. I'm already in a mood. The profile text is surprisingly detailed for a faceless account.

We're a close-knit pack of five professional males (four alphas, one omega) in our 20s and early 30s. Due to our public-facing careers, we're keeping things discreet online, but happy to share pics in private messages with serious inquiries.

A member of our pack recently presented as an omega (late bloomer) and has made it clear he's strictly into women, which means our pack dynamic needs to evolve. Basically, he's tired of us looking at him like the last can of beer in the fridge and we could definitely use some feminine energy in the house to balance things out.

No drama, no games, just looking for the right person to complete our family. Intelligence, independence, and a sense of humor required. Pack experience not necessary. We're figuring this out as we go too.

I reread the description, oddly intrigued in spite of myself. A male omega who recently presented? That's unusual enough to be potentially legitimate. And the straightforward, slightly irreverent tone feels refreshingly honest compared to the polished desperation of most pack profiles I've browsed.

But no photos is still a red flag. They could be anyone. Catfishers, creeps, or worse. And even if they are this "high-profile pack" they claim to be, do I really want that kind of complication? Being with one public figure would be challenging enough, let alone five.

Plus, there's the omega factor. Even if he's not interested in the alphas romantically, he's still an omega in a pack of alphas. The dynamics there would be... complex, to say the least. Every pack I've encountered puts their omega front and center. Would I always be second place by default? The afterthought they added because their omega won't touch them?

No thanks. I've spent enough of my life feeling like someone's consolation prize. I'd rather be alone. I'm good at that, at least.

I swipe past the profile, continuing my mindless scrolling.

No one else stands out. No one who doesn't already have an omega in the pack, or isn't looking for one.

When I go to close out, a popup appears I've never seen before. Blind Match?

A cursory glance of the new feature reveals it to be an algorithmic matchmaking service that pairs users up for a blind date, no strings attached. It's supposedly based on some highly advanced compatibility system that sounds like marketing BS, but what the hell?

It can't do a worse job than I have. And it's not like I have to go if it matches me with a weirdo. The process is simple, too. Just two questions.

What are your must-haves?

I leave that blank, because I don't even know anymore.

What are your hard nos?

I check only two boxes. Packs with an omega. Packs seeking an omega.

After signing for consent, I close the app and pour myself another glass of wine. Time to get back to the one area of my life that isn't a complete disaster.

Work.

Chapter

Ten

DMITRI

Iwrap the tape around my wrist one more time, making sure it's tight enough to stay but not so tight it cuts my circulation. Game nights have their own pattern, a comfort when everything else feels uncertain. Tonight especially.

The locker room buzzes with pre-game energy, but underneath it all, there's a current of anxiety that doesn't belong. Eyes that dart too often to one stall. Conversations that pause when a certain defenseman walks past. Nobody wants to acknowledge the elephant in the room.

Darren sits in his stall across the room, focused entirely on his own pre-game routine. Methodical. Competent. Same as always. But nothing is truly the same anymore, is it?

I can still remember the woodsmoke scent that flooded the ice when he went down. The way it changed everything in an instant. But tonight, I smell nothing from him. The blockers work well, maybe a little too well. It's unsettling, like looking at a familiar face with the eyes photoshopped out.

"You good?" Jax asks, dropping onto the bench beside me. He keeps his voice low, for my ears only.

I nod once. "Fine."

He studies me for a moment longer than necessary. Jax has always been perceptive. It's what makes him a good captain. "Just remember, nothing's changed on the ice."

But that's a lie, and we both know it. Everything has changed. We just haven't figured out what it means yet.

I finish with my tape and flex my fingers, watching Darren from the corner of my eye. He moves with the confidence he's always had, but there's a new awareness in how he holds himself. Like he expects an attack from any direction.

The truth is, I'm not worried about Darren performing the way he always has. I'm worried about how I'll react if someone takes a run at him. If I'll be able to do my job instead of giving in to the new, insistent impulse to protect.

Part of the problem is that, blockers or not, we all know Darren is an omega. Our omega, even if he wants to be anything else. The other part of the problem is that the other team doesn't.

Coach strides into the room, clipboard in hand, and the usual pre-game hush falls. He reads out line assignments, no surprises there. I'll be on Jax's right wing, Zayn on his left. Peterson sits tonight with Darren back in the lineup, paired with Jones on defense.

"Kings are coming in hot off a three-game win streak," Coach says, his voice gravelly from years of shouting behind benches. "Their top line's been connecting like they share a brain. Malloy, Jones, I need you two locked in tonight. No space, no time."

Darren nods, face set in determination. He's been waiting for this, his chance to prove nothing's changed. I know what that feels like. When I first came to America, every shift was about proving I belonged. That I wasn't just an outsider with a mean check.

"Vinogradov," Coach continues, turning to me. "I want you hounding their transition game. Force them to make mistakes."

"Understood," I say simply. Force mistakes. Create havoc. This is what I do.

Coach goes through the rest of the strategy, but my mind drifts. I find myself observing the room, noting the subtle shifts in our pack dynamic. Zayn keeps glancing at Darren with something between curiosity and challenge. Aidan's attention keeps returning to him as well, though his expression holds nothing but earnest concern. And Jax, our captain, is working overtime to pretend everything is normal while simultaneously monitoring everyone's reactions. Especially Darren's.

We are a pack trying to find new balance. Like wolves adjusting when rankings shift.

Twenty minutes later, we're in the tunnel, the roar of the crowd vibrating through the concrete beneath our feet. I roll my shoulders, settling my gear more comfortably. The calm before violence.

Darren stands ahead of me in line, his broad shoulders squared beneath his pads. From behind, there's no sign of what's changed. Same number 47. Same stance. Same ritual of tapping his stick blade three times against the floor before stepping onto the ice.

Then we're moving, skating out into the bright lights and wall of noise. The home crowd roars its welcome as we circle the ice. Aidan leads us, rookie goalie taking his position in the crease early to settle his nerves. Smart kid. He's learned fast.

During warmups, I watch Darren from across the ice as he fires pucks at Aidan. His shot looks normal, hard and accurate. His skating is smooth. If anything, he seems more fluid than before.

"Looking good, eh?" Jax skates up beside me, collecting pucks for another round of shots.

"Yes," I agree cautiously. "But in-game is different."

Jax nods, understanding what I'm not saying. Practice is controlled. Games are chaos. And chaos has a way of exposing truths you'd rather keep hidden.

The horn sounds, ending warmups. As we head to the bench for final preparations, I catch Darren's eye and give him a small nod. He returns it, a flash of gratitude crossing his features before his game face returns.

Then the puck drops, and there's no more time for thinking. Only reacting.

The first period moves fast. The Kings come as advertised, quick, coordinated, dangerous on the rush. But our defense holds. Darren and Jones settle into a rhythm, complementing each other better than I expected. Darren's positioning remains flawless, his stick always in the right lane to disrupt passes.

I forget to worry about him when my line takes the ice. There's only the game, the cold burn in my lungs, the bite of my edges into fresh ice, the satisfaction of a solid body check that separates man from puck. This is the simplicity I love about hockey. For all its rules and systems, it ultimately comes down to will. To who wants it more.

Midway through the period, I get a clean look from the high slot. Jax finds me with a perfect pass after Zayn draws two defenders to the boards. The puck leaves my stick clean, but the Kings' goalie flashes his glove. Save. I curse in Russian, skating back to the bench for a line change.

"Good shot," Darren says as I pass him on my way to the bench. A small thing, this encouragement, but it means something. We're still teammates first. Still focused on the prize.

The period ends scoreless. Both teams feeling each other out, probing for weaknesses. In the locker room, Coach makes minor adjustments to our forecheck, but mostly lets us breathe. Sometimes that's better than speeches.

I sip water and observe. Darren sits quietly in his stall, eyes distant as he mentally reviews his shifts. There's sweat beading along his hairline, but he looks stable. Whatever chemicals he's using to mask his nature seem to be holding.

Then I notice Aidan staring at him from across the room. The kid tries to be subtle, but subtlety isn't in his skill set.

I'm not the only one who notices. Zayn catches it too, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth as his gaze flicks between Aidan and Darren. He leans over to whisper something to Jones beside him, who glances up with raised eyebrows.

This is how it starts. Glances. Whispers. The things that can fracture a team from the inside.

"Second period," Coach calls, cutting through my thoughts. "Let's go. Same intensity, quicker transitions."

Back on the ice, the game finds another gear. The Kings adjust their breakout, trying to exploit gaps between our forwards and defense. It nearly works. Twice they generate odd-man rushes that force Aidan to make spectacular saves.

Then comes the moment I've been dreading without realizing it.

Darren retrieves a puck behind our net, head up, looking for an outlet pass. He doesn't see the Kings' forward bearing down on him from his blind side. A thundering check sends Darren crashing into the boards, his helmet bouncing off the glass.

A primal rage roars to life inside me. My vision narrows, focuses on the player skating away from Darren's crumpled form. The need to answer this offense burns through my veins, drowning out the whistle, the crowd, everything but the target.

I'm halfway across the ice when Jax's voice cuts through the red haze.

"Dmitri! Line change!"

His voice pulls me back. I look down, surprised to find my gloves already off, ready for violence. I've stepped out of position, left my lane, abandoned the system. Exactly what I feared would happen.

Darren is already back on his skates, shaking off the hit. No harm done. A routine hockey play I wouldn't have thought twice about a month ago.

I force myself back to the bench, heart hammering against my ribs. Jax gives me a measured look as I sit.

"You good?" he asks again, this time with more weight behind the question.

I nod once, not trusting my voice. I need to get myself under control. This protective instinct is natural for alphas around pack omegas, but I can't let it interfere with the game. Can't let it change how I play or how I treat Darren.

He wouldn't want that. Would hate it, in fact. Thank gods he doesn't seem to have noticed.

Yet.

The rest of the game passes in a blur of sweat and effort. We're tied right down to the last, but Zayn gets in the final point with his usual showboating.

Yes, there will be no living with him now.

After the game, the locker room is its own challenge. Trying to keep my focus away from Darren, or at least not to show it always drifts back to him. Trying not to let the image of the water cascading down his muscular back linger in my thoughts any longer than it has to, knowing he'd hate me if he knew it registered at all.

All I can do is hope I'm not as obvious as Aidan. The rookie has puppy eyes every time he looks Darren's way. They falter when Darren snaps a towel against his ass on his way by.

"Nice block on that play, rookie," Darren says, before taking a swig of his sports drink.

Aidan turns a few shades of red that clash with his orange jersey and grumbles a barely intelligible thanks.

But then we're all focused on Darren, gulping down the blue liquid, his Adam's apple bobbing as a few droplets spill down his chin. He stops and looks up, cocking an eyebrow. "What?"

"Nothing," Jax says quickly, eyes darting away right before mine do.

The game might have gone off without a hitch, but we're all fucked. That much is clear.

Chapter

Eleven

ZAYN

Another city, another win, same bullshit. I pull my suit jacket over my shoulders and check my reflection in the mirror. My undercut's a little long, but I don't trust anyone but my usual barber not to butcher it. I have circles nearly as dark as my eyes underneath from the shit sleep I've been getting lately, courtesy of one defenseman turned omega.

Everyone should be riding high after three consecutive wins, but instead, the locker room feels like we're attending a funeral where the corpse might sit up and do the fucking Macarena at any minute.

And it's all because of him.

From my corner of the room, I watch Darren finish his post-game routine. The way he folds his towel exactly the same every time would drive most people crazy, but now everyone's staring at it like it's some kind of fucking miracle. Look, the omega can fold towels just like he used to! Amazing!

I snort and turn away, adjusting my collar. The worst part is I caught myself doing it too. Watching him. Noting the way his shoulders move under his shirt, how his jaw tightens when reporters get too close.

Aidan can't stop staring at his ass in the locker room. Same with Dmitri, even if the not-so-gentle giant is subtler about it.

And Jax can't hide his protective instincts, even if he's good at brushing them off as a captain's responsibility.

It's pathetic.

"You coming tonight?" Dmitri asks, materializing beside me like a mountain shifting location.

"Wouldn't miss it." I paste on my media smile, the one that gets me endorsement deals and shitloads of Instagram followers. "Someone has to make sure you don't try to arm wrestle the entire bar again."

Dmitri's expression doesn't change—it rarely does—but there's a flicker of amusement in those ice-blue eyes. He follows my gaze to where Darren is now talking with Jax, their heads bent close together. Something sharp twists in my gut.

"He played well tonight," Dmitri says, his deep voice pitched low. "Back to his old self almost."

"Lucky bounces," I reply, the lie slick on my tongue. Darren played better than well. He was a fucking wall out there, same as always, but somehow even more graceful. Like the omega awakening enhanced what was already there. "The Stones aren't exactly a challenge."

"Hmm." It's impressive how much judgment Dmitri can pack into a single syllable. And annoying as shit.

I turn away, busying myself with my tie. I don't need the Russian's silent disapproval. I know what I'm doing. What I've always done. Channel anything uncomfortable into something I can control. Irritation. Sarcasm. Being the asshole everyone already thinks I am anyway.

It's simpler that way.

"Bus leaves in five," Jax announces to the room. Our captain's already dressed, as usual. Gray suit that matches his eyes, and a neutral expression that doesn't fool any of us. He's been wound tighter than a spring since Darren's presentation.

We're all a fucking mess, if I'm being honest. A pack of scent-bonded alphas suddenly circling our newly-discovered omega like he's the last lifeboat on the Titanic. The suppressants and blockers mask his scent, but they don't change what we know. What we feel.

What I refuse to feel.

I grab my bag and head for the door, deliberately cutting a path that takes me nowhere near Darren's stall. I don't need to catch another whiff of artificial neutrality where that woodsmoke scent should be. Don't need to watch him move in that new way that makes my skin feel like an off-rack suit.

On the bus, I claim a row to myself, sprawling across both seats with my headphones already in place. Universal signal for "fuck off, I'm not talking." It usually works.

Not tonight.

Aidan drops into the seat across the aisle, his face flushed with the residual high of the win. The kid played lights out, two incredible saves in the third that kept us ahead. He deserves to celebrate.

Just not with me.

"Hell of a game, huh?" he says, either missing or ignoring my go-away signals.

I grunt noncommittally, scrolling through my phone with exaggerated focus.

"That save in the third," he continues, unperturbed by my lack of enthusiasm. "Darren really bailed me out there. If he hadn't cleared that rebound⁠—"

"Yeah, yeah, Malloy's a fucking hero." I cut him off. "Save the fanboy routine for someone who cares."

Aidan blinks, surprise flickering across his freckled face. "I was just saying⁠—"

"Go say it somewhere else." I turn up my music loud enough that he can hear it from across the aisle, a clear dismissal.

The kid's face falls, but he takes the hint, moving further up the bus to where Jones and Peterson are playing some card game on a makeshift table of equipment bags. I watch him go, ignoring the stab of guilt. Better he learns now. We're not friends just because we wear the same jersey.

The truth is I can't stand another second of anyone, especially the rookie, mooning over Darren fucking Malloy. Not when I'm working so hard not to do the same thing.

Twenty minutes later, we're filing into some upscale bar downtown, one of those places with exposed brick walls and Edison bulbs that charges fifteen bucks for a beer because of the "ambiance." The host recognizes us immediately, eyes widening as he takes in our group.

"Mr. Copeland! What an honor," he gushes, clearly a hockey fan. "We have your VIP room ready, just as your manager requested."

Of course they do. Perks of being recognizable in a hockey town.

The private room is actually decent with plush couches arranged around low tables, a private bar along one wall, music loud enough to feel but not so loud we can't talk. Not that I plan on doing much talking tonight.

I make a beeline for the bar, ordering a bourbon neat. The first sip burns pleasantly, warming a path down my throat. I scan the room as the team settles in, automatically tracking where everyone chooses to sit. It's instinct at this point, the tactician in me always mapping the field.

Jax claims a corner spot with good sightlines to the whole room. Captain through and through, always positioned to keep watch. The others take their usual places, all except for Darren, who slides into a booth against the far wall, angled so his back is protected. Classic defensive positioning, subconscious but telling.

What's more telling is how my packmates' eyes drift to him. How my own gaze can't seem to stay off him for more than thirty seconds.

I drain my glass and signal for another. This is going to be a long fucking night.

An hour in, the team's relaxed into celebration mode. Jones and Peterson are downstairs, probably picking up some starstruck omegas with the Grizzlies allure they're capitalizing on for as long as they can. The win's finally sinking in, the tension of the game bleeding away. Jax is actually smiling as he recounts a story from his rookie year while Dmitri sips a cocktail and listens in silence. Aidan seems to have forgotten my earlier brush-off, his laugh carrying across the room as he bonds with the others. Everyone's present and accounted for.

Except Darren.

He's physically here, nursing the same beer he started with, but his attention is fixed on his phone. Every few minutes he glances at the screen, thumbs moving rapidly, then shoves it back in his pocket. Only to pull it out again a minute later.

The pattern repeats enough times that eventually even Jax notices, raising an eyebrow at our distracted defenseman during one of his periodic sweeps of the room. Darren doesn't even see it, too absorbed in whatever's on his screen.

I shouldn't care. It's none of my business what's got him so fixated. But the bourbon has loosened something in me, pried open a crack in the careful wall I've built.

Before I can stop myself, I'm sliding into the booth across from him, my fresh drink in hand.

"Hot date?" I smirk when he startles, nearly dropping his phone. "Or are you just refreshing your Instagram to see how many thirsty comments your last gym selfie got? Spoiler alert, it's fewer than mine."

Darren's eyes narrow, that usual irritation darkening them to a stormy blue. "Fuck off, Copeland."

"Such hostility." I lean back, sprawling deliberately in my seat. "And here I thought we were bonding over our big win. You know, team spirit and all that shit."

He snorts, tucking his phone away. "Since when do you care about team spirit?"

"I'm wounded." I press a hand to my chest in mock offense. "I'm the heart and soul of this team. Just ask anyone."

"More like the asshole," he mutters, but there's less bite in it than usual. Almost like he's too distracted to properly engage in our usual verbal sparring.

Which only makes me more curious about what's on that phone.

Curious, not jealous, I tell myself.

Darren's eyes keep drifting to his pocket, his fingers twitching with the obvious desire to check it again. Whatever's happening there has him on edge. Nervous, even. Which is not a word I typically associate with Darren Malloy.

"Seriously, what's so fascinating?" I nod toward his pocket. "You've been glued to that thing all night. Candy Crush addiction? Social media drama? Or are you finally joining the modern world and setting up a dating profile?"

His reaction is immediate and telling, a flush creeping up his neck, jaw tightening in that way it does when he's caught out. Bingo.

"Holy shit," I laugh, genuine surprise cutting through my practiced nonchalance. "You're actually on a dating app? What, did you run out of groupies?"

"Drop it, Zayn." The warning in his voice should probably deter me. It doesn't.

"No chance." I lean forward, lowering my voice conspiratorially. "What are you looking for, hmm? Some alpha stud to help you through your first heat? Already shopping for knotting partners?"

The words come out before I can censor them, crude and deliberately provocative. The kind of shit I'd say to get under anyone's skin. But as soon as they leave my mouth, something hot and ugly coils in my stomach at the thought of Darren with some random alpha. Some stranger touching him, tasting him…

No. Fuck that. Not going there.

Darren's face darkens, fury flashing in his eyes. But there's another emotion there too. A flicker of guilt that tells me I've hit closer to the mark than I intended.

"You're on a hookup app," I realize, the words flat with disbelief. "You're actually looking to meet someone."

I hate myself for feeling betrayed.

"It's none of your fucking business." His voice drops, dangerous and low.

"Like hell it isn't." The words come out harsher than I meant them to. I force a laugh to cover it. "Our newly presented omega cruising for strange in a city where nobody knows what he is? That's everyone's business."

His phone buzzes again, screen lighting up in his pocket. I move before thinking, lightning-quick across the table, snatching it before he can react.

"Zayn!" He lunges for it, but I twist away, holding it out of reach. "Give that back or I swear to God⁠—"

"Just checking if I need to vet your suitors," I taunt, dancing backward out of the booth. "Someone's got to look out for your virtue."

More like punch the teeth out of any asshole who tries to touch him.

The screen's still lit with a notification. Not Tinder or Grindr like I expected, but some app called Beyond Bonds. A message preview shows a text from someone simply labeled Blind Match.

Holy shit. He's actually doing this.

I don't get to see more because Darren's on his feet now, closing the distance between us with dangerous intent. "Give. It. Back."

"Problem?" Jax materializes beside us, captain's instincts kicking in at the first sign of tension.

"No problem," I say smoothly, still holding the phone above my head like we're in grade school. "Just discovered our boy Darren's secret life as a dating app Romeo."

“Zayn.” Jax's voice carries that warning tone he uses when I'm pushing limits. “Give him his phone.”

He's putting on a good act, but I can smell the way his scent sharpens. Can tell the thought of anyone else touching Darren is pissing him off as much as it is me, whether I want to admit it or not.

"After I've made sure he's not setting himself up with some alpha predator," I counter, swiping to unlock the screen. To my surprise, it opens. No password. Amateur hour. "Beyond Bonds? Sounds like a shitty movie."

Darren lunges again, this time catching my wrist in a grip tight enough to bruise. "You're an asshole, Copeland."

"Always have been." I manage to hold the phone up with my other hand, the app open now. "Let's see who's got our omega all hot and bothered, shall we?"

The words die in my throat as I scan the messages. Not what I expected. Not at all.

"What the fuck, Malloy?"

By now, the commotion has drawn everyone's attention. The rest of the pack gathers around us, confusion and concern evident on their faces. Aidan hovers at the edge, looking worried. Dmitri stands like a massive stone gargoyle behind Jax, his expression unreadable.

Darren uses my moment of surprise to snatch his phone back, shoving it deep in his pocket. "Happy now? Got your show?"

"What's going on?" Aidan asks, looking between us.

"Nothing," Darren snaps. "Just Zayn being his usual charming self."

"Darren's been shopping for dates on some app," I announce, the bourbon making me reckless. "But not with alphas. With female betas."

The silence that follows is deafening. Everyone staring at Darren with varying degrees of confusion and... is that hurt? We're all so fucking pathetic.

Me included.

"Is that true?" Jax asks finally, his voice deceptively free of emotion.

Darren looks trapped, cornered. For a second I think he might deny it or tell us all to fuck off again. Instead, his shoulders slump slightly. "Yeah. So what? Since when does a guy have to fill out a form to report a hookup? But it's not for me. Not just for me."

"What are you talking about?" Aidan's question comes out quiet, almost wounded.

"What do you think?" Darren's laugh holds zero humor. "Look around you. Look at how you're all staring at me right now. Like I'm a fucking puzzle you can't figure out. Or worse, like a pack of dogs waiting for a slab of meat to drop. The last Cheeto in the bag. The⁠—"

"Okay, we get it," Jax says, wincing. "So we've been a little… distracted lately. You could have just said something."

"Said what, stop staring at my ass?" he challenges. "Dude, do you have any idea how fucking awkward this is for me?"

No one speaks. Because what can we say? He's not wrong.

"I need someone else in the mix," he continues, words clipped and confident. "Someone to take the heat off me. Literally."

"You can't be serious," I find my voice again. "You're bringing in some random woman to what, distract us? So we'll stop looking at you like you're an omega?"

"That's exactly what I'm doing." He meets my eyes, challenge written in every line of his face. "We may be a pack, but I am not your fucking omega. I'm your teammate who happens to have a fucked-up biology, and I need you all to remember that."

"This isn't the time to be introducing someone new into our dynamic," Jax says, ever the voice of reason. "We're still adjusting to⁠—"

"This is exactly the time," Darren cuts him off. "Before things get any weirder than they already are. Before you all start thinking I'm suddenly yours to protect, or claim, or whatever the fuck goes on in your knothead alpha brains."

The accusation lands hard. Because again, he's not wrong. Not entirely.

"And what happens when your suppressants wear off?" I challenge, anger rising to cover the sting of his words.

"Yeah, Darren," Aidan says quietly. "You think you can just throw a female beta at us and pretend this isn't happening?"

"When you go into heat?" I challenge. "You think having some strange beta around is going to solve that problem?"

Uncertainty flickers across his face. Maybe fear. "I'll deal with that when it happens."

"How far have you taken this plan?" Dmitri speaks for the first time, his accent thicker than usual. A sign he's not as calm as he appears.

Darren hesitates, then straightens, defiance in every line of his body. "I got us a date. When we get back home. Before the Vancouver game."

"You what?" Aidan's voice cracks slightly.

"A date," Darren repeats.

"You mean a groupie," I scoff. "That's exactly what we need. Some fan thinking she's gonna get a sweet spot as the new pack pet."

"She's not a groupie," Darren says calmly. "In fact, she has no idea who we are, or even that we play. I kept the profile intentionally vague."

"So you're bringing a random into our mess?" I laugh incredulously. "That's even worse. Great plan, Malloy. What could possibly go wrong?"

"Less than keeping things as they are," he fires back. "Watching the way you four pull punches in practice, letting me win battles I should have had to fight for? Even Aidan's 'accidentally' missing saves when I shoot during practice⁠—"

"I don't do that," Aidan protests, but the flush creeping up his neck says otherwise. I've seen it myself.

"You do," Darren insists. "You all do. And I'm fuckin' tired of being treated like your damsel in distress."

"So your solution is to drag some unsuspecting woman into our fucked-up pack dynamic?" I shake my head.

"My solution is to get you assholes laid so you stop looking at me like the last ham at the market," he counters.

I scoff. "Who even is this person? Do you know anything about her other than the fact that she knows shit about us?"

Darren shifts, that uncertainty flashing across his face again. "It's a blind date. The app matches based on compatibility or whatever."

We all stare at him, momentarily speechless.

"A blind date," I echo in disbelief. "You're bringing a complete stranger—who could be anyone, by the way—into our lives because you can't handle the fact that you're an omega now?"

"Zayn," Jax's warning is sharper this time.

"No, let him talk," Darren says, folding his arms across his chest. "Let's hear what the great Zayn Copeland thinks I should do instead. Keep pretending nothing's changed? Let you all walk on eggshells around me? Or maybe I should just retire, move to a nice quiet omega community somewhere and learn to knit?"

The bitterness in his voice catches me off guard. There's real pain there, raw and exposed in a way Darren never allows himself to be. I'm not sure what to do with it.

"I think you're trying to outrun something you can't escape," I say, the words coming out more honest than I intended. "And you're going to get hurt. Maybe bring down the rest of us with you. Better to face the truth now than on the ice."

"Take your 'truth' and shove it up your ass," Darren snarls. "I know what I'm doing."

"Oh, clearly." I roll my eyes.

"When is this date?" Jax asks, cutting through the awkwardness with practical questions as usual.

"Friday. Couple days before the game." Darren's defiance hasn't faded. "And I want all of you to be there, and on good behavior, because this is the only chance any you have of getting any for the foreseeable future."

A growl wells up in my chest, but he has a point. We've all always had our flings outside the pack. Dmitri and I have shared a woman once or twice, usually groupies after a game, but the second we realized we had an omega in our midst, that all changed.

Even for me.

Even if he has no interest in letting any of us touch him, the pack became closed the second Darren presented as an omega. It's not something we've talked about, just an unspoken understanding that passed between us.

"Good luck with that," I mutter, eyeing Aidan who looks like someone just kicked his puppy.

"Is that all?" Darren asks, glancing around the circle of shocked teammates. "Because I'd like to get back to celebrating our win without a pack intervention."

"This conversation isn't over," Jax says quietly. "But for now, yes, let's table it."

The team disperses slowly, breaking into smaller groups that immediately start buzzing with low conversation. I know exactly what they're discussing. The same thing I'm thinking about. What fresh hell is Darren going to bring down on us with this blind date stunt?

Chapter

Twelve

LEXIE

The black dress makes me look like I'm attending a funeral. The red one screams "desperate." I hold up the emerald green against my chest, studying my reflection with a critical eye. Maybe? At least it brings out the warmth in my brown eyes and complements my reddish-brown hair.

"This is ridiculous," I mutter to the empty bedroom. "It's just a blind date that will probably end in disaster like all the others."

Still, I slip the green dress over my head, smoothing it down over my hips. It hugs my curves without being too clingy. Classy but not stuffy. The kind of dress that says, "I made an effort but didn't reorganize my entire life for this."

Perfect for a blind date with a pack.

A pack. What was I thinking?

I shake my head at my reflection. "You weren't thinking. You were drinking wine and feeling sorry for yourself because Mark's getting mated."

Mark and his picture-perfect pack with their color-coordinated outfits and their golden retriever in a matching sweater. Like some kind of Hallmark movie come to life, minus all the warmth and sincerity.

I still can't get the day I found him with that bitch out of my head. The woman I'm pretty sure sent me that invitation, since it was feminine handwriting even if it was signed by Mark.

They were in my bed. She looked exactly like she did in the Instagram photo someone tagged Mark in. Perfect blonde hair, sleek influencer body with tits that probably cost as much as Mark's prized Lexus. She had the decency to look ashamed, at least, and pretended like she had no idea while he made all the excuses in the world, but that invitation suggests she's not as innocent as she pretended to be.

I should've thrown that invitation directly into the trash instead of letting it burrow under my skin. Now I'm actually considering going to the ceremony, just to prove I'm fine. That I've moved on too.

Maybe if tonight goes well, I could bring my dates. Whoever they are.

Because blind dates arranged by algorithms always end in happily ever after, I think, reaching for my mascara.

The dating app had been frustratingly vague. Beyond Bond's "Blind Match" feature apparently doesn't believe in sharing basic information, like how many people are in this pack I'm meeting or what they look like. Just a restaurant name, reservation time, and an assurance that we're "highly compatible."

Whatever that even means.

I brush on a final coat of mascara, then step back to take in the full effect. My hair falls in soft waves past my shoulders instead of my usual practical bun. The dress fits well. The ankle boots add just enough height without guaranteeing blisters.

"Not bad, Goodwin," I tell my reflection. "Even if this ends with you climbing out another bathroom window, at least you'll look good doing it."

I grab my purse and keys, taking one last glance around my apartment. The stacks of inventory waiting to be shipped. The half-finished designs on my drafting table. The empty walls I still haven't bothered to decorate.

This is my life. Simple. Safe. Predictable.

And lonely as hell.

Maybe that's why I'm actually going through with this ridiculous blind date. Because while I've gotten good at being alone, I still haven't figured out how to stop being lonely.

The restaurant is nicer than I expected with its soft lighting, exposed brick walls, and white tablecloths. Not quite Martin's level of fancy, but definitely a cut above the casual bistros I usually frequent. As the hostess leads me through the main dining area, I scan the tables, wondering which one holds my mystery date.

Or dates, plural. Since it's a pack.

Four failed relationships with men who ultimately left me for packs with an omega. Why am I potentially setting myself up for number five?

Because sitting at home alone on a Friday night while everyone else moves forward with their lives feels worse than the uncertainty.

The hostess stops at an empty table by the window. "It looks like your party made a reservation for 7:30. Can I get you anything while you wait?"

"A glass of the house red, please." I slide into my seat, checking my watch. 7:22. I'm early, thanks to unexpectedly light traffic.

As I wait, I find myself rehearsing potential exit strategies. I'll give them until 7:31. One minute late, and I'm out of here. My dating history has earned me the right to be ruthlessly efficient with my time.

The wine arrives, a decent pinot noir that takes the edge off my nerves. I sip slowly, watching the door and trying not to look like I'm watching the door. The minutes tick by.

7:25.

7:28.

7:30.

7:31.

I set down my glass and reach for my purse. So much for highly compatible.

That's when he walks in.

Holy. Shit.

He's enormous, at least 6'4", with shoulders that nearly fill the doorway. Not just tall, but solid, like he was carved from marble and then covered in a perfectly tailored navy suit. Brown hair, just long enough to have personality. A strong jawline darkened with stubble. And even from across the room, I can see the intensity in his blue eyes as they scan the restaurant.

I realize I'm staring only when those blue eyes land on me. His face transforms with a smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes, and suddenly he's not just physically gorgeous, but somehow charming too.

He says something to the hostess, who points in my direction, and his eyes light up like he just won the lottery. As he makes his way toward me, I take another sip of wine, partly to calm my nerves and partly to hide the fact that my mouth has gone completely dry.

"Lexie?" His voice is deep, a little rough around the edges. And hopeful. Earnest.

I nod, not quite trusting my voice.

"I'm Darren." He extends a large hand, which I shake automatically. His palm is warm, calloused in a way that speaks of actual work. "I'm so sorry I'm late. Trying to wrangle my packmates is like herding cats."

"It's fine." I find my voice as he sits down across from me. "Where are they?"

He glances at his phone, brow knitting. "They'll be here if they know what's good for them."

I raise an eyebrow. "What's that?"

"Nothing." He looks up, and his expression shifts as he really takes me in. "Holy shit, you're gorgeous."

The bluntness of the compliment startles a laugh out of me. "You're not so bad yourself."

He doesn't smirk or preen like most attractive men would. Instead, he actually flushes slightly, running a hand through his hair in a gesture that seems almost shy. It's disarmingly genuine.

"So," he says, unfolding his napkin, "beyond what the app told you, which was probably next to nothing, what were you expecting tonight?"

I consider lying, then decide honesty might be refreshing. "In a word? Disaster. My dating history is basically a series of cautionary tales."

He laughs, a rich sound that echoes through me pleasantly. "Mine too, honestly. Though probably for different reasons."

"Try me," I challenge. "My last date tried to sell me insurance."

He blinks. "Like, metaphorically?"

"No, literally. Brought brochures and everything."

Darren throws his head back with a hardy laugh that draws glances from nearby tables. "Okay, you win. The worst I've had was a woman who just wanted hockey tickets."

I raise an eyebrow. "Hockey tickets?"

He freezes for a split second, then adjusts his tie. "Yeah, I, uh..."

The waiter arrives before he can finish, and we order drinks and appetizers. As he retreats, Darren seems to jump at the chance to steer the conversation in a different direction.

"So, the app said you're a business owner?"

"I am." Pride creeps into my voice despite my attempt at nonchalance. "I design and sell clothing. Some handmade, some modified. Mainly sweaters and accessories."

"That sounds really cool." His interest seems genuine as he leans forward. "How did you get started?"

Before I know it, I'm telling him about my journey from designing costumes for community theater to launching my online store. He asks smart questions about manufacturing and design processes, listens intently to my answers, and shares his own insights.

"The early days are the hardest," he says, nodding as I describe working through the night to fill unexpected orders. "Everyone sees the success, not the grind that got you there."

"Exactly!" I'm surprised by how well he gets it. "People think I just woke up one day with a running business, but it's been years of fourteen-hour days and ramen noodle dinners."

Darren looks slightly green. "Tell me about it. I ate so much of that shit during college, I couldn't pass it in the grocery aisle for years without gagging."

"You still look a little queasy," I admit with a giggle.

By the time our entrees arrive, I've nearly forgotten we're supposed to be meeting his pack. The conversation flows so easily between us that it feels like we've known each other for years rather than an hour. He's funny without trying too hard, thoughtful without being pretentious, and he looks at me when I speak like he's actually listening instead of just waiting for his turn to talk.

It's downright unnerving how much I like him already.

The waiter refills our wine glasses, and I realize we've been so engrossed in conversation that I haven't seen him check his phone once.

"Should we be worried about your packmates?" I ask.

A flash of annoyance crosses his face. "Honestly? I'm starting to think we've been stood up."

Wouldn't be the first time in my case, but I decide not to admit that.

"Let me guess. Cold feet about the whole online dating thing?"

"Something like that." He takes a sip of wine. "Their loss, honestly."

I'm surprisingly okay with this development. One-on-one is much less intimidating than meeting an entire pack all at once.

"So," I venture, "what do you do? When you're not being stood up by your own pack, I mean."

Now he definitely looks uncomfortable. "I, uh, I play hockey. Professionally."

"Oh." That explains the build. And the way he carries himself with that quiet athleticism. "Wow, that's impressive. What team?" When I realize that might be insulting, I quickly add, "I don't really follow sports."

He chuckles, relief evident in his expression. "I didn't think so."

"Is that good or bad?"

"Good. Definitely good." He smiles, and my stomach does a little flip. "It's refreshing to talk to someone who doesn't already have opinions about me based on stats or highlight reels."

I try to imagine what that would be like, being known by strangers, having your performance publicly dissected. "That sounds exhausting."

"It can be." He shrugs those massive shoulders. "But I've been lucky. I play for the Grizzlies, which is⁠—"

"The Grizzlies?" I interrupt, a frog in my throat. "Wait, that's the team my brother-in-law is obsessed with. He's always trying to get tickets."

Darren's smile widens. "I can help with that. Would be happy to, actually."

"Oh, God, no," I say, remembering what he said earlier about the woman who only wanted tickets. Although I have a hard time imagining anyone looking at Darren and not seeing him as a better prize. "That's not⁠—"

"It would be my pleasure," he insists, grinning. "And if you're into it, I'd love for you to come to our next home game. I can set you up with VIP box seats. Bring whoever you want."

I blink, trying to process this unexpected offer. "That's incredibly generous."

"It's nothing." He waves it off, but I can tell my reaction pleases him. "Just perks of the job."

A thought occurs to me, and I hesitate. "I'm starting to think this app is a matchmaking service for famous people. Did I miss that part of the fine print?"

He looks genuinely confused. "What do you mean?"

"It's just... I was looking through profiles before and swiped past one that claimed to be anonymous because they were 'super high-profile.'" I shake my head with a laugh. "And now my blind date turns out to be a famous hockey player. Seems like more than just a coincidence."

Darren sets down his fork, something changing in his expression. "Well, technically, your blind date was supposed to be with five famous hockey players, but my pack bailed. I'm sorry about that."

"So the rest of your pack isn't as on board with dating as you are?" I ask warily.

Of course this guy is too good to be true.

He sighs. "It's complicated. They're not sure about the whole online thing."

"I can understand that." Famous athletes probably have to be careful. People looking to exploit them or worse.

His smile returns, softer now. "I can't complain about the algorithm, though, if it gave me a second chance."

"A second chance?" I echo, confused.

“Yeah,” he says with a slightly sheepish grin. “That anonymous high-profile pack you swiped past? That was us. That was our profile.”

I feel heat rise to my cheeks as I realize I just admitted to rejecting him once already. But then something else clicks, a detail from that profile resurfacing in my memory.

Oh. Oh shit.

The pack with the recently presented omega.

The warmth that had been building in my chest all evening suddenly chills. Things had been going so well, too. I should have known there was a catch.

"What's wrong?" Darren asks, clearly noticing the shift in my demeanor. "Why does it feel like the temperature just dropped ten degrees?"

I hesitate, searching for the right words. "There must be some mistake with the matching system. I told the app I couldn't be matched with a pack that has an omega."

His face falls slightly. "Can I ask why?"

I grimace, hearing how it sounds out loud. "That sounded really bad, didn't it? I'm sorry. It's nothing against omegas, it's just..."

"Bad experience?" he offers, his understanding surprising me.

"Yes. Four of them, actually." I trace the rim of my wine glass, not meeting his eyes. "Four relationships, four men who eventually left me for packs that have omegas. Call me a little gun shy."

"Ouch." His grimace is sympathetic. "That's rough."

I give him an apologetic smile. "Look, you're insanely attractive and totally my type, even if I'm not sure about the whole famous sports pack thing. Under any other circumstances, I'd be asking you back to my sweater-filled apartment, no hesitation, but I just got invited to my ex's mating ceremony and it's all still pretty raw."

"He sent you an invitation?" He raises his eyebrows. "To his mating ceremony?"

"Complete with a photo of his new dog," I say flatly. "She's pretty cute."

"Damn, that's a dick move if I've ever heard one," he says, genuine anger flashing in his eyes on my behalf.

"Par for the course with Mark." I shrug, trying to seem more nonchalant than I feel. "I just don't think I can handle setting myself up for another heartbreak."

And it would be so easy for the man sitting across from me to break my heart. That thought remains unspoken, but it echoes loudly in my mind.

"Besides," I add, "it's pretty clear the rest of your pack isn't ready either. The last thing I want is to step on your omega's toes."

Darren gives me a rueful smile. "Well, the omega is actually the only one who's fully on board with all this."

"What?" I ask, confused.

He shifts in his seat, suddenly looking uncomfortable. "There's something I need to explain. Something I probably should've mentioned from the beginning, but I didn't know you'd specified no omegas, and then I got caught up talking to you and..."

He trails off, raking a hand through his hair again, that nervous and vulnerable gesture I'm already finding endearing despite myself.

"What is it?" I prod gently.

Darren meets my eyes directly. "I'm the omega, Lexie."

My wine glass freezes halfway to my lips. "You're... what?"

"I'm the omega," he repeats, his voice low but steady. "The one who recently presented."

I stare at him, sure I've misheard. This mountain of a man—this professional hockey player who exudes strength and confidence—can't possibly be an omega. It doesn't compute with everything I thought I knew about designation.

Holy shit. This can't be happening.

The first guy I've been genuinely attracted to in ages turns out to be the one thing I swore I couldn't handle.

Actually, no. Considering the way my dating life has been going, that makes perfect sense.

Chapter

Thirteen

DARREN

The moment the words leave my mouth, I can see Lexie's entire body language shift. Her eyes widen, her spine stiffens, and she stares at me like I've suddenly grown a second head. I've seen that look before. On my teammates' faces, on doctors, on myself in the mirror that first morning after the hospital.

Disbelief. Confusion. A complete reassessment of everything she thought she knew about omegas.

"You're..." she starts, then stops, shaking her head slightly. "But you don't..."

"Look like an omega?" I finish for her, trying to keep my voice light even as something heavy settles in my chest. "Yeah, I get that a lot these days."

I run a hand through my hair, a nervous habit I can't seem to shake these days. This was going so well. Too well, probably. I should've known when I met the most gorgeous woman I've ever laid eyes on and she happened to be hilarious, charming, driven, and sweet, the other shoe would drop.

"I'm sorry," I say, leaning back slightly. "I should've been upfront from the beginning. I'm not used to any of this yet."

Lexie's still staring at me, those warm brown eyes searching my face like she's trying to solve a particularly difficult puzzle. "But you smell like a beta."

"Right." I tap the side of my neck, where the scent blocker is hidden under my collar. "Industrial-strength suppressants and blockers. They're doing some heavy lifting right now."

She takes a sip of her wine, seeming to need a moment to process. "So you're not... I mean, this isn't something you've always been?"

“Gods, no.” I let out a laugh that sounds hollow even to my own ears. “Until a handful of weeks ago, I was a beta. Had been my whole life. Then I took a hit on the ice that scrambled my brains pretty good.”

"A concussion made you present as an omega?" Her disbelief is completely justified. I've had enough medical professionals look at me like I'm a medical miracle, or mistake, to know how it sounds.

"One of many concussions," I clarify, unconsciously touching the spot on my temple where the knee connected. "But yeah, this one apparently knocked some screws loose. I was adopted, so I never knew my biological parents, just that my biological mother was a beta. Turns out dear old dad must've been an alpha."

I try to keep my tone casual, like I'm recounting someone else's story and not the thing that turned my entire identity inside out.

"Thanks, Dad," I add dryly.

Lexie's watching me with an intensity that makes me want to squirm. There's something in her gaze that's not quite pity, thank fuck, but a sort of understanding that I wasn't expecting.

"That's... rough?" she offers. "I'm assuming you're not thrilled, if you're wearing blockers."

"Yeah, it's pretty much like thinking you're one thing your whole life, and then you get hit by a freight train full of dicks." I take a long pull of my wine, smiling a little as she chokes on hers in response. The alcohol is doing little to ease the tightness in my chest. "But the freight train is also you."

She winces in sympathy. "I can't even imagine what that must be like."

"It's been an adjustment." Understatement of the fucking century. "Learning to live in a body that suddenly has different rules."

"And your pack?" she asks carefully. "How are they handling it?"

I rake a hand through my hair again, knowing I'm probably turning it into a disaster zone. "Not great."

Her brow furrows with genuine concern. "They're not supportive?"

"Oh no, they are," I correct quickly. "A little too supportive, actually. But trying to prove myself as a beta in a pack full of alphas was hard enough. Some people think only alphas should even be allowed to play because they're naturally so much stronger and faster."

I don't mention that I built my entire identity around being the beta who could outwork, outhit, and outperform most alphas on the ice. That I took a perverse pride in being tougher than nature intended.

"Now it's like being back to square one, but worse," I continue. "They all walk on eggshells around me, like I'm suddenly made of glass. In practice, they pull punches. During games, they hover like I can't take a hit anymore." The frustration I've been bottling up spills into my voice. "Even our rookie goalie lets shots in when I'm shooting that he used to stop easily. It's like they can't separate me from what I've become."

I catch myself, suddenly aware that I've been rambling. This gorgeous woman did not sign up for my identity crisis on a first date. "Sorry, I don't think you want to hear all this."

"No," she says softly, reaching across the table to touch my hand briefly. The contact sends a jolt through me that has nothing to do with my new biology. "I get it. More than you probably think."

I hesitate, studying her face. There's a shadow of old hurt, maybe, that makes me believe her. "How so?"

"Well, not the whole biological transformation part," she admits with a small smile. "But being seen as one thing when you feel like another? Having people project their expectations onto you? I've been there."

The way she says it makes me think there's a deeper story. Probably about those four failed relationships she mentioned. But I don't push. We're already weaving through enough emotional landmines for one dinner and I'm just trying not to scare her off.

Instead, I take a breath and decide to lay my cards on the table. "Look, I'm sorry there was a mixup with the app. I know we're not exactly what you're looking for."

The "we" feels strange on my tongue. Like I'm speaking for a unit that I'm still not sure includes me in the way it used to.

"But I'd be lying if I said I didn't feel a connection here." I meet her eyes directly, letting her see the truth of it. "I don't know if it goes both ways, but..."

"It does," she says quickly, then looks almost surprised at her own admission. She tucks a strand of reddish-brown hair behind her ear, a gesture I already find endearing. "Even if I'm still... hesitant."

My chest warms up a little. Hope, maybe. A feeling I've been short on lately.

"I just don't know how to handle this sort of thing," she adds, her honesty disarming me.

I can't help the smile that tugs at my lips. "What, your blind date turning out to be a giant omega who thought he was a beta until a month ago? That happens to you often?"

The laugh that bursts out of her is bright and unexpected, a sound so genuine and warm that it catches me off guard. It's easily the best sound I've heard in months. Ever, maybe.

And I know, with absolute certainty, that if the rest of the pack hears that laugh, they'll understand immediately what I already do. Lexie is something special. Even Zayn, that perpetual asshole, couldn't find fault with her.

Though knowing him, he probably has a thing for other assholes. I don't really know what kind of women he usually takes home, but I assume they're a personality match.

"I've had some weird dates," she admits, still smiling, "but you're definitely a first in that category."

"I aim to be memorable." I find myself leaning toward her slightly, drawn by that smile, by the way her eyes crinkle at the corners when she laughs. "So... would you be willing to give us—me and the pack—another chance? If I wrangle the alphas and promise they'll all be there next time with flowers and an apology?"

She pauses, and I can practically see her weighing the decision. The caution in her eyes wars with interest, curiosity, maybe even the same pull I'm feeling.

Finally, she smiles. "Why not? If it goes bad, I can just climb out the bathroom window like I did on my last date."

I stare at her blankly, momentarily distracted from the fact that she actually said yes. "Wait, you're going to have to tell me that story. In full detail."

She gives me a coy smile that does ridiculous things to my heartbeat. "Next time. Something to look forward to."

Next time. Two simple words that shouldn't feel like such a victory, but they do. I'm already looking forward to it more than I probably should be, considering there's still a good chance the others will run her off.

Now I just have to get the rest of the pack on the same page.

Chapter

Fourteen

JAX

Islump deeper into the leather couch, staring at the half-empty tumbler of bourbon in my hand. After an emergency meeting with the team owner about ticket sales, since apparently a one-percent drop is the end of the world, I need the drink.

I take another sip, letting the burn coat my throat. The bourbon doesn't taste as good as it usually does. Nothing really has since that night on the ice when Darren's scent changed everything.

The memory replays for what must be the thousandth time. Darren crumpled on the ice, that woodsmoke scent suddenly filling the arena, the shock on everyone's faces. The way my own body responded instantly, some primal part of me recognizing pack omega before my brain could catch up.

God, what a mess.

I set the glass down and rub my temples. Darren is right about one thing—if word gets out, the media circus will be unbearable. Male omegas are rare enough, but a professional athlete presenting at twenty-seven? They'll descend like vultures. And that's before the league office gets involved with their "safety concerns" and "biological suitability assessments."

The worst part is, I'm not entirely sure they'd be wrong. Every time Darren takes a hit on the ice now, my chest seizes up. Every instinct screaming to protect, to shield, to pull him off the ice entirely. It's getting harder to ignore, even with the suppressants masking his scent.

And if I'm struggling—me, who prides himself on control—then what chance do the others have? Zayn's already a loose cannon on his best days. Dmitri nearly took a guy's head off last game for a routine check on Darren. And Aidan’s so obviously mooning over Darren, it's painful to watch.

But if Darren gets benched, or worse, cut loose because of his designation... I don't think he'll stay with the pack. And why would he? We're teammates first, pack second. Always have been. Without hockey binding us together, what's to stop him from finding another pack? Especially if he associates us with his awakening.

The thought sends a cold spike through my chest that has nothing to do with the ice we skate on. Darren leaving. Walking away from the pack bond we've built over years. From me.

And I'm still trying to untangle how much of that dread comes from losing a packmate versus losing our suddenly-omega packmate. The distinction shouldn't matter, but it does. It matters in ways I don't want to examine too closely.

The front door slams with enough force to rattle the windows, jerking me from my thoughts. I look up to find Darren standing in the entryway looking like he's about to murder someone. Preferably me.

And he's wearing a suit. An actual tailored navy suit that fits his broad shoulders perfectly, with a crisp white shirt open at the collar. No tie, but still more dressed up than I've seen him... maybe ever. Even at mandatory press events, getting Darren into anything more formal than a team-issued polo is like trying to bathe a feral cat.

My brain short circuits.

He looks good. Too good. The kind of good that makes my mouth go dry and my thoughts scatter in directions they have no business going. I force my eyes up to his face, which is currently setting a new record for "if looks could kill."

"What's wrong?" I ask, knowing damn well what's wrong.

"What's wrong?" he echoes, voice dangerously calm. "The restaurant. Ring any bells?"

My heart drops to somewhere around my ankles. Fuck. The date. His blind date that we were all supposed to attend. The one he told us about in no uncertain terms after the last game.

"Oh," I manage. "Right. The date."

"Yeah," he says, the word dripping with venom. "The date. The one you all promised to show up for."

I set my glass down and stand, guilt washing over me in a wave. "Darren, I'm so sorry. I completely forgot." It's the truth, which only makes it worse. "The owner called me in for an emergency meeting and it completely slipped my mind."

His eyes narrow, suspicion replacing some of the anger. "What did he want?"

"Just playoff ticket strategies," I answer, not wanting him to worry. Even that would probably piss him off. "Wants to make sure we're maximizing revenue with the right seat allocations."

Darren studies me, and I know he doesn't fully believe me. Seven years as teammates gives you a pretty good bullshit detector. But he lets it go, jaw still tight.

"And the others?" he asks.

"I don't know," I admit. "I didn't talk to them. Like I said, I completely forgot until now."

He runs a hand through his hair, making the short brown strands stand up in a way that's unreasonably attractive. The anger seems to be ebbing, replaced by resignation.

"Unbelievable," he mutters. "One simple thing I ask you guys to do, and none of you can be bothered to show up."

"I really am sorry," I say, meaning it. Captain or not, I dropped the ball here. "Let me get you a beer."

He hesitates, then gives a curt nod, shrugging out of his suit jacket to reveal how the white shirt stretches across his shoulders. I force myself to look away as I head to the kitchen, angry at my own distraction. This isn't me. I don't get flustered over packmates, no matter their designation.

I grab two beers from the fridge and twist the caps off, using the moment to compose myself. When I return to the living room, Darren's settled onto the couch, his long legs stretched out, ankle resting on one knee in a pose of casual masculinity that contradicts everything the world expects from an omega.

Except an omega is exactly what he is. The proof is in the woodsmoke scent that leaks through even the strongest blockers by the end of the day, in the way my body responds to his presence, in the urge to move closer, to breathe him in, to touch...

Fuck. I hand him a beer and take the chair across from him, putting a bit of distance between us.

"So," I say, desperate to steer my thoughts in a safer direction, "how did it go?"

A small, traitorous part of me hopes it was a disaster. That whoever this mystery woman is, the date fell flat. That he won't want to see her again. That jealous twist in my gut shames me the moment I recognize it. I have no claim on him. He's not mine to be jealous over.

More to the point, I've never been interested in male omegas before. Never had any inclination toward men at all, actually. And neither has Darren, as far as I know. This is just biology messing with my head, not anything real. Not anything that matters.

To my dismay, Darren's expression lightens, the anger around his eyes softening into what looks dangerously like fondness.

"It went great, actually," he says, taking a pull from his beer. "She's gorgeous. Smart, funny, driven. Runs her own business designing clothes." A small smile plays at the corners of his mouth. "And she has no fucking clue who any of us are, which is a nice bonus."

I force a chuckle, ignoring the way my chest tightens. "She sounds great."

She does sound great. Which is exactly the problem.

"So she's a beta?" I ask, trying to keep my tone casual. The last thing we need is two omegas in the mix, especially with Darren's own instincts still so new and unpredictable. Omega territoriality can get ugly fast, especially in pack situations where hierarchies are still settling.

He shakes his head. "Beta. And she's already not sure about the whole 'omega in a pack' thing since she's been burned before. Probably by assholes who treat betas like second string." He takes another swig of beer. "So convincing her to even consider a second date after getting stood up by four alphas was a pretty impressive feat, if I do say so myself."

I wince, the guilt surging back fresh. "I really am sorry, Darren. It won't happen again."

"Damn right it won't," he says, but the heat has left his voice. "You can make it up to me by making sure the entire pack is actually there next time. Use that captain pull. Bark, if you have to. You're good at that."

I wince. "Okay, I deserved that."

"Yeah, you did," he says flatly.

I sigh, already dreading the logistics of that conversation. Zayn alone will be a nightmare to convince. "I'll see what I can do."

"Not what you 'can do.' What you will do." The steel in his voice reminds me of the player he's always been, the defenseman who never backs down, who makes a promise with his body on the ice and keeps it even if it means broken bones. "Either they all show, or we have a problem."

The implication is clear enough. If we can't honor this one simple request, our pack bond is going to be strained. And maybe it should. Maybe we don't deserve more from him if we can't give him this.

"Can I ask what you're hoping to accomplish with this… addition?" I ask, choosing my words carefully.

He looks annoyed, but he doesn't snap. "What I was hoping to accomplish is giving you four knotheads something pretty to look at so you stop looking at me like you're hallucinating a Philly cheesesteak after a four-week fast," he says pointedly, and I have to swallow a laugh at his typical Darren humor. Then a seriousness comes over his expression I wasn't expecting. "But then I actually met her and realized she's a hell of a lot more than that. She's… well, you'll see when you meet her, I guess."

"I'll make sure they're there," I promise, and this time there's no hesitation. "All of us."

He studies me for a long moment, those blue eyes searching my face for the truth. Whatever he finds there must satisfy him, because he nods once, sharp and decisive.

"Good." He drains the last of his beer and sets the bottle on the coffee table. "Friday night. Reservation at eight. The Terrace."

The Terrace? He really had to flex his team cred to get a reservation at that place. He's serious about this girl.

"We'll be there," I assure him, trying to picture Zayn willingly sitting through dinner with a woman he doesn't know just to smooth things over with Darren. It's going to take some captain's muscle to make that happen, but I'll do it. For Darren.

An awkward silence falls between us. There's more I want to ask, about this woman, about how Darren feels, about how he's really handling the omega thing, but I'm not sure he wants to tell me. Not sure I have the right to ask anymore, after letting him down tonight.

Now, it's time to prove myself.

Chapter

Fifteen

LEXIE

Ihold up two different earrings to my ears, squinting at my reflection in the bedroom mirror. "Gold hoops or these dangly silver ones?"

Jessica glances up from the sweater she's carefully folding into tissue paper. "Gold. Matches your bracelet better." She seals the package with efficiency despite not working for my business in an official capacity, just a sisterly one. "Though honestly, I doubt professional hockey players are going to notice your earrings."

"It's not about them noticing. It's about me feeling put together." I slip the hoops through my earlobes, trying to ignore the flutter of nerves in my stomach. Three days since my dinner with Darren, and I still can't quite believe I agreed to a second date.

With his entire pack, no less.

Jessica secures another package with packing tape, adding it to the growing stack by my door. "Soooo… this is quite a step up from the insurance salesman."

"Please don't remind me about Brandon." I smooth down the front of my burgundy wrap dress. It hugs my curves without being obvious about it, the hem hitting just above my knees.

"Five extremely fit, extremely wealthy professional athletes," Jessica continues, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Luke nearly collapsed when I told him. The Grizzlies are his favorite team."

I apply a final coat of mascara, careful not to smudge. "You know, in high school, I wouldn't have pegged you for the type to marry a hockey fan."

"In my defense, I didn't know I was marrying a hockey fan. It was dormant until we moved here. Like a werewolf bite." She checks the shipping label on the next package. "Now he watches every game and explains things I don't ask about. Did you know there's a difference between a slashing penalty and a high-sticking penalty?"

"I did not." I step back from the mirror, assessing my reflection. The dress works. My hair falls in loose waves past my shoulders, and the gold hoops do complement the thin bracelet at my wrist. I look good. Not trying-too-hard good, but definitely put-some-effort-in good. "But if this date goes well, I guess I'd better learn."

"Thank you for helping with these orders," I say, gesturing to the packages. "I wouldn't have gotten them done in time otherwise."

Jessica waves dismissively. "Are you kidding? The promise of Grizzlies tickets, let alone having an entire hockey team of brothers-in-law, is worth a little manual labor." She seals another box with a flourish. "Luke's going to owe me for life."

I roll my eyes, reaching for my clutch. "You're getting way ahead of yourself. It's just a date."

"A date with five pro athletes, one of whom happens to be a recently-presented omega, which goes against every dating rule you've established since Mark. So no, I don't think I'm getting ahead of myself." She sets down the tape dispenser, fixing me with her sisterly I-can-see-right-through-you stare. "This is a big deal for you."

She's right, of course. It is a big deal. Darren is a big deal, in ways I wasn't prepared for. I can't stop thinking about him. His smile, his laugh, the vulnerability beneath his tough exterior. The way he talked about his struggle with his new identity resonated with me more than I care to admit.

Darren and I have been talking through text a little, and when he told me I could mention it to Jess if I needed a sounding board while I’m figuring things out, I was more relieved than I want to admit. Especially since I know he’s keeping it a secret from the world. But he’s not just asking me to break my rules without expecting anything in return. That’s a show of trust and a leap of faith in one. A big one. And it shows he’s serious about making this work.

I never thought I'd have anything in common with an omega in that way, but he's full of surprises.

“I can't deny I've been thinking about Darren,” I confess, applying a nude lipstick that won't leave obvious marks on wine glasses. “There's something about him that just...clicks. Even if the whole omega thing is complicated. Remember, you can’t tell Luke about that yet. Maybe never.”

“Scout’s honor. Speaking of that…” Jessica leans against my dresser, crossing her arms. “I’m surprised you're giving this pack a chance, considering how adamant you've been about avoiding omegas.”

"Trust me, you're preaching to the choir." I cap the lipstick, tucking it into my clutch for touch-ups later. "But if I'm being honest with myself, my hesitation isn't so much about omegas as always being second to one. Always being left for one."

I take a deep breath, finding the words for something I've only recently started to understand myself. "If this pack already has an omega, and he's the one who actually wants someone else… I'm willing to give it a try." I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. "It's different, you know? I'm not competing with some hypothetical perfect omega they might meet someday. Or worrying they're going to walk around the corner and magically meet their scent match. The omega is right there, saying 'hey, let's add someone else to our dynamic.'"

"So he is their scent match?" she asks.

I freeze, realizing I didn't actually ask. "Uhm. I'm assuming? I didn't really get too much into the pack dynamics. First date and all that."

Jessica nods slowly. "That... actually sounds reasonable."

"Don't act so surprised," I say dryly. "Besides, it's just dinner. I'm not moving in with them tomorrow."

"But you're interested."

It's not a question, and I don't treat it like one. Instead, I touch up my lipstick one last time and grab my coat from the back of the door.

"I'm curious," I admit finally. "And it's been a long time since I've been genuinely curious about anyone."

Jessica's answering smile is warm. "Well, that's reason enough to go. Just promise me details afterward. And photos. Luke will die."

"I'm not taking creeper photos of the Grizzlies on a date for your husband," I laugh, slipping my feet into black heels that add three inches to my height. Not that it'll make much difference next to Darren's 6'4" frame, but every little bit helps when surrounded by hockey giants.

"Fine, be selfish with your pack of hot hockey players." Jessica hands me my phone from the nightstand. "Go knock 'em dead. And if any of them are weird or make you uncomfortable⁠—"

"I'll climb out a bathroom window. I know the drill."

"I was going to say 'call me for an emergency extraction,' but sure, architectural escape works too."

I gather my things, giving her a quick hug. "Thanks for helping. And for not judging my life choices too harshly."

"That's what sisters are for." She squeezes my shoulders. "The not judging part, I mean. The helping is just because I'm a saint."

"And the Grizzlies tickets."

"Mostly the Grizzlies tickets," she says with a grin.

The restaurant is even more intimidating in person than it looked online. The Terrace sits atop one of the city's most exclusive hotels, all gleaming glass and discreet opulence. The kind of place where they don't put prices on the menu because if you have to ask, you can't afford it.

As the hostess leads me through the main dining room, I'm acutely aware of my wrap dress. It had seemed elegant enough in my bedroom mirror, but surrounded by designer labels and old money, I wonder if I've horribly misjudged the dress code.

"Your party has reserved our Blue Room," the hostess says, her smile professional but warm. "The best view in the house."

A private room? Now I'm really wondering what I've gotten myself into. The pack must be loaded if they can casually book a private dining space at The Terrace. I knew professional athletes made good money, but this feels like next-level wealth.

We pass through a frosted glass door into a space that steals my breath. Three glass walls showcase the city lights in a way that makes me wonder if I've stepped into a fantasy realm. The fourth wall houses a private bar and a discreet service entrance. The center of the room features a round table set for six, with candles and fresh flowers.

"Can I get you something while you wait?" the hostess asks.

"Just water for now, thank you."

As she leaves, I wander to the windows, drawn by the spectacular view. From up here, the city looks almost magical, problems and imperfections softened by distance and darkness. I press my palm against the cool glass, grounding myself.

What am I doing here? Five days ago, I was swearing off dating entirely after the insurance salesman disaster. Now I'm in a private dining room waiting to meet not one man, but five, one of whom happens to be the very thing I've been avoiding for years.

I check my watch. Only 7:58. They're not late yet. But the silence of the empty room is making my nerves worse. Especially after last time. What if they all stand me up this time?

Pretty sure I'm just going to find a cabin to go live in the woods. Or join a convent. Can you knit at a convent?

To distract myself, I pull out my phone and google "Grizzlies hockey team" again. I've already done this research, of course. Shamelessly stalked their team profiles and read all the stats that mean absolutely nothing to me. I recognize Darren immediately in the team photo, number 47, "The Brick" according to his bio. His expression in the official photo is stern, almost grim, nothing like the man who laughed openly across the dinner table from me.

Before I can click to the next player, a movement by the door catches my attention. My heart jumps into my throat as Darren steps into the room, looking even better than I remember in dark jeans and a charcoal button-down that stretches across his broad shoulders. His blue eyes find mine immediately, and the smile that breaks across his face makes my pulse skip.

He's not alone.

Behind him walks a younger man, tall and athletic but with a slighter build, light brown hair with a blue streak dyed into it, and striking green eyes. He must be in his early twenties, with a scattering of freckles across his nose and cheeks that give him a boyish charm despite his height.

I recognize him as Aidan McKinney, the team's 22-year-old rookie goalie, from my online research. But the pictures didn't do him justice at all, and that's saying something. In person, he has a presence that the camera doesn't capture, an energy that vibrates just beneath the surface.

"Lexie." Darren crosses the room in a few long strides, taking my hand in his. The contact sends a pleasant warmth up my arm. "You look amazing."

"Thanks." I'm suddenly hyperaware of my dress, my hair, everything. "So do you."

His smile widens, and for a moment it's just the two of us, picking up where we left off the other night. Then he steps back, gesturing to his teammate.

"This is Aidan McKinney, our rookie goalie and one of my packmates."

Aidan steps forward, offering his hand. "Nice to meet you." His smile doesn't quite reach his eyes, which are busy assessing me with an intensity that makes me want to check if I have lipstick on my teeth.

"You too." I shake his hand, noting the firm grip. He smells like vanilla, subtle but distinctive. An alpha scent that should be comforting but somehow isn't in this context. Hell, I shouldn't be noticing it at all. Alphas have a stronger scent than betas, but it's not usually something I notice more than I would notice someone's cologne. It's just there, and it's either pleasant, neutral or off-putting, but gone and forgotten in a matter of seconds.

His scent, though, is… different. It leaves me wanting to lean in and get a better whiff, but the way he's looking at me immediately pours a cold bucket of water over that unusual fire.

All of a sudden, I'm left wondering if the Lawson pack is a little more than just unsure about bringing someone else into their dynamic like Darren implied.

And this right here is exactly why I don't do packs. Literally or figuratively.

Chapter

Sixteen

AIDAN

Earlier

The steering wheel feels slick under my palms as I navigate through evening traffic. I adjust my grip, trying to look casual despite the hurricane of nerves in my chest. Next to me, Darren stares out the passenger window, his profile sharp against the city lights. He's been quiet since we left the house, lost in thought or maybe just nervous about tonight.

I'm nervous too, but for completely different reasons.

"You sure the others are coming?" I ask, breaking the silence.

Darren glances at his phone, typing out a quick message. "Jax says they're on their way. Whether Zayn actually shows is another question."

"Yeah, well, when has Zayn ever done what he's told?" I try for light-hearted, but my voice comes out strained.

Darren snorts. "True. But Jax promised to drag him there by his perfectly styled hair if necessary."

I chuckle, the sound hollow even to my own ears. The truth is, Zayn isn't the only one I'm worried about behaving tonight. I'm not sure I trust myself either.

These past few weeks have been a special kind of hell. Ever since Darren presented as an omega, everything's shifted. The way the team looks at him. The way he holds himself, like he's constantly braced for judgment. The way I can't stop noticing things I've always tried to ignore. The breadth of his shoulders, the stubble darkening his jaw, the woodsmoke scent that leaks through even the strongest blockers by the end of the day.

It's not like I didn't know I was attracted to him before. I just buried it deep, filed it under "inappropriate rookie crush" and focused on hockey. But now? Now it's like someone's taken that carefully buried feeling and set it on fire.

"You okay over there?" Darren's voice cuts through my thoughts. "You look like you're plotting world domination."

"Just thinking about what I'm going to order," I lie, flipping on my turn signal. "I hear they have amazing steaks."

"Hmm." He doesn't sound convinced, but he doesn't push. That's one of the things I've always liked about Darren. He doesn't pry. Unlike some people. Cough, Jax.

"So," I say, desperate to fill the silence with anything other than my thoughts, "tell me about her. Lexie."

Darren's expression softens immediately, and my chest twists. "She's... different. Crazy smart. Runs her own clothing business. Makes these amazing sweaters."

"Sweaters, huh?" I try to picture the kind of woman who would capture Darren's interest. Someone soft, probably. But also strong-willed. "She sounds nice."

"She is." He shifts in his seat, looking almost shy. It's a strange look on him. Darren "The Brick" Malloy, notorious for making opposing players think twice about crossing our blue line, suddenly uncertain. "But she's also wary. Had some bad experiences with packs before."

"Great, so we're already starting at a disadvantage."

"Pretty much." He shoots me a sidelong glance. "Which is why I need you guys to not be weird tonight."

I swallow hard. "Define 'weird.'"

"You know. Alpha weird. Territorial. Overprotective." He gestures vaguely. "Just normal human behavior would be nice."

"I'll do my best," I promise, and I mean it. Even if "normal human behavior" feels increasingly out of reach where Darren is concerned. I owe it to him for bailing the first time. I can't even remember what excuse I came up with, but the truth is, I didn't trust myself not to be every bit as weird as he's afraid I'll be tonight. I just assumed they wouldn't miss me. I wasn't counting on the others bailing, too.

Can't say if it was or wasn't for the same reason. Zayn probably bailed because he's a dick. Dimitri has always been harder to read. Either way, we owed our teammate—and this woman he's clearly got his heart set on bringing into our pack—better than what we gave that night.

We pull into the hotel's valet line, the sleek glass tower of The Terrace looming above us. A uniformed attendant opens my door, and I step out into the cool evening air, straightening my jacket. I went with dark jeans and a forest green button-down that my sister once told me brings out my eyes. Not that I'm trying to impress anyone.

Much.

Darren rounds the car, looking unfairly good in dark jeans and a charcoal shirt that stretches across his broad shoulders. The suppressants mask most of his scent, but there's still a hint of woodsmoke that catches in my throat when he passes close by.

"Ready?" he asks, checking his watch.

I nod, not trusting my voice. As we enter the lobby, my phone buzzes with a text from Jax.

JAX: Running 10 min late. Traffic. Keep things smooth until we get there.

Great. Just me and Darren and his potential... what? Girlfriend? Pack addition? The terminology feels inadequate for whatever this situation is.

The elevator ride to the top floor is silent, both of us lost in our own thoughts. When the doors slide open, a hostess greets us with a practiced smile.

"Good evening, gentlemen. Your party is waiting in the Blue Room."

She's already here. My pulse kicks up a notch as we follow the hostess through the main dining area. Darren walks with the easy confidence of someone used to commanding attention, while I trail behind, trying not to look as nervous as I feel.

The hostess leads us to a frosted glass door, sliding it open to reveal a private dining room with a view that could sell for millions. Glass walls that showcase the city spread out like diamonds below us. But it's not the view that catches my attention.

It's her.

She stands by the windows, her back to us, a curvy silhouette against the city lights. Reddish-brown hair falls in soft waves down her back, and the burgundy wrap dress she's wearing hugs curves that immediately make my mouth go dry.

Darren makes a small sound, something between appreciation and relief, and she turns.

Oh.

She's beautiful. Not in the iPhone-faced Instagram model way that Zayn usually goes for, but in a real, warm, touchable way that hits even harder. Big brown eyes, full lips, a scattering of freckles across her nose. When she smiles at Darren, her whole face lights up, and I immediately understand why he's so taken with her.

"Lexie." Darren crosses the room in a few long strides, taking her hand in his. The familiarity of the gesture makes my soul ache. "You look amazing."

"Thanks." Her voice is warm, with a slight huskiness that's oddly appealing. "So do you."

They stare at each other for a moment, and I feel like an intruder witnessing something private. Then Darren steps back, gesturing to me.

"This is Aidan McKinney, our rookie goalie and one of my packmates."

I step forward, extending my hand. "Nice to meet you."

And that's when it hits me.

Pumpkin spice.

Not artificial or cloying, but warm and intricate notes of cinnamon, nutmeg, and clove. The scent wraps around me like a blanket fresh from the dryer, familiar and warm and right in a way that makes my head spin.

Holy shit.

She's our scent match.

I freeze, my hand still extended, brain short-circuiting as I try to process what this means. Darren elbows me subtly, and I snap back to reality, taking her offered hand. Her skin is soft and warm against mine, and the contact sends a jolt up my arm that has nothing to do with static electricity.

"You too." She smiles, but there's wariness in her eyes as she studies me. I realize I'm staring and try to arrange my face into something less... whatever it's doing right now.

This can't be happening. We can't have found another scent match so soon after Darren presented. The odds are astronomical. And yet here she is, smelling like my favorite guilty pleasure: the pumpkin spice lattes I secretly order when no one from the team is around, because I'd never hear the end of it if they knew my sugary autumn secret.

I drop her hand like it's burning me, taking a step back. Get it together, McKinney.

"Aidan's our star rookie," Darren says, filling the awkward silence. "Came straight from college and is already breaking records."

"That's impressive." Lexie's smile is genuine, but I can tell she's picking up on the weird vibe I'm putting out. "I don't know much about hockey, but I'm learning."

"It's pretty simple," I manage, finding my voice. "Keep the puck out of our net, put it in theirs."

"I think I can remember that." She laughs, and the sound does something warm and sinful to my insides.

This is bad. This is very, very bad. Or good. My brain isn't computing at the moment.

Darren gives me a look that clearly says what the hell is wrong with you? before turning back to Lexie. "The others should be here any minute. Traffic's a nightmare tonight."

"No rush," she says, though I can see the tightness in her shoulders. She's nervous about meeting the rest of us. Can't blame her, considering how weird I'm being. And she hasn't even met Zayn yet.

Oh, God. Zayn. How is he going to react?

A waiter appears with a tray of drinks, some kind of specialty cocktails in elegant glasses. "Compliments of the chef," he explains. "A house specialty to start your evening."

We each take a glass, and I'm grateful to have something to do with my hands. The drink is strong, with notes of bourbon and citrus. I take a larger sip than I should, hoping the alcohol might steady my nerves.

"So, Lexie," I say, desperate to act normal, "Darren mentioned you design clothing?"

Her face lights up at the question, her passion evident as she describes her business. "Mainly sweaters and accessories. I started small, just selling to friends, but now I have customers all over the world."

"That's awesome." I mean it. There's something compelling about her enthusiasm, the way she talks with her hands, the pride in her voice when she mentions a recent feature in a design magazine.

As she speaks, I steal glances at Darren. He's watching her with undisguised interest, a softness in his expression I've rarely seen. It makes my chest ache in a way I don't want to examine too closely.

I always knew I had feelings for Darren. But I've never been the type to pine after straight guys—or any guys, for that matter—especially not teammates. I buried those feelings deep, focused on the game, on being a good packmate. It was manageable.

Until he presented as an omega. Until biology threw a wrench into everything I thought I knew.

And now this, a beautiful woman who smells like home and autumn and everything good, who's clearly into Darren, who might become part of our pack. It's too much, too fast. I don't know what to do with any of it. Not without fucking it all up for him.

"Aidan? You with us?" Darren's voice pulls me back to the present.

"Sorry, what?" I blink, realizing I've completely zoned out.

"I asked if you'd ever been to Boston," Lexie says, her expression curious. "I went to design school there."

"Oh. Uh, only for games. Never really had time to explore."

She nods, and I can tell she's trying to keep the conversation flowing despite my awkwardness. "It's a great city. You should visit sometime."

"Maybe during the off-season." I take another sip of my drink, wishing the others would hurry up and get here. I'm making a mess of this, and Darren's increasingly pointed looks aren't helping. At least in a crowd of six, I can blend in easier.

As if on cue, the frosted glass door slides open, and the rest of our pack enters. Jax leads the way, looking sharp in a gray suit that matches his eyes. Dmitri follows, massive as ever in a black button-down that makes his pale blue eyes stand out. And behind them, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else, is Zayn in designer jeans and a midnight blue shirt that probably costs as much as my car, even if it isn't exactly occasion appropriate.

I'm making bank now, too, but I've never been able to stomach the idea of spending as much as he does on that shit. Guess it's a side effect of growing up with next to nothing. Spoiling my mom comes easy, but everything else…

"Sorry we're late," Jax says smoothly, crossing the room to where we stand. "Traffic was a nightmare."

I watch Lexie's expression as she takes in the newcomers. There's a flash of intimidation before she composes herself. Can't blame her. Three alphas walking into a room with that much collective presence would make anyone nervous. And I remember Darren saying something about her being wary of packs in general. Now I wish I'd asked for more details.

"You must be Lexie," Jax extends his hand, all captain charm. "I'm Jax Lawson. It's a pleasure to finally meet you."

"Likewise." She shakes his hand, and I see the exact moment Jax catches her scent. His eyes widen fractionally, his nostrils flare, and his grip on her hand tightens just slightly before he catches himself.

He knows. Of course he knows.

Dmitri is next, his massive frame making Lexie look even smaller as he towers over her. "Dmitri Vinogradov," he says simply, his accent thicker than usual. Another tell that he's affected.

"The Wolf, right?" she says, surprising us all. She blushes and adds, "My brother-in-law mentioned you're his favorite player."

A rare smile cracks Dmitri's stoic expression, even through the shock I know he has to be feeling right now. "Your brother-in-law has good taste."

She laughs, and holy shit, it's the most magical sound I've ever heard. Like I needed one more reason to understand why Darren is so dead set on bringing this woman into our pack.

Even if I'm pretty sure he has no idea just what she is to us yet. He senses it on some instinctive level that goes deeper than the chemicals running through his blood right now.

And then it's Zayn's turn. I hold my breath, half-expecting him to say something inappropriate or revealing. But for once in his life, Zayn Copeland is utterly speechless. He stares at Lexie like he's seen a ghost, then at Darren, then back to Lexie.

"Zayn," he finally manages, shaking her hand. He holds onto it a beat too long, but that's the only sign he's as affected as the rest of us, despite the image he wants to put off of being Mr. Cool, Calm and Douchey. "Nice to meet you."

The lack of his usual snarky commentary speaks volumes, too.

Darren, oblivious to the undercurrents swirling around him thanks to the suppressants masking his senses, looks relieved that everyone's shown up and is behaving. If only he knew.

"Shall we sit?" Jax gestures to the table, taking control of the situation as always. "I believe our reservation includes a tasting menu the chef has prepared specially."

We arrange ourselves around the table, Darren next to Lexie, with Jax on her other side. I end up directly across from her, with Zayn and Dmitri flanking me. It feels strategic somehow, like Jax is positioning us for minimum damage.

The waiter returns to take our drink orders and explain the menu. I barely hear a word he says, too distracted by the way Lexie tucks her hair behind her ear, the way Darren leans slightly toward her when she speaks, the way Zayn keeps opening his mouth like he wants to say something before thinking better of it.

I've never wanted to gag someone so bad in my fucking life.

The first course arrives, some kind of seafood appetizer that I'm sure is delicious but tastes like cardboard in my mouth. Conversation stutters along, with Jax doing most of the heavy lifting. He asks Lexie about her business, her background, her interests. She answers thoughtfully, growing more animated as she relaxes slightly.

But there's an undeniable current of awkwardness in the air. Dmitri is more silent than usual, watching everything with those intense blue eyes. Zayn picks at his food, contributing only when directly addressed. And I'm trying so hard to act normal that I'm pretty sure I'm coming across as slightly unhinged.

Darren notices. Of course he does. He keeps shooting me confused looks across the table, his brow furrowing deeper with each awkward silence.

"So," Lexie says during one such pause, "how long have you all been a pack?"

"Seven years officially," Jax answers. "Though Aidan came along recently."

"And you're all... alphas?" She glances at Darren, clearly trying to understand the dynamic.

"Except for Darren," Zayn finally speaks up, his voice tight. "As he probably told you."

Darren's jaw clenches. "Yeah, I told her. About my recent change in status."

The clipped tone in his voice makes it clear he doesn't need Zayn elaborating for him.

"It must be a big adjustment," Lexie says carefully. "For all of you."

"You have no idea," Zayn mutters into his wine glass.

The awkwardness ratchets up another notch. I kick Zayn under the table, but he just glares at me.

"It's been a learning experience," Jax says diplomatically. "But we're figuring it out. As a pack."

Lexie nods, but I can see the uncertainty in her eyes. This isn't going well. We're all being weird, and she can tell, even if she doesn't understand why. I need to say something. Something normal, something to ease the pressure.

"So, uh, do you like pumpkin spice?" The question tumbles out before I can stop it, and I immediately want to crawl under the table and die.

Everyone stares at me. Zayn looks like he's torn between laughing and strangling me. And here I was worried about him. Darren's expression is pure what the actual fuck?

But Lexie, bless her, just smiles. "I do, actually. Fall is my favorite season. Pumpkin everything, sweaters, the whole cliché."

"Mine too," I admit, feeling my face heat up. "I mean, fall. For the... hockey."

"Right." She looks amused now, which is better than confused or uncomfortable. "Hockey season."

The second course arrives, saving me from further embarrassment. Some kind of pasta dish that I barely taste as I try to get my frenzied thoughts under control. Suddenly, the only thing I really have a taste for is pumpkin spice, but I'm pretty sure that's not happening anytime soon as badly as we're all collectively bungling this first date.

Second, I remind myself. We stood her up for the first one.

Fuck.

Halfway through the course, Jax suddenly stands. "I'm going to check what's taking the risotto so long."

"We didn't order risotto," Zayn points out, earning himself another not-so-subtle kick under the table, this time from Jax. Little did he know he'd need shin guards for tonight even more than this morning's practice.

"Oh. Right." Zayn's eyes widen with sudden understanding. "Better go see."

He stands too, following Jax toward the door. I catch on immediately. Jax wants to talk to us, away from Darren and Lexie. Pretty easy to guess what it's about, too.

"I need to use the bathroom," I announce abruptly, standing as well. I tap Dmitri's shoulder. "Come with me."

Dmitri looks utterly confused. "Why would I⁠—"

"I need support," I hiss, trying to communicate with my eyes.

Dmitri blinks. "In the bathroom?"

"Yes," I grit through my teeth.

Dmitri stares at me warily, like I've lost my fucking mind, but the behemoth of a man gets up from the table and follows me.

Darren is now outright glaring at us. If looks could kill, I'd be a dead man.

Lexie looks between us, understandably bewildered. "Do alphas… usually go to the bathroom in a pack?" I hear her asking as we leave the table. "I thought that was more of a girl thing."

"It's an alpha thing, too," I call back, the words tumbling out in a panic. "Strength in numbers and all that."

She blinks. "Oh."

Darren's expression promises murder when we return, but I can't worry about that now. We need to regroup, figure out how to handle this impossible situation.

Dmitri follows me out, still looking confused but willing to play along. We find Jax and Zayn in a secluded alcove near the restrooms, heads bent in urgent conversation.

"Strength in numbers? Really?" Jax says as soon as we join them, running a hand through his hair.

"About as realistic as you and Zayn both needing to check on the nonexistent risotto," I counter.

Jax sighs heavily. "Look, clearly we're all a little flustered."

"No shit," I say, my voice pitched low despite the privacy. "Lexie is our fucking scent match. What are the odds of that?"

"About as nonexistent as the risotto," Dmitri rumbles, speaking for the first time since we left the table. "Statistical impossibility."

"Well, impossible or not, it's happening," Jax says, glancing back toward the dining room. "And we need to figure out how to handle it."

"Does Darren know?" I ask, though I'm pretty sure of the answer. "Can he smell it?"

Jax shakes his head. "The suppressants. They're blocking his senses almost completely. He has no idea. He would've mentioned it." He hesitates. "Probably."

I hate that he's right. There's so much distance between us lately, because of the way we've been reacting to his omega awakening, that I'm not sure if Darren would have told us.

"So what do we do?" I look between the three of them. "Tell him? Tell her?"

"Not tonight," Jax says firmly. "This is already complicated enough. Darren said she's wary of packs, especially ones with omegas. Finding out she's our scent match would just add another layer of pressure she's not ready for."

He has a point. We're already a lot, even when we're trying not to come on too strong.

"So we just... pretend everything's normal?" Zayn finally speaks, his voice strained. "When she smells like... like..."

He trails off, unable to articulate what we're all feeling.

"Pumpkin spice latte," I mumble before I can stop myself. The others all look at me, but I can tell she smells the same way to them. We're all on the same page.

For once.

"For now, yes," Jax says. "We get through dinner. Try our best to act like normal fucking human beings. Then we talk to Darren privately, as a pack."

"We could just text him," I suggest. "Let him know now, so he's not completely blindsided."

Jax glances through the frosted glass toward our table, where Darren and Lexie sit in awkward silence. "No, that could make things even weirder. We need to just get through the night without any more incidents."

I nod, though I'm not sure I can pull it off. My world has been turned upside down twice in a little more than the span of a month. First with Darren presenting as an omega, and now this. It's too much, too fast.

"Let's go back," Jax says, straightening his jacket. "And try to act normal. For Darren's sake, if nothing else."

I take a deep breath, steeling myself for the rest of this impossible evening. Normal. I can act normal. Even if nothing about this situation is normal at all.

The frosted glass door slides open, and we step back into the lion's den.

Chapter

Seventeen

LEXIE

The moment the four alphas make their bizarre and obviously contrived exit, an awkward silence descends over the table like a heavy blanket. I stare at the half-eaten pasta on my plate, pushing a piece of asparagus around with my fork, desperately trying to look casual while my mind spirals.

What the hell just happened?

One minute we're having a slightly tense but manageable dinner, and the next, all four alphas are practically tripping over themselves to leave the table with the flimsiest excuses I've ever heard. Checking on risotto we didn't order? Strength in numbers bathroom trips? If they were trying to be subtle, they failed spectacularly.

Across from me, Darren's fingers drum against the white tablecloth in an agitated rhythm. Tap-tap-tap. Pause. Tap-tap-tap. His jaw is tight, a muscle twitching along the edge. I've known him for all of two dates, but even I can tell he's furious.

"So..." I venture, breaking the silence. "Is this normal pack behavior I should know about?"

Darren's blue eyes snap to mine, his expression a storm of confusion and anger. "No. This is definitely not normal." His voice is tight, controlled, but I can hear the frustration simmering beneath the surface.

Tap-tap-tap. His fingers continue their nervous dance on the tablecloth.

"They seemed..." I search for a diplomatic word. "Intense."

"That's one way to put it." He runs his free hand through his short brown hair, messing it up in a way that would be adorable if the situation weren't so uncomfortable. "I don't know what's gotten into them. They promised they'd be on their best behavior tonight."

I take a sip of wine, using the moment to gather my thoughts. The truth is, I'm not entirely surprised. This is exactly why I've avoided packs for so long. The dynamics are complicated enough with just two people. Add in four alphas and a newly-presented omega, and you've got a powder keg waiting for a match.

And somehow, I think I'm the match.

"Maybe they're just protective," I offer, though I'm not sure why I'm making excuses for them. "Of you, I mean. Since your... presentation is so recent."

Darren's eyes darken. "That's exactly the problem. They can't seem to separate me from what I've become. I'm still the same person, but they're all walking on eggshells or hovering like I need constant protection."

The pain in his voice is raw, genuine. It resonates with the pain deep inside me. I've spent years being the beta who wasn't quite enough, who was always left behind when someone better came along. Good enough, until they found an omega. Darren's dealing with the opposite, but it's equally painful. Just in different ways.

Different circumstances, same core wound.

"That must be incredibly frustrating," I say softly.

"You have no idea." He stops the tapping, flattening his palm against the table as if physically restraining himself. "I'm sorry about all this. Tonight was supposed to be different."

"It's okay." I try for a reassuring smile, but it feels strained even to me. "Pack dynamics are complicated. I get that."

"They're not usually this weird," he insists, glancing toward the door where his packmates disappeared. "Something's off tonight. Even for those four."

I follow his gaze, wondering what the four alphas are discussing so urgently. Are they debating whether I'm good enough for their pack? Plotting how to get rid of me without making a scene? Or maybe they're just having second thoughts about the whole arrangement.

Can't even say I blame them. This situation is unusual by any standard.

A waiter approaches with the next course, some kind of artfully arranged fish dish that probably has ingredients imported form outer space. He sets the plates down with grace, either not noticing or politely ignoring the weird energy crackling between us and the conspicuous absence of two-thirds of our party.

"Will your friends be returning soon?" he asks Darren, the question casual but pointed.

"They'd better be," Darren mutters, then forces a smile. "Thank you."

As the waiter retreats, I set my napkin on the table. The knot in my core has tightened to the point where the thought of eating anything else makes me feel ill.

I take a sip of my wine, buying time. The truth is, I know exactly what's happening. I've seen it before. The awkward silences, the meaningful glances, the barely concealed discomfort. It's the same reaction I got from Mark's friends when he first introduced me, right before they started dropping hints about how he'd be happier with an omega.

Right before I found him in bed with one.

I'm the problem. The beta intruder in their alpha-omega dynamic.

Four times I've been in this position. Four times I've watched men I cared about slowly pull away as their friends, their potential packs, made it clear I wasn't what they needed. What they really wanted.

And now it's happening again, only faster. We haven't even made it through the first official date. I guess I should be grateful for that.

"I'm sorry," Darren says again, his voice laced with frustration. "This is the last way I wanted this night to go."

I force a smile that doesn't reach my eyes. "It's fine. Really."

But it's not fine. Nothing about this situation is fine. The four alphas have been gone for nearly ten minutes now, leaving us sitting in awkward silence surrounded by expensive food neither of us is eating. The waiter keeps glancing our way with barely concealed curiosity, probably wondering what kind of drama is unfolding in his section tonight.

If only he knew.

I set my fork down, no longer pretending to have an appetite. The fish, some delicate white fillet with a sauce that probably took hours to prepare, sits mostly untouched on my plate. Such a waste.

"I think..." I start, then pause, searching for the right words. "I think maybe your pack isn't as ready for this as you are."

Darren's face falls, a flash of hurt crossing his features before he masks it. "They promised they'd give this—give us—a chance."

The sincerity in his voice makes my chest ache. He really wanted this to work. Wanted me to meet his pack, to potentially become part of it. The thought should be flattering, exciting even. Instead, it just highlights how impossible this whole situation is.

"I know," I say softly. "But intentions and reality don't always align."

I glance toward the door again. Still no sign of them. What could they possibly be discussing for this long? Whatever it is, it can't be good for me.

"They'll be back," Darren insists, but I can hear the doubt creeping into his voice. "They're just being... weird."

I nod, not trusting myself to speak. The truth is, I understand their reaction better than Darren does. I've been on the receiving end of it too many times not to recognize the signs. They're closing ranks, protecting their pack and their omega from an outsider. From me.

And really, can I blame them? They've just discovered their packmate is an omega. Their whole dynamic has been turned upside down. The last thing they need is some random beta woman complicating things further.

The silence grows heavier with each passing second. I fiddle with my napkin, folding and unfolding the corner until the crisp linen is hopelessly creased. My throat feels tight, eyes burning with the threat of tears I refuse to shed. Not here. Not in this beautiful room with its spectacular view and its judgmental waitstaff.

"Lexie," Darren says, reaching across the table for my hand. His palm is warm against mine, calloused from hockey sticks and weights and countless hours of practice. He's a man who's used to working at it until he gets what he wants. "Please don't give up on this yet."

I look at our joined hands, at how his completely engulfs mine. He's so solid, so present. Everything about him radiates strength and certainty. It's hard to reconcile this man with the traditional image of an omega. Soft, yielding, nurturing. But then, that's part of what drew me to him in the first place. He defies expectations. Breaks molds.

Just like I've tried to do my whole life.

And if it was just him, it would be a no-brainer.

But it's not. It never is, really. And if there's one thing I've learned through all this, it's that I'm never going to be enough for anyone on my own.

"I'm not giving up," I say, but the words ring hollow even to my own ears. "I just think we need to be realistic about what's happening here."

"And what is that, exactly?" There's an edge of concern to his voice now.

I pull my hand back, needing the distance to think clearly. "Your pack is struggling with your presentation. That's obvious. They're protective, confused, trying to figure out where they fit in this new reality." I take a breath, steadying myself. "Adding me to the mix right now is just making things more complicated."

Darren looks like he wants to argue, and he starts to, but he can't. He's starting to accept the reality that should have been clear to me from the beginning. I don't fit into the picture at all.

This isn't how tonight was supposed to go. I'd imagined conversation flowing easily, laughter, maybe a little awkwardness at first but nothing like this. I'd imagined getting to know these men who are so important to Darren, seeing if there might be a place for me among them.

Instead, I got four alphas who couldn't get away from me fast enough.

"I think I should go," I say finally, the words catching in my throat.

Darren's head snaps up, alarm flashing in his blue eyes. "What? No, Lexie, please. They'll be back any minute."

"Will they?" I challenge, unable to keep the hurt from my voice. "Because it seems like they'd rather be anywhere but here right now."

"That's not true," he insists, but there's a flicker of doubt in his expression. "They're just... I don't know what they are right now. But I do know they promised to be here, to give this a chance."

"Actions speak louder than words, Darren." I reach for my purse, decision made. "And their actions are pretty clear."

He stands abruptly, the movement so sudden it startles me. "Don't go. Please." His voice drops lower, almost pleading. "I'll go find them right now. Drag them back if I have to. We can all figure this out."

For a moment, I'm tempted. The raw emotion in his voice, the sincerity in his eyes... it would be so easy to give in, to stay and see this through. But then I think about sitting here alone again while he hunts down his reluctant packmates, about the awkward forced conversation that would follow, about the sidelong glances that would inevitably persist.

I think about Mark and Tyler and Daniel and Chris. About history repeating itself in increasingly painful ways.

I did a lot in the interest of keeping those connections alive. Made compromises, sacrifices, eroded my own boundaries to make them happy. The one thing I never did was force my presence on anyone, and I'm not about to start now.

No matter how tempting Darren makes it.

"I think you need to talk to your pack," I say, standing as well. "Figure out what's really going on with them. You all clearly have some things to work through."

"Lexie—"

"It's okay," I cut him off, forcing a smile that feels brittle on my face. "I understand. Really, I do. This is a lot, for all of you."

"But I want you here," he says, and the simple honesty in those words nearly breaks my resolve. "I want to see where this could go."

I swallow hard against the lump forming in my throat. "I want that too. But not like this. Not with your pack so clearly uncomfortable with the whole idea."

He runs a hand through his hair, frustration evident in every line of his body. "They're just being idiots. They'll come around."

"Maybe," I concede. "But right now, they need you more than I do. And you need to figure out if this is really what you all want."

I grab my coat from the back of my chair, slipping it on with hands that tremble slightly. I'm not going to cry. Not here. Not now.

"At least let me walk you out," Darren says, defeat creeping into his voice.

"That's sweet, but I'm fine," I assure him. Really, I just don't want him to see when the tears spill over. "Besides, someone needs to stick around so the waiter doesn't think we're dining and dashing."

It's a flimsy excuse, but not half as bad as the ones the alphas made, so Darren mercifully lets it slide. "Right," he says with a burdened sigh. "I'll call you later?"

I give a noncommittal nod and slip out before I can humiliate myself any further. Out in the parking lot, I slip into my car and put the key in the ignition, all on autopilot, until I finally pull out and the first tears slip down my cheeks.

Why did I think this could work?

Oh, right. I'm a hopeless romantic who still longs for a genuine connection in a world that's clearly decided I'm nothing more than an extra.

Chapter

Eighteen

DARREN

Istare at the empty chair where Lexie sat just moments ago, the burgundy dress a flash of color as she slipped out the door. My chest feels hollow, like someone's carved out everything important and left just enough for basic functions.

Breathing. Standing. Existing.

I barely even know her. This started as a desperate bid to find a distraction to keep the alphas in my pack from turning their amorous sights on me and making shit even weirder than it is already. I wasn't expecting her to be the most captivating woman I've ever met.

I wasn't expecting it to hurt this bad when it crashed and burned, and I still don't fully understand why it does.

The waiter approaches with a concerned expression. "Sir? Is everything all right?"

No. Nothing is all right. The one good thing I've found since my life imploded has just walked out because my packmates couldn't handle a simple dinner without acting like complete assholes.

"The check, please," I manage, my voice rough.

He must hear the urgency in my tone because he nods quickly and hurries away. I pull out my wallet, fingers clumsy with adrenaline and anger. I need to catch her. Need to find the right words to explain that this isn't what I wanted, that my pack isn't usually this weird, that there's still a chance for us if she's willing to give it. Even if it doesn't involve the rest of them.

The waiter returns with the check folder. I don't even look at the total, just shove my credit card into it.

While he processes the payment, I pull out my phone, debating whether to call or text her. Would she even answer? The look on her face when she left, resigned and hurt but not surprised, tells me she probably won't. Like she's been through this before. Expected it, even.

Because she has. Four times, she said. Four men who left her for packs with omegas.

And now here I am, the omega in a pack that just collectively made her feel unwelcome. The fucking irony would be hilarious if it didn't make me want to put my fist through a wall.

Or someone's throat.

The waiter returns with my card and the receipt. I scribble my signature, not bothering to calculate the tip. I just add an extra zero onto the bill to cover it. Whatever it is, it's probably still not enough to compensate for the shitshow he's witnessed tonight, but I can't spare the brain cells to do math right now.

I'm halfway to the door when I hear Jax's voice behind me.

"Darren? Where's Lexie?"

I spin around so fast I nearly lose my balance. The four of them stand there, looking various degrees of confused and guilty. Jax at the front, always the leader. Dmitri looming behind him like a mountain, Zayn trying to look casual next to him and failing miserably. Aidan shifts awkwardly, his eyes flicking between me and the table.

"Where do you think?" I snarl, the words tearing from my throat. "She left. Couldn't handle another minute of you assholes giving her weird looks and weirder excuses and acting like fucking psychos."

Jax's face falls. "Darren, we can explain⁠—"

"Save it." I cut him off, not interested in whatever excuse they've concocted this time. Probably that they all developed a spontaneous case of IBS. "I asked for one thing. One fucking thing. Just show up and be normal for a couple of hours. Was that really so hard?"

"We're sorry," Aidan says, his freckled face a mask of genuine remorse. "We didn't mean to⁠—"

"Didn't mean to what? Disappear for ten fucking minutes in the middle of dinner? Make her feel like she wasn't welcome? Like she was intruding?" My voice rises with each question, and I don't care who hears. Let the whole restaurant know what assholes my packmates are. The only person whose opinion I care about is probably halfway across town by now. "Some fucking pack."

The hurt that flashes across their faces should satisfy me, but it doesn't. Nothing will except maybe catching Lexie before she's gone for good.

"Don't follow me," I growl, already turning toward the door. "I mean it. Stay the fuck away."

I don't wait for their response, just push through the door and break into a run once I hit the hallway. The elevator takes an eternity to arrive, each second stretching like taffy as I imagine Lexie getting further away. When it finally opens, I punch the lobby button repeatedly, as if that will make it move faster.

The ride down is torture. I check my phone again. No messages, no calls. Of course not. Why would she reach out after that disaster? I type out a quick text anyway.

DARREN: I’m so sorry about tonight. There's no excuse.

The message sends just as the elevator doors open. I sprint through the lobby, ignoring the startled looks from staff and guests. Outside, the night air hits me like a slap, cool against my overheated skin.

The parking lot stretches before me, a sea of gleaming vehicles under foggy lights. I scan frantically for any sign of Lexie. A flash of burgundy, the sound of a car door, anything.

Nothing.

Then, movement at the far end of the lot catches my eye. A car pulling out, turning toward the exit. I squint, trying to make out the driver, but it's too far away, the interior too dark.

"Lexie!" I shout, breaking into a run again. But it's useless. The car accelerates, red taillights disappearing down the exit ramp and into the night.

"Fuck!" I slam my palm against the nearest car, the impact sending a jolt of pain up my arm. Good. Physical pain is easier to process than whatever the hell is happening in my chest right now.

I stand there, breathing hard, watching the empty space where her car vanished. My phone remains silent in my hand. No response to my text. No indication she's even seen it.

This couldn't have gone worse if I'd planned it. The one woman who made me feel like myself again since this omega bullshit started, gone. Driven away by my pack's inexplicable behavior.

I trusted them. Despite everything, the awkwardness after my presentation, Zayn's constant needling, the way they all walk on eggshells around me, I still believed they'd come through when it mattered. That they'd have my back in this like they always have on the ice.

Knowing that isn't the case is more than disappointing. It's gutting.

Maybe Zayn is right. Maybe I am delusional, thinking we can continue as a functioning pack with this new development. Thinking that things don't have to change just because my biology decided to pull the rug out from under me.

Maybe I've been fighting a losing battle all along.

I sink onto a nearby concrete barrier, the fight draining out of me as quickly as it came. The night stretches empty and cold around me, the city lights blurring as I stare at nothing.

My phone buzzes in my hand, and my heart leaps, but it's just Jax.

JAX: Where are you? We need to talk.

Fuck that.

I turn the phone off without responding. Whatever they have to say, I don't want to hear it. Not tonight. Maybe never.

The woodsmoke scent that's become my unwanted signature rises around me, stronger now that my emotions are running high. Another reminder of what I've become. Of what I've lost.

Of what I might never have again.

Chapter

Nineteen

ZAYN

We fucked up.

I stare at the empty chair where Darren usually sits during our team meetings, the silence in the room thick enough to choke on. Eight hours since he stormed out of The Terrace. Eight hours of unanswered calls and texts. Eight hours of growing certainty that we've managed to royally screw up the one thing he asked of us.

Be normal. For one fucking dinner.

Jax paces the length of our living room, phone pressed to his ear. It's his fifth attempt to reach Darren in the last hour alone. Each call goes straight to voicemail, and each time, Jax's expression grows more grim. The bourbon scent that usually surrounds him has sharpened with anxiety.

"Still nothing," he says, tossing his phone onto the couch with more force than necessary. "Where the hell could he be?"

"Maybe he went to a hotel," Aidan suggests, perched on the edge of the armchair like he might bolt at any second. The kid hasn't stopped fidgeting since we got back. "Or he could be at the practice facility. Sometimes he goes there to clear his head."

"At three in the morning?" I snort, running a hand through my hair. It's probably a disaster by now, but for once, I don't care.

Dmitri sits silently in the corner, his massive frame somehow making the oversized chair look small. He hasn't said much since we got back, but the storm brewing behind those ice-blue eyes is unmistakable. The big guy doesn't anger easily, but when he does, it's like watching a glacier crack.

"We should go look for him," Aidan says, standing abruptly. "Split up, check his usual spots. He could be hurt, or⁠—"

"He's not hurt," I cut in, sharper than intended. "He's pissed. And the last thing he wants right now is us tracking him down like he's some lost puppy."

Aidan's face falls, but I don't have the energy to soften the blow. The rookie's crush on Darren was obvious before, but after tonight, after scenting Lexie and realizing what she is to us, it's painfully transparent. The way he keeps glancing at Darren's empty chair, the nervous energy radiating off him. It would be pathetic if I wasn't wrestling with my own mess of emotions.

"Zayn's right," Jax says, though it clearly pains him to admit it. "Darren needs space. We give him that, at least for tonight."

"But what if⁠—"

"He's a grown man, McKinney," I interrupt again. "Not some fragile little flower who needs rescuing. Or have you forgotten that he spent twenty-seven years as a beta who could take care of himself?"

The words come out harsher than I intended, but I can't take them back. I'm chastising myself more than him at this point.

I've been a dick. It's kind of what I do. But in my attempts to get Darren to accept the reality we're all living in, I know now that I went too far. Pushed too hard.

Maybe pushed him away for good, along with our scent match, and the one-two sucker punch of that realization is hard to swallow.

Aidan flinches like I've slapped him. "That's not what I meant."

"Isn't it?" I challenge, leaning forward. "Because from where I'm sitting, we've all been treating him differently since he presented. Like he's made of glass. Like he needs our protection whether he wants it or not."

"You're the one who's done nothing but harass him since he presented!" Aidan protests.

"Yeah, and you're just as bad as me," I counter. "At least I've never let him win. At least I'm honest about it."

"That's enough," Jax cuts in, his captain voice slicing through the brewing storm of alpha instinct and conflict. "Fighting among ourselves isn't helping anything."

I lean back, crossing my arms over my chest. He's right, of course. Jax is always right. The perfect captain, the perfect alpha, the perfect everything. It's fucking exhausting sometimes.

"We need to talk about what happened tonight," Dmitri says, breaking his silence. "About this woman. Lexie."

And there it is, the petite elephant in the room we've been dancing around for the past eight hours. Lexie Goodwin. The beta with the pumpkin spice scent that hit us all like a freight train the moment we walked into that private dining room.

Our scent match.

The statistical impossibility that somehow became our reality tonight. A woman who smells like home and comfort and everything right, who happens to be the same woman Darren found on his own. The same woman who now probably wants nothing to do with any of us after our spectacular display of social ineptitude.

"What about her?" Aidan asks, a defensive edge to his voice.

"We need to decide what to tell Darren," Dmitri says simply. "About what she is to us."

The room falls silent again, the weight of the decision pressing down on all of us. What do we tell him? That the woman he's clearly falling for is our scent match? That biology has played yet another trickshot, binding us all to the same person? That we might have just driven away the one woman in the world designed to complete our pack? The missing piece none of us even realized existed until now?

Except Darren. Somehow, he knew. Even through the blockers, he knew what she was to us.

"We tell him everything," Aidan says firmly. "As soon as he comes home. He deserves to know."

I laugh, the sound harsh and humorless. "Great plan, rookie. 'Hey Darren, remember that woman you really like? The one who just walked out because we all acted like complete assholes and will probably never speak to us again? Turns out she's our scent match! Surprise!'"

Aidan's cheeks flush with anger. “He needs to know. Maybe if he understands why we were acting so strange…”

"You think that's going to make it better?" I shake my head in disbelief. “You think learning that his packmates are all biologically wired to want the same woman he's interested in is going to make him feel better about tonight? It'll just piss him off even more, unless we can track her down first to apologize ourselves and fix this.”

"It's the truth," Aidan insists.

"The truth isn't always helpful," I counter. "Sometimes it just makes things worse."

"So what, we lie to him? Hide it?" Aidan's voice rises with each question. "That's your solution?"

"My solution is to not make this night any more of a disaster than it already is." I stand, unable to contain the restless energy building inside me. "At least not until we have a way to fix it."

Aidan opens his mouth to argue, but Jax raises a hand, silencing him. "Zayn has a point," he says reluctantly. "Timing matters here."

"So we say nothing?" Dmitri asks, his expression unreadable.

Jax sighs. "Not nothing. Just... not yet. We need to give Darren some space right now."

"And what about her?" I ask, the question that's been nagging at me since she walked out. "She already has trust issues with packs. After tonight, she probably wants nothing to do with us. And we don't even know where to find her to begin to apologize, assuming she's willing to hear us out."

The thought sends an unexpected pang through my chest. I barely know this woman, spoke maybe ten words to her all night, yet the idea of never seeing her again feels like agony. It's unsettling, this pull toward someone I've just met. Unwelcome, even.

I don't do attachment. Never have. My relationships, if you can call them that, are carefully managed affairs. They're brief, intense, and always on my terms. No complications, no expectations, no messy feelings to interfere with hockey or pack dynamics.

But Lexie... she's different. And not just because of her scent, though God knows that pumpkin spice aroma hit me like a drug the moment I walked into that room. There's something about her, a warmth, an authenticity that cut through my usual defenses before I even realized what was happening.

And now she's gone, driven away by our collective idiocy.

"We need to make it right," Aidan says, determination hardening his features. "With both of them."

"That, we can agree on, rook," I mutter.

"How exactly do you propose we do that?" Dmitri asks.

"We apologize," Aidan says, like it's the simplest thing in the world. "We explain that we were caught off guard, that we didn't mean to make her feel unwelcome."

"Without mentioning the scent match," Jax adds quickly, seeing the protest forming on Aidan's lips. "At least not yet."

"But first, we have to track her down," I remind them. "Easier said than done, because Darren's sure as hell not giving us her number anytime soon."

A hush falls over the room. Jax is the first to break it.

"You could always take his phone again," Aidan taunts. "That worked out so well the last time."

I clench my jaw, instinct driving me to tell him off, but he's right. I fucked up and I know it.

"One step at a time," Jax says. "When Darren comes to us, when he's ready, we go from there."

It's not a great plan. Not a plan at all, really, but fuck if I have a better one.

My strategy for dealing with things lately clearly hasn't been working. And I'm not quite egotistical enough to think it's going to work any better with Lexie than it has with our omega.

Chapter

Twenty

LEXIE

The park buzzes with the sounds of children's laughter and the occasional squeal of delight as someone conquers the monkey bars. I shift on the wooden bench, adjusting my position to catch the warmth of the afternoon sun on my face. It's the first time I've been outside for anything other than shipping runs in a week, and despite my reluctance to admit it, the fresh air feels good.

"Aunt Lexie! Aunt Lexie!" Taylor races toward me, pigtails bouncing, an object clutched in her tiny fist. "Look what I found!"

She skids to a stop in front of me, opening her hand to reveal a pebble. Ordinary to anyone else, but clearly a treasure to my five-year-old niece. It's smooth and flat, with flecks of mica that catch the light.

"Wow, that's a special one," I say, taking it from her palm to examine it properly. "Look at how it sparkles."

Her face lights up with pride. "It's magic. Like in the story you told us."

"Definitely magic," I agree, handing it back. "Better keep it safe."

She nods solemnly before darting back to the playground where her brother is digging in the sand, completely absorbed in his quest to reach China, or so he informed me earlier.

At the rate my life is going, I just might join him.

I check my phone and see it'll be another hour before Jessica and Luke return from their date. I don't mind watching the kids. Their uncomplicated joy is a welcome distraction from the mess I've made of my own life.

It's been a week since the disaster at The Terrace. Seven days of throwing myself into work with a single-minded focus that's left little room for anything else. My apartment has become even more of a warehouse than before, with stacks of inventory threatening to take over every available surface. The irony isn't lost on me. I'm literally building walls of sweaters around myself.

But business is booming. My fall collection is selling faster than I can make it, and I've even had to start a waitlist for certain designs. At this rate, I might actually need to consider renting a small workspace. My dining table hasn't been used for actual dining in months, and my living room is more shipping department than living space.

Success should feel better than this.

I watch Taylor, her small face scrunched in concentration as she examines another rock with Adam. Both kids bring me treasures every few minutes. Rocks, leaves, the occasional unidentifiable but questionable item I have to discreetly dispose of when he's not looking. Adam, unfortunately, has an obsession with gifting me grubs.

This is good. Simple. Safe. No complicated pack dynamics, no alphas giving me strange looks, no newly-presented omega who makes my heart race with just a smile.

No Darren.

I've deleted Beyond Bonds from my phone, along with every other dating app Jessica has ever convinced me to try. Four failed relationships should have been enough to teach me the lesson. The fifth attempt, however brief, was just the universe making sure I got the message.

I don't fit into their world. I never will.

"Lexie?"

The deep voice sends a jolt through me like I've touched a live wire. I freeze, not wanting to turn around, not wanting to confirm what I already know.

It can't be.

But it is. Because the universe isn't done with me yet.

I slowly look up, and there he is, Darren Malloy, all six-foot-four of him, standing a few feet away in running shorts and a fitted athletic shirt that does nothing to hide the muscles underneath. A light sheen of sweat makes his skin glow in the afternoon sun, and his short brown hair is slightly mussed, like he's been running his hands through it.

He looks good. Devastatingly good.

"Darren," I manage, hating how breathless I sound. "What are you doing here?"

A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, and my traitorous heart skips a beat. "Relax, I'm not stalking you. I jog through here every day for training."

"Oh." Of course. This park is on a popular running route. "Right."

He shifts his weight, those blue eyes studying me with an intensity that makes my skin prickle. "Can I sit for a second?"

I hesitate, glancing toward the playground where Taylor and Adam are now engaged in what appears to be a serious negotiation over sandbox territory with some other children. They're fine for the moment, completely absorbed in their play.

"Sure," I say finally, scooting over to make room on the bench.

He sits beside me, careful to leave space between us, though I can still feel the heat from his body. The faint scent of woodsmoke reaches me, subtle but unmistakable even through what must be industrial-strength blockers.

"I messaged you," he says after a moment. "On the app. An embarrassing number of times, actually." He rubs the back of his neck. "Figured you either deleted it or didn't want to talk to me when you didn't reply."

"I deleted the app," I admit, keeping my eyes on the playground. It's easier than looking at him. "You don't have anything to apologize for."

"Don't I?" He laughs, but there's no humor in it. "My pack acted like complete assholes. I still don't know what got into them. I've never seen them like that before."

I risk a glance at him. His profile is sharp against the backdrop of the park, jaw clenched with frustration.

"It's obvious, isn't it?" I ask softly. "The same thing as ever."

"What do you mean?"

"Alphas are protective over their omegas," I say, the words tasting bitter on my tongue. "They don't want to risk anyone else coming in and messing up the dynamics."

A low growl rumbles from his chest, startling me. "Those aren't our dynamics," he says, the words clipped and hard. "I don't want them to be. I'm not owned by anyone, and if I have to be an omega, I'm going to do it on my terms."

The vehemence in his voice catches me off guard. There's real anger there, raw and unfiltered. But beneath it, I hear desperation.

"Is that why you wanted to meet me in the first place?" I ask, the question that's been nagging at me for days finally finding voice. "To prove something to them?"

He turns to face me fully now, those blue eyes intense. "At first? Maybe a little. I was angry and frustrated and wanted to show them I wasn't going to let this omega thing change everything. And like I said in our profile, I thought the alphas could use a beautiful distraction." He pauses, his expression softening. "But then I met you, and it became about something else entirely."

My heart stutters in my chest. "Darren⁠—"

"Aunt Lexie!" Taylor's voice cuts through the moment as she runs toward us, another rock clutched in her hand. She skids to a stop when she notices Darren, suddenly shy in the presence of a stranger.

"Who's that?" she asks, edging closer to me.

"This is my friend Darren," I say, grateful for the interruption. "Darren, this is my niece, Taylor."

Darren's entire demeanor shifts as he smiles at Taylor, his body language relaxing. "Hey there, Taylor. Cool rock."

Taylor studies him for a moment, then apparently decides he's worthy of her treasure. She holds out the rock, a smooth, dark stone with a vein of white quartz running through it.

"It's magic," she informs him solemnly.

"I can tell," Darren says, equally serious as he examines it. "That's a very special find."

Taylor beams, clearly approving of his assessment. "I found three more. Want to see?"

"Absolutely," Darren says without hesitation.

Before I can intervene, Taylor has grabbed his hand and is tugging him toward the playground where her collection awaits. Darren throws me an amused glance over his shoulder as he allows himself to be led away by a five-year-old on a quest.

I watch, surprised, as Taylor introduces him to Adam, who immediately shows him the gigantic lumpy castle they've been building in the sandbox. Darren crouches down to their level, his massive frame somehow not intimidating as he listens intently to their explanations, asking questions and admiring their work with genuine interest.

"This is the mote!" Taylor proclaims loudly.

"Sweet," Darren says, studying the small ring they've filled with the bottle of water they snatched from my purse earlier. "Got any alligators in there?"

Taylor's eyes widen and I can practically see the lightbulb go off above her head. "Adam! We need gators."

They run over to the bucket of beach toys they brought with us, frantically searching the pieces for alligators to eat unsuspecting trespassers.

My phone buzzes with a text from Jessica.

JESSICA: Movie was shorter than we thought! Heading home now. You can drop the kids whenever.

I text back quickly.

LEXIE: Will head your way in about 10 min. They made a friend.

JESSICA: I’m hoping he's tall, dark and handsome, because YOU need a friend, sis.

I roll my eyes. If she had any idea.

I stand, gathering our things and heading toward the playground. As I approach, I catch snippets of conversation. Darren is explaining to Taylor how to make the walls of their sand castle stronger, while somehow simultaneously oohing and ahhing over all the random objects Adam brings him to inspect.

"Time to pack up, guys," I call. "Mom and Dad are home."

The expected protests and dramatics begin immediately, but Darren surprises me again.

"Your aunt says it's time to go," he says firmly but kindly. "Better listen to her. Those magic rocks will still be here next time."

To my shock, both children nod and begin gathering their things without further complaint. Taylor carefully stows her rock collection in the small backpack she insists on carrying herself while Adam makes one final adjustment to the sand castle before standing.

"Can he come too?" Taylor points at Darren, who's now standing a few feet away, giving us space.

I hesitate, glancing at Darren. He meets my eyes, and I see the question there, a hope I'm not ready to examine too closely.

"You can walk with us if you want," I hear myself say, but it sounds far off. "Their house isn't far."

His smile is immediate and warm. "I'd like that."

As we walk, the kids naturally gravitate to Darren. Taylor shows him every interesting thing we pass, and Adam asks countless barely intelligible questions that Darren answers with surprising patience. I hang back slightly, watching the interaction and wondering what I'm going to say when we're alone again.

"You know," I say quietly when the kids run ahead to examine a particularly interesting tree, "my sister and her husband are going to freak out when they meet you."

Darren raises an eyebrow. "Oh, yeah, your brother-in-law is a Grizzlies fan, right?"

I'm surprised he remembered that, but I nod. "Huge. Like, watches every game, has the jerseys, the whole nine yards. Or, uh, whatever the hockey version is."

He laughs, the sound rich and genuine. "I'm always happy to meet fans." His voice drops slightly, eyes meeting mine. "Especially fans who are related to a beautiful woman I'm interested in."

Heat rushes to my cheeks, and I look away, focusing on the kids. "We should catch up to them before they decide to climb that tree."

Darren doesn't push, just falls into step beside me as we quicken our pace. His arm brushes mine occasionally as we walk, each contact sending a small jolt through me that I try desperately to ignore.

We reach Jessica's house all too soon, a tidy two-story in a family-friendly neighborhood with a small but well-maintained yard. The kids race up the path to the front door, Taylor already shouting for her parents before we even reach the porch.

The door swings open to reveal Jessica, her eyes widening comically as she takes in the scene. Her children, me, and the professional hockey player standing awkwardly on her doorstep.

"Hi, Jess," I say, trying for casual and failing miserably. "This is Darren. He was at the park and walked back with us."

Jessica's mouth opens and closes several times before she manages, "Holy—" She cuts herself off, looking at the children. "Cow?"

"Hi," Darren says with an easy smile, extending his hand. "Nice to meet you."

Before Jessica can respond, Luke appears behind her, his expression changing from curious to stunned disbelief in the span of a heartbeat.

"Holy shit," he breathes, no self-censoring, then immediately winces as Jessica elbows him sharply. "I mean, wow. The Brick. On my porch. This is... wow."

Darren takes it in stride, shaking Luke's hand with the same warmth he showed the children. "Just Darren is fine. Taylor and Adam here were showing me their rock collection at the park. They're great kids."

Luke nods enthusiastically, still looking shell-shocked. "They are. Great rocks. I mean… kids. Rock collection. Yes."

Jessica rolls her eyes, but I can see she's fighting a smile. "Why don't you all come in? I can make coffee."

"Actually," I interject quickly, "Darren and I were just going to⁠—"

"Talk," Darren finishes for me. "We have some things to discuss."

Jessica's eyebrows shoot up, and I know I'll be getting a detailed interrogation later. "Of course," she says, her tone too innocent to be believable. "Don't let us keep you."

Luke looks like he wants to protest, clearly hoping for more time with his hockey idol, but Jessica's pointed look silences him.

"It was really nice meeting all of you," Darren says, and I can tell he means it. "Maybe next time we can talk more."

Next time.

The casual implication that there will be a next time doesn't escape me as we say our goodbyes. The kids hug me fiercely, Taylor making Darren promise to look for more magic rocks on our way.

As we walk away, Jessica catches my arm, pulling me back slightly. "Call me later," she whispers urgently. "I want details. All of them."

"There's nothing to tell," I insist, but the heat in my cheeks betrays me.

“Sure there isn’t.” She glances at Darren, who's waiting patiently a few feet away, then back to me. “Great, now I have to worry about my husband running off with your new musclebound guy.”

I elbow her, unable to suppress a laugh. "Shut up."

She grins, releasing my arm. "Go. But call me."

I rejoin Darren, acutely aware of Jessica watching us from the doorway. We walk in silence for a moment, the afternoon sun making everything feel hazy and comfortable.

"Your sister seems nice," Darren says finally. "And her husband is..."

"A complete fanboy?" I supply.

He laughs. "I was going to say enthusiastic, but yeah."

"I warned you."

"You did." He glances at me, softness in his expression. "Thanks for introducing me. I can tell that's not something you do lightly."

Warmth spreads across my face again and I force myself to look away. "No, it isn't."

We reach the corner where we need to turn toward my apartment, and I hesitate. This is the moment where I should say goodbye, thank him for walking with us, and go back to my life of sweaters and solitude.

Instead, I hear myself say, "Do you want to come to my place? To talk, I mean. I could make coffee."

The smile that breaks across his face is answer enough.

Chapter

Twenty-One

LEXIE

My apartment looks even smaller with Darren in it. He fills the space in a way that should be intimidating but somehow isn't, his presence warm rather than overwhelming. He stands in the middle of my living room, taking in the stacks of inventory and shipping supplies with interest.

"Sorry about the mess," I say, moving a pile of sweaters from the couch to make room for him to sit. "Business has been booming lately."

"Don't apologize," he says, picking up one of my designs, a deep green cardigan with subtle cable detailing. "These are amazing. You made all of these?"

"Some of them, that one included," I confirm, heading to the kitchen to start the coffee. "Some are vintage pieces I've modified or upcycled."

He follows me, leaning against the doorframe as I measure coffee grounds.

"So," I say, focusing on the task at hand rather than the man watching me. "You wanted to talk."

"Yeah." He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. "About what happened at The Terrace. About us."

Us. Such a small word to carry so much meaning.

"There isn't an 'us,' Darren," I say quietly, pouring water into the coffee maker. "There can't be."

"Why not?" The question is simple, direct. Typical Darren.

I turn to face him, forcing myself to meet his eyes. "Because your pack made it very clear they're not comfortable with me being in the picture."

"I don't care what they think," he says, the words fierce and low. "I want to keep seeing you, Lexie. See where this goes. If they don't get on board, then I'll just have more of you to myself."

The intensity in his voice, in his eyes, makes my breath catch. "It's not that simple."

"It can be," he insists, taking a step closer. "If we want it to be."

"Your pack⁠—"

"Is important to me," he acknowledges. "But so are you. And I'm tired of letting other people dictate my life, my choices. First it was coaches and scouts telling me I'd never make it as a beta in an alpha's game. Then it was doctors telling me my career was over because I presented as an omega. Now it's my own packmates treating me like I'm suddenly made of glass."

He takes another step, close enough now that I can feel his heat. I'm not sure if all omegas are this warm, or if it's just him. "I'm done letting other people tell me what I can and can't have."

The coffee maker beeps, signaling it's finished brewing, but neither of us moves.

"What do you want, Lexie?" he asks, his voice softer now.

What do I want? The question replays in my head, deceptively simple yet impossibly complicated.

I want to not be hurt again. I want to not be someone's second choice, their consolation prize until something better comes along. I want to matter to someone the way they matter to me.

But more than any of that, I want him.

The realization hits me with startling clarity. Despite everything, the disastrous dinner, the pack complications, my own well-founded fears, I want Darren. Have wanted him since that first dinner when he looked at me like I was the most fascinating person he'd ever met.

"I want..." I start, then stop, the words catching in my throat.

Darren waits, patient, those blue eyes never leaving mine.

"I want to not be afraid," I admit finally. "I want to believe this could work."

His expression shifts with relief. "Then let me prove to you it can."

He closes the distance between us, one large hand coming up to cup my cheek. His touch is gentle, almost reverent, as his thumb traces the line of my jaw. I should step back. Should remind myself of all the reasons this is a bad idea.

Instead, I lean into his touch, my eyes fluttering closed.

The first brush of his lips against mine is soft, questioning. A request, not a demand. I answer by pressing closer, my hands finding purchase on his chest, feeling the solid warmth of him through his shirt.

The kiss deepens, transforms from gentle exploration to a hungrier, more urgent one. His hands slide down to my waist, lifting me easily onto the counter. I gasp at the display of strength, and he takes advantage, his tongue slipping past my lips to tangle with mine.

He tastes like mint and him, a flavor I could quickly become addicted to. And he smells like… like woodsmoke. My hands move up to his shoulders, feeling the muscles shift beneath my palms as he pulls me closer, settling between my thighs.

"Lexie," he murmurs against my lips, the word a reverent growl.

I should stop this. Should remember all the reasons I deleted that app, all the lessons I've learned the hard way about packs and alphas and omegas. Should protect myself from the inevitable heartbreak.

But his hands are sliding under my shirt, calloused palms warm against my skin, and I don't want it to stop. Not because his perfect body is short circuiting my brain. No, I'm still painfully aware of what the consequences for this little indulgence are going to be.

I just don't fucking care.

I'm so tired of being alone, of waiting, of keeping these walls up at all times. It hurts as much as being vulnerable, just in a different way. One that's harder to quantify.

"We should—" I try, but the words dissolve into a moan as he nips gently at my pulse point.

"Should what?" he asks, his voice rough with desire.

"Slow down," I manage, even as my body arches into his touch.

He pulls back immediately, his eyes dark but clear. "You're right. I'm sorry. I got carried away."

The loss of his warmth is almost painful. "No, I didn't mean—" I take a breath, trying to organize my scattered thoughts. "I just meant we should talk more. About what this means."

Relief flashes across his face. "We can talk," he agrees, though his eyes drop to my lips. "Talking is good."

But neither of us moves to create more space between us. His hands remain on my waist, his fingers biting into my soft flesh pressed to his hard body. My legs are still wrapped loosely around his hips, keeping him close.

"What do you want to talk about?" he asks, his voice low and intimate in the small kitchen.

What indeed? The pack? The future? The fact that I'm already in deeper than I ever intended to be?

"I don't know," I admit, my hands sliding up to the nape of his neck, fingers threading through his hair. "I can't think straight when you're this close."

A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "Is that a bad thing?"

"Probably," I say honestly. "But I don't care right now."

That's all the invitation he needs. His mouth finds mine again, the kiss deeper, more demanding this time. There's an urgency to his touch now, a hunger that sends heat pooling low inside my core.

We should move this to the bedroom. Should take our time, explore each other properly. But his hands are sliding higher under my shirt, and my patience is rapidly evaporating.

"Darren," I gasp as his thumbs brush the undersides of my breasts. "The dining table."

He pulls back slightly, confusion flickering across his face. "What?"

"The dining table," I repeat, already tugging him toward the adjoining room. "It's closer."

Understanding dawns, followed by a grin that's equal parts wicked and delighted. "Lead the way."

The dining table in question is barely visible beneath stacks of inventory, sweaters and cardigans neatly folded and sorted by size and color. I hesitate, suddenly self-conscious about the state of my apartment.

"We can clear it," Darren says, reading my thoughts. "Or..."

He sweeps me up in one fluid motion, setting me on the edge of the table between two stacks of sweaters. The casual display of strength sends a fresh wave of heat through me.

"Or this works too," I manage, breathless.

His laugh is low and warm against my neck as he presses kisses along my collarbone. "Adaptability is key in hockey."

"Is that so?" I tilt my head to give him better access, my hands finding their way under his shirt to explore the hard planes of his abdomen.

"Mmm," he confirms, his own hands busy with the buttons of my blouse. "You have to be ready to adjust to changing circumstances."

The last button gives way, and he pushes the fabric aside, his eyes darkening as he takes in the sight of me in a simple black bra. Nothing fancy or special, since I wasn't exactly planning for this when I got dressed this morning, but the way he looks at me makes me feel like I'm wearing the finest lingerie.

"You're beautiful," he says, voice rough with desire.

I should feel self-conscious. My body isn't perfect, and after my last few disastrous rounds of romance, my confidence has definitely been shaken, but the genuine appreciation in his eyes banishes any insecurity. Instead, I reach behind my back to unhook my bra, letting it fall away. Glad I opted for the strapless today because I don't think I can remember how to take off my own damn shirt.

His sharp intake of breath is gratifying. More so when his hands replace the fabric, cupping and exploring with a reverence that makes my heart stutter.

Darren growls as he captures my mouth in a kiss that leaves no doubt about his intentions. His thumbs brush over my nipples, drawing a gasp from me that he swallows eagerly.

We're moving fast. This isn't how I usually do things. But nothing about Darren fits into my usual patterns, and maybe that's a good thing.

What did doing things the right way with Mark ever get me? Or the others?

His mouth leaves mine to trail down my neck, across my collarbone, and finally to my breast. The first touch of his tongue against my nipple sends a jolt of pleasure through me so intense I arch into him, a moan escaping before I can stop it.

"Gods, the sounds you make," he murmurs against my skin. "I want to hear more of them."

His hands slide to the button of my jeans, pausing there. "Is this okay?"

The fact that he asks, that he checks in despite the obvious desire written across his features, makes my heart flutter. "Yes," I breathe. "Please."

He makes quick work of the button and zipper, helping me shimmy out of the denim without dislodging me from my perch on the table. My panties follow, leaving me naked except for my open blouse while he remains fully clothed.

"This seems unfair," I observe, tugging at the hem of his shirt.

He grins, stepping back just long enough to pull the shirt over his head in one smooth motion. The sight of him, all defined muscle and tanned skin, momentarily steals my breath. Tattoos I hadn't noticed before cover both arms in intricate designs. One is a giant kraken wrapping around his muscled bicep.

"Better?" he asks, returning to the space between my thighs.

"Getting there," I say, my hands going to the waistband of his shorts. "These need to go too."

He complies eagerly, pushing down his shorts and underwear in one motion, kicking them aside. And then he's there, gloriously naked and unmistakably aroused, his desire for me evident in every line of his body.

Fuck, he's huge. Not just for an omega, or a beta, for… anyone. His cock is thick and hard, precome already beading at the tip, making my mouth water even if I'm pretty sure I'd have to unhinge my jaw to take it all.

"Condom?" he asks, his voice strained with the effort of holding back.

"Bedside drawer," I say, reluctant to pause even for something so necessary. "But I've got an IUD. And I got tested recently, after…" I trail off, realizing I don't want to say after I found out my boyfriend was fucking his way through every pack in the state.

"Same," he confirms quickly.

I wrap my legs around his waist, drawing him closer. The first brush of him against my center draws matching gasps from both of us.

“Fuck me,” I whisper against his lips.

He enters me slowly, giving me time to adjust to his size. The stretch is delicious, a perfect balance of pleasure and the slightest edge of pain that quickly fades as my body accommodates him.

"Fuck, Lexie," he groans when he's fully seated within me. "You feel amazing."

I can only nod, words beyond me as he begins to move. Slow at first, measured thrusts that build a steady rhythm. But it's not enough. I want more.

"Harder," I gasp, my nails digging into his shoulders. "Please, Darren."

He obliges, his pace increasing, each thrust driving deeper. The table creaks beneath us, a stack of sweaters toppling to the floor, but neither of us cares. There's only this, his body moving within mine, the building pressure at my core, the way he watches me with those intense blue eyes like I'm the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

One of his hands slides between us, his thumb finding the bundle of nerves at my center with ease. And Mark somehow couldn't find it with a fucking GPS and a map. The first touch sends a jolt through me, my back arching as pleasure spirals tighter.

"That's it," he encourages, his voice rough. "Let go for me, Lexie."

The combination of his words, his touch, and the relentless rhythm of his thrusts pushes me over the edge. I come with his name on my lips, waves of pleasure washing through me with an intensity that leaves me gasping.

He follows soon after, his rhythm faltering as he finds his own release, my name a prayer on his lips as he pulses within me.

For a long moment, we stay like that, our bodies connected and our ragged breaths in sync, his forehead resting against mine. Then he carefully withdraws, gathering me into his arms with a tenderness that contrasts sharply with the passion of moments before.

"That was amazing," he breathes. "You're fucking amazing."

"So are you," I murmur. I have to admit, I never really imagined sleeping with an omega, but it wasn't something that crossed my mind at all when we were together, and now… now I'm starting to realize designation doesn't really matter. I've never felt so desired with anyone before, alpha or beta. "Holy shit."

He laughs, the sound vibrating through his chest where my head rests. "Eloquent, aren't we?"

"Mmm," I murmur, too content to form proper sentences. "Words are overrated."

His arms tighten around me, and I can feel his smile against my hair. "We should probably move to a more comfortable location."

"Probably," I agree, making no effort to move.

"Your bedroom?"

"Down the hall, first door on the right."

He scoops me up effortlessly, carrying me through the apartment like I weigh nothing. It should feel ridiculous. I'm a grown woman, perfectly capable of walking, but instead, it feels... right. Safe.

And that's the most terrifying part of all.

Because as he lays me gently on my bed, climbing in beside me with a smile that makes my heart flip, I know I'm in trouble.

Deep, serious trouble.

I'm falling for him. For Darren Malloy, professional hockey player, newly-presented omega, member of a pack that clearly has serious issues with me.

I am so, so screwed.

Chapter

Twenty-Two

DARREN

Iwake to unfamiliar softness beneath me and the subtle yet alluring scent of pumpkin spice filling my lungs. For a moment, I'm disoriented. This isn't my bed with its firm mattress and utilitarian sheets. This is softer, with a warmth pressed against my side that I'm not used to.

Then it all comes rushing back. Lexie. The park. Her apartment. The dining table and that pile of sweaters we desecrated.

I crack open an eye to find her curled against me, her reddish-brown hair spilling across my chest, one arm thrown over my torso. Morning light spills through curtains she never fully closed last night, casting a warm glow over her sleeping form. Her face is relaxed in sleep, those expressive brown eyes hidden, lips slightly parted.

She's beautiful. So beautiful it hurts just to look at her.

I've never woken up with a woman before. Not like this. My hookups have always been brief, efficient encounters that end with me returning to my own space. The pack house. My apartment before that. Always alone, always in control.

This is different.

Lexie stirs, her body stretching against mine in a way that immediately reminds certain parts of my anatomy that we're both still naked. I try to will away my body's response, not wanting to seem like some horny frat bro who can't control himself, but it's a losing battle.

Her eyes flutter open, confusion flickering across her features for a split second before recognition dawns. "Morning," she murmurs, voice husky with sleep.

"Morning," I reply, suddenly self-conscious. Is there a protocol for this? Should I have gotten dressed before she woke? Made coffee? "Sleep okay?"

She smiles, the expression soft and genuine in a way that makes my heart stutter. "Better than I have in months, actually." Her hand strokes down my chest, seemingly unaware of the effect it's having on me. "You?"

"Same." It's the truth. Despite the unfamiliar bed and the lingering awkwardness with my pack, I slept deeper than I have since before the concussion. Since before everything changed.

Lexie shifts, propping herself up on one elbow to look at me properly. The movement causes the sheet to slip, exposing the curve of her breast. My mouth goes dry at the sight.

"Hungry?" she asks, oblivious to my distraction. "I could make breakfast. I'm not much of a cook, but I can handle eggs and toast without burning down the building."

I consider the offer for approximately half a second before my gaze drops to her lips, then lower. "I'd rather eat you."

The words slip out before I can censor them. For a moment, I worry I've crossed a line. We barely know each other, after all, and what if she thinks last night was a mistake? But then her pupils dilate, her breath catching audibly.

"That's... quite an offer," she says, a flush spreading across her cheeks and down her neck. "Especially first thing in the morning."

I reach up, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, letting my fingers linger against her skin. "Is that a yes?"

Her answer is to lean down and press her lips to mine. The kiss is soft at first, almost tentative, but quickly deepens as I thread my fingers through her hair, pulling her closer.

I roll us so she's beneath me, breaking the kiss to trail my lips down her neck, across her collarbone. She arches into the contact, a soft sound escaping her that goes right to my cock.

I take my time, exploring her body with lips and tongue and hands. Learning what makes her gasp, what makes her dig her nails into my shoulders. By the time I reach the apex of her thighs, she's already squirming beneath me, her scent mixed with the unmistakable aroma of arousal.

I settle between her legs, hooking her thighs over my shoulders, and dive in like a man starved for pussy. The first taste of her is like nothing I've experienced before, decidedly the best taste that's ever graced my tongue. I groan against her, the vibration making her hips buck.

"Darren," she gasps, one hand fisting in my hair, the other clutching at the sheets. "God, that feels⁠—"

Her words dissolve into a moan as I focus my attention on the bundle of nerves at her center, alternating between gentle circles and firm pressure. Her gloriously thick thighs tighten around my head, her back arching off the bed.

I could do this for hours, I realize. Could spend all day learning the taste and texture of her, cataloging every sound she makes, every twitch and shudder. There's something primal and satisfying about reducing this beautiful, independent woman to incoherent pleasure.

Is this an omega thing? This desire to please, to provide pleasure? Or is it just a Lexie thing?

I don't have time to examine the thought because she's tensing beneath me, her body going rigid as she crests the wave. I work her through it, easing the pressure but not stopping completely until she tugs at my hair, oversensitive.

When I look up, her face is flushed, eyes half-lidded, lips parted as she catches her breath. The sight makes my cock throb almost painfully, but I ignore it, crawling back up her body to press a kiss to her mouth.

She responds eagerly, tasting herself on my lips. Her hand slides between us, wrapping around my length with a confidence that makes me groan.

"Your turn," she murmurs against my lips, but I shake my head.

"I want to be inside you," I admit, the words rough with need. "If that's okay."

Her answer is to guide me to her entrance, her legs wrapping around my waist as I push into her heat. The sensation is overwhelming. She's tight, wet, perfect. I have to pause once I'm fully seated, forehead pressed against hers as I fight for control.

"You feel amazing," I manage, voice strained.

She smiles, a hint of mischief in her eyes. "So do you. Now move."

"You're hot when you're bossy," I tell her, setting a rhythm that starts slow and deliberate but quickly builds as her hands roam my back, her hips rising to meet each thrust. There's none of the urgency of last night. This is slower, more intimate somehow. My eyes never leave hers, watching as pleasure builds in those expressive depths.

When she comes again, it's with my name on her lips, her inner walls pulsing around me in a way that triggers my own release. I bury my face in her neck, breathing in her scent as I empty myself inside her, my hips jerking erratically.

For a long moment, we lie tangled together, sweaty and sated, her fingers weaving patterns across my back. I should move—I'm probably crushing her—but I can't bring myself to break the connection just yet.

"So," she says finally, a smile in her voice. "About that breakfast?"

I laugh, the sound rumbling through both our bodies. "Now who's hungry?"

“Well, I did just burn a lot of energy,” she points out, giving me a playful shove. "And as nice as this is, I need food and a shower."

Reluctantly, I withdraw, rolling to the side to let her up. She presses a quick kiss to my lips before slipping out of bed, giving me an excellent view of her retreating form as she heads for the bathroom.

"Join me?" she calls over her shoulder, and I'm up and following before she can even finish the question.

The shower is small, barely big enough for two people, especially when one of them is my size. But we make it work, trading lazy kisses under the spray as we wash each other. It's domestic in a way I've never experienced, intimate without being sexual.

At least, that's what I have to tell my cock to keep him in line.

I could get used to mornings like this.

The thought brings me up short. I'm getting ahead of myself, projecting a future onto something that's barely begun. But there's something about Lexie that feels right in a way nothing has since my presentation. Maybe even before that.

By the time we make it to the kitchen, me wrapped in a borrowed robe—her largest one still fits me like a damn dog costume, barely even covering the essentials—I'm ravenous. Breakfast is simple scrambled eggs and toast, but it's perfect.

"So," she says, settling across from me at the small kitchen table that isn't covered in inventory. "What happens now?"

The question hangs between us, loaded with all the thoughts that have been rattling around in the back of my mind. What does happen now? I've spent weeks fighting against my new biology, against the changes in my pack dynamic, against the way the world suddenly sees me. And now there's Lexie, this unexpected connection that feels both terrifying and right.

Terrifying because in the week she went MIA, all I could do was think about her. What I was missing out on.

"I don't know," I admit, because honesty seems like the only option. "I didn't exactly plan for any of this."

She nods, pushing eggs around her plate. "Me neither. I was all set to swear off dating completely after the insurance salesman incident."

"Wait, you never told me that story," I say, raising an eyebrow. "Please tell me it wasn't the same date you had to escape by climbing a window."

"One and the same," she says in a dry tone. "He brought brochures."

I groan. "You've gotta be kidding."

"And followed me out of the restaurant still trying to sell me a policy," she adds with a laugh. "I'm pretty sure he's still confused about what went wrong."

I snort. "And here I was worried I wasn't smooth."

"Oh, you're plenty smooth," she says, a glimmer in her eyes that makes my heart stutter.

We share a smile, but the underlying question remains. What happens now?

"I want to keep seeing you," I say finally, setting down my fork to meet her eyes directly. "I know it's complicated with the pack and... everything else. But I like you, Lexie. A lot."

The vulnerability in my voice surprises even me. I'm not used to laying my cards on the table like this. Hockey has taught me to play things close to the chest, to never show weakness. But something about Lexie makes me want to be honest, even if it means risking rejection.

Her expression softens, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "I like you too. More than I probably should after such a short time."

Relief floods through me, followed quickly by caution. There's a 'but' coming. I can hear it in her tone.

"But," she continues, confirming my suspicion, "I'm worried about getting hurt again. About getting in the middle of your pack dynamics when they're already strained because of your presentation."

I start to protest, but she holds up a hand, stopping me.

"I've been here before, Darren. Not exactly here, maybe. This situation is unique in about a dozen ways, but close enough. I've been the beta who wasn't quite enough, who was always second choice. And I can't do that again."

The pain in her voice is raw, genuine. It makes my chest tighten protectively.

"You're not second choice," I say firmly. "Sure as hell not to me."

"Maybe not intentionally," she acknowledges. "But your pack is important to you. They're your family, your support system. And they made it pretty clear at dinner that they're not comfortable with me being in the picture. I just don't see how it could work between us long term if they're not in support. Your bonds with them are a factor."

My phone buzzes from the counter where I left it, interrupting the moment. Then again. And again. A series of texts in quick succession that can only be from the pack.

Perfect fucking timing, assholes.

Lexie glances at it, then back to me. "Speaking of your pack..."

I ignore the phone, focusing on her. "They can wait. I've been avoiding them all week, one more hour's not gonna kill them."

"Can they wait, though?" she asks gently. "Do they even know where you are?"

"No," I grumble, unable to stomach lying to her.

She gets a sad, distant look in her eyes. "Maybe it's time to talk to them."

"I told them I'm staying at a hotel," I say, the words coming out more defensive than intended. "They know I'm alive and safe. They'll live."

"That's all the more reason you should go," she insists. "I don't want them thinking you're running off with some random beta or they'll really hate me. And they'd actually have reason this time."

"I don't care what they think," I counter, though even as I say it, I know it's not entirely true. Despite everything, they're still my pack. Still important to me. "You're not ‘some random beta.’ And they won't hate you."

"You can't know that." She reaches across the table, taking my hand in hers. "Look, I want this to work. I want to see where this goes between us. But I don't want to be the reason your pack falls apart."

My phone buzzes again, more insistent this time. Probably Jax, trying to use his captain voice via text.

"You're right," I admit reluctantly. "I probably do need to talk to them."

Relief flashes across her face, followed by vulnerability. "So what does that mean for us? For... whatever this is becoming?"

"I want you," I say simply, because it's the truest thing I know right now. "I want to keep seeing you, keep getting to know you. Keep waking up with you."

The flush that spreads across her cheeks is gratifying.

"I want that too," she admits. "But the pack⁠—"

"We don't have to figure everything out right now," I say, seeing the conflict in her eyes. "Can we just... give this a chance? Just the two of us, for now? See where it goes?"

She studies me for a long moment, those expressive brown eyes searching mine. Finally, she nods. "If you discuss it with your pack, and they're accepting, then yes. I'd like that."

It's not the unconditional yes I was hoping for, but it's realistic. Practical. Very Lexie.

"I'll talk to them," I promise, bringing her hand to my lips. "Today."

My phone buzzes again, as if on cue. Lexie laughs, the sound lightening the mood. "You should probably get that before they send a search party."

I groan but reach for the phone. Six texts from Jax, three from Aidan, even one from Dmitri. It's three words, which is practically a novel from him.

DMITRI: Are you okay?

Nothing from Zayn, but that's not surprising.

"I should go," I say reluctantly, scrolling through the messages. Nothing urgent, just variations on, "Where are you?" and "We need to talk."

Lexie nods, standing to clear our plates.

I catch her wrist as she passes, pulling her onto my lap. She comes willingly, settling against me with a comfort that feels earned rather than assumed.

"This isn't me running away," I clarify, needing her to understand. "From you, I mean. I want this to work."

"I know," she says softly, her hand coming up to cup my cheek. "I do too."

The kiss we share is gentle, a promise rather than a demand. When we part, there's a certainty in her eyes that wasn't there before.

"Call me later?" she asks.

"Definitely," I promise.

Getting dressed feels like a return to reality after the bubble we've created in her apartment. My running clothes from yesterday are less than fresh, but they'll do until I get back to the house.

They smell like Lexie, which could set the alphas off, but I don't really give a shit. They're just going to have to deal with it and I'm not willing to give her up. If there was Lexie-scented shampoo, conditioner and soap, I'd give up my seventeen-in-one and soak myself in it at all times.

At the door, I pull her in for one more kiss, lingering longer than I should. "Thank you," I murmur against her lips.

"For what?"

"For giving this a chance. For giving me a chance."

Her smile is soft, genuine. "Thank you for making me want to."

The walk to my car where I left it near the park is brisk in the morning air. As I drive toward the pack house, I find myself replaying the last twenty-four hours in my mind.

Meeting Lexie at the park felt like chance, but maybe it was something more. Fate, if I believed in that kind of thing. Who knows? Maybe I do. The connection between us is undeniable.

But the pack complicates everything. Their strange behavior at dinner, their obvious discomfort with Lexie, the way they've been treating me since my presentation… It all adds up to a mess I'm not sure how to untangle.

But I know one thing.

My pack owes me some fucking answers.

Chapter

Twenty-Three

DMITRI

The clock on the wall ticks like a metronome, marking each second of this torturous wait. Twenty-six minutes since Darren's text. Twenty-six minutes of sitting in this living room with three other alphas, all of us pretending we're not counting the seconds.

I shift in my armchair, the leather creaking beneath me. The sound draws Jax's attention, his gray eyes flicking toward me before returning to the bourbon glass balanced on his knee. He hasn't taken a sip. Just holds it, turning it slowly between his fingers like it contains answers instead of alcohol.

"He'll be here," Aidan says for perhaps the dozenth time, pacing the length of our living room. His nervous energy fills the space, making it feel smaller than it is. "He said he would."

Zayn snorts from his position by the window. "Because Darren's been so reliable lately."

"Enough," Jax says, voice quiet but carrying the unmistakable weight of command. Not his alpha bark. He wouldn't use that for something so trivial, but the tone reminds us all who leads this pack.

The silence returns, heavier than before. We've been like this since Darren's text came through.

DARREN: Coming home. We need to talk.

Six words that sent us all into a tailspin of preparation and anxiety. Jax called an emergency pack meeting. Aidan had already stress-baked enough muffins to feed a small army since that's how he deals with things. Since Darren's been gone, it's gotten out of control and if he doesn't actually come back, this place will be more muffin than house.

Zayn disappeared for a bit and returned smelling of cigarettes, a habit he'd supposedly quit two years ago. Proof he's not as unaffected as he so desperately wants the world to think he is.

And I... I've been sitting here, watching, waiting, cataloging every micro-expression and scent shift from my packmates.

It's what I do. Observe. Analyze.

The sound of tires on gravel cuts through the silence. Car door slamming. Footsteps on the porch. We all tense, four pairs of eyes fixed on the front door.

The lock turns. The door swings open. And there he is.

Darren stands in the doorway, backlit by morning sun, looking simultaneously exhausted and... satisfied. His hair is disheveled and his clothes are wrinkled, but there's a looseness to his shoulders I haven't seen in weeks. Not since before the concussion. Before everything changed.

And the scent. Bozhe moi. Even from across the room, it hits me.

Pumpkin spice, layered over woodsmoke. Lexie's scent, intertwined with Darren's in a way that can only mean one thing. They've been intimate. Very intimate.

The knowledge sends a complicated surge of emotions through me. Protectiveness. Jealousy. And a far more primal recognition that feels like rightness and wrongness simultaneously.

Darren's eyes sweep the room, taking in our solemn expressions, the untouched drinks, Aidan's nervous fidgeting. His post-coital glow dims, replaced by wariness.

"What is this, an intervention?" he asks, closing the door behind him with a bang.

Zayn's lips twist into something that's not quite a smile. "You're always off at odd hours doing who knows what. Wouldn't be out of place."

"That's intentional," Darren says, crossing his arms over his chest. The defensive posture makes him look smaller somehow, despite his imposing frame. "I've been avoiding you fuckers, in case you haven't noticed."

The words sting more than they should. To hear him admit so bluntly that he's been deliberately staying away from us, as obvious as it already was…

Jax sets his glass down, the soft clink of crystal against wood drawing everyone's attention. "Were you with Lexie?" he asks, though we all know the answer. It's written all over Darren. In his rumpled clothes, his slightly swollen lips, the scent clinging to his skin driving us all crazy.

I inhale deeply, letting that scent wash over me again. Aidan is right. Pumpkin spice. Warm, sweet, with an edge of spice that tingles in my nose. Combined with Darren's woodsmoke, it creates something new. Something that makes my alpha instincts take notice.

"Yes," Darren says, chin lifting slightly in defiance. "By some miracle, she was actually willing to talk to me. No thanks to your psycho performance at the Terrace."

The accusation lands, justified and damning. We failed him at the restaurant. Failed him as packmates, as friends. The guilt sits heavy on my shoulders.

Zayn pushes away from the window, moving closer with that catlike grace that makes him so dangerous on the ice. "Smells like you did a little more than talk," he says, voice dry as desert sand.

So much for thinking he'd made progress.

The change in Darren is instantaneous and violent. One moment he's standing in the entryway, the next he's across the room, shoving Zayn against the wall with enough force to rattle the framed hockey jerseys hanging there. His forearm presses against Zayn's throat, not hard enough to cut off air but definitely hard enough to make a point.

"Who I do or don't fuck is none of your business," Darren snarls, face inches from Zayn's. "Or any of yours."

I'm on my feet before I realize I've moved, body responding to the threat of violence between packmates. Jax is faster, inserting himself between them with the ease of someone who's broken up countless fights on the ice. Between the two of them often enough, even if we are on the same team.

"Stand down," he says, one hand on each of their chests. "Both of you."

Zayn, to his credit, doesn't fight back. Just stands there, eyes locked with Darren's, a muscle jumping in his jaw. "That's not true," Zayn says, voice strained against the pressure on his throat as he ignores Jax and focuses on the omega. "We're pack. Whether you want to acknowledge it or not."

The hesitation in Darren's gaze lasts only a second before it becomes anger. "If you were pack in any way that matters," he says, voice dropping to a dangerous growl, "you could have been counted on to do the one thing I asked of you."

He's right. We failed the most basic test of packhood. Showing up when a packmate needed us.

Even Zayn doesn't have a smartass response for that.

Darren releases Zayn with a disgusted sound, stepping back. The chaos energy in the room is thick enough to cut with a knife, four alphas and a newly minted omega, all bristling with unresolved emotions.

"We owe you an explanation," Jax says into the charged silence.

Darren laughs, the sound bitter and hollow. "What explanation could you possibly have for humiliating me in front of Lexie? For treating her like she was invisible? For ruining what might have been our only chance at—" He cuts himself off, jaw clenching.

At what? A relationship? A mate? The unfinished sentence holds many possibilities, each one life changing.

Jax looks around at each of us, his expression grave. A silent question passes between the four of us. Do we tell him? Now? Like this? The plan was to wait, to give him time and space, but that only seems to have made things worse.

I give a small nod, barely perceptible. Aidan does the same. Zayn's lips thin, clearly unhappy, but he doesn't object.

Decision made, Jax turns back to Darren. "There's something you need to know," he begins, voice steady despite the gravity of what he's about to reveal. "Something we should have told you immediately at the restaurant as soon as we met Lexie, but... things got complicated."

"What about Lexie?" Darren demands, suspicion narrowing his eyes. I can tell he's defensive already, even though he barely knows this woman. Even though he doesn't know who she is to us yet.

The silence stretches, none of us quite sure how to articulate the bombshell we're about to drop. How do you tell someone that the woman they're clearly falling for is also the scent match for your entire pack? Especially when you might have fucked things up royally.

"Lexie is our scent match," Aidan blurts out, the words tumbling over each other in his haste to get them out.

The statement lands in the center of the room like a grenade, and for a moment, we all just stare at each other in its aftermath.

Darren's face goes through a rapid series of expressions. Confusion, disbelief, shock. "What?" he finally manages, voice cracked.

"At the restaurant," I say, speaking for the first time since he arrived. My voice sounds rough to my own ears, unused after hours of silence. "When we first smelled her. Pumpkin spice, like the kid said."

Aidan shifts awkwardly, looking afraid to meet Darren's eyes.

"That's why we all left the table," Jax continues, picking up the thread. "We needed to... process what was happening."

"Why didn't you say anything?" Darren demands, looking from face to face like he's searching for a punchline to a joke he doesn't understand.

"There wasn't really a good time," Aidan says nervously. "She walked out, and you were pissed⁠—"

"Yeah, of course I was pissed!" Darren exclaims, throwing his hands up in frustration. "You all acted like complete assholes, and then disappeared without explanation!"

He's right about that, too. We handled it terribly. But the shock of finding our scent match combined with the complication of Darren's obvious interest in her... It was overwhelming. We panicked.

"We should have told you immediately," Jax acknowledges, shoulders slumping slightly. "That's on me. As pack alpha, I made the call to wait until we could process what it meant, to give you space. It was the wrong call."

Darren runs a hand through his already disheveled hair, pacing a short line in front of the door like he's considering bolting again. "So let me get this straight," he says, voice tight with controlled emotion. "Lexie—the woman I've been seeing, the first person who's made me feel normal since this whole omega thing started—is your scent match? All of you?"

"And yours too, most likely," Zayn points out, rubbing his throat where Darren's arm had pressed. "You just can't tell because of the suppressants."

Darren stops pacing, his expression shifting as he processes this new information. "I... guess that makes sense," he mutters, almost to himself.

And it does. Darren's been on heavy suppressants since his presentation, dulling his newly enhanced omega senses to manageable levels. If Lexie is indeed our collective scent match, he wouldn't have recognized it the way we did.

"So what now?" Aidan asks, voicing the question we're all thinking. "Do we tell her?"

Darren's head snaps up, eyes narrowing. "No," he says firmly. "Not yet."

"She has a right to know," Zayn argues, crossing his arms over his chest.

"You already made a terrible first impression," Darren counters, gesturing to encompass all of us. "You owe her an apology, at the very least, before dropping this on her. All of you."

Another fair point. Our behavior at The Terrace was inexcusable, regardless of the circumstances. And Lexie, from the little I observed, seems like a practical, straightforward woman. The kind who values actions over words. But an apology would go a long way toward establishing trust. Getting our foot in the door to prove ourselves with actions.

"Darren's right," I say, drawing surprised looks from everyone. I rarely weigh in on pack disputes unless absolutely necessary, preferring to observe rather than participate. But this feels important. "We approach her as people first, not alphas seeking a mate. We apologize. We earn her trust."

Jax nods slowly, considering. "Agreed. We do this right. No rushing, no pressure." He looks directly at Darren. "And we respect what's already developing between you two."

The acknowledgment seems to take some of the fight out of Darren. His shoulders drop slightly, the tightness in his jaw easing. "Thank you," he says, the words clearly costing him something in pride.

"So what exactly is developing between you two?" Zayn asks, unable to help himself.

Darren's eyes narrow, but he doesn't rise to the bait this time. "That's between me and Lexie," he says firmly. "But I care about her. And I'm not going to let anyone, pack included, mess this up."

The declaration is both challenge and plea. He's asking us to respect his boundaries, to give him space to explore this connection without our interference. But he's also making it clear that Lexie matters to him. That this isn't just about sex or comfort or novelty.

"No one's trying to mess anything up," Jax assures him, voice gentle but firm. "We want you to be happy, Darren."

"Funny way of showing it sometimes," Darren mutters, but there's less heat in the words now. The anger that propelled him across the room at Zayn seems to have burned itself out, leaving exhaustion in its wake.

"We'll make it right," Aidan promises, earnest as always. "With both of you."

Darren studies each of our faces, searching for sincerity or deceit. Whatever he finds must satisfy him, because he nods once, a sharp jerk of his chin. "Good," he says. "I'll ask if she's willing to hear out the apology you all owe her, and if she is, we go from there. If she's receptive, we can tell her about the scent match. If not…"

He trails off, but the implication is clear, even if he isn't spelling it out. The future of our pack hands in the balance, and we'd better not fuck it up.

Again.

Chapter

Twenty-Four

LEXIE

Istare at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, scrutinizing every detail of my appearance for the third time in fifteen minutes. The woman looking back at me seems like a stranger. She has the same reddish-brown waves, same freckles scattered across her nose, same warm brown eyes, but there's something different about her tonight. A nervous energy that makes her fingers fidget with the hem of her emerald sweater, a vulnerability in the way she keeps biting her lower lip.

"It's just an apology dinner," I tell my reflection. "Not a firing squad."

My reflection doesn't look convinced.

The doorbell rings, sending a jolt through my system. Darren is punctual, as always since that first date. I take one last look at myself, smooth down my jeans, and grab my purse from the counter.

You can still back out, a small voice whispers in my head. Text him. Say you're sick. Say your apartment flooded and you're up to your ears in soaked wool. Say anything.

But I won't. Because despite everything, despite the disaster at The Terrace, despite my history with packs, despite all the warning bells clanging in my head, I want to see Darren again. And if that means enduring another awkward dinner with his packmates, so be it.

I just hope there's a window.

I open the door to find Darren leaning against the doorframe, looking unfairly good in dark jeans and a navy henley that stretches across his broad shoulders. His brown hair is slightly damp and dark, like he's just showered, and the scent of woodsmoke wraps around me like a warm, cozy blanket.

"Hey, gorgeous," he says, eyes lighting up as they take me in.

"Hey yourself," I reply, trying to ignore the flutter in my chest. It's ridiculous how he affects me, how just the sight of him makes my pulse quicken.

"You look beautiful," he says, voice dropping to that low register that does things to my insides.

"It's just jeans and a sweater," I deflect, though I can't help the pleased warmth that spreads through me.

"And you make them look incredible." His eyes linger on me for a moment longer before he straightens up. "Ready to go?"

I hesitate, one hand still on the doorknob. "Are you sure this is a good idea?"

Darren's expression softens. "They want to apologize, Lex. Properly. And they should. They were assholes."

"What if it's awkward?"

"It probably will be," he admits with a small smile. "For them. But I'll be right there with you. And if at any point you want to leave, just say the word and we're gone. I'll boost you out a window if need be."

I can't help but snicker. "My knight in shining armor."

The sincerity in his voice steadies me, though. This is Darren, the man who connected with my niece and nephew over rock collections, who understands what it's like to have your identity upended, who looks at me like I'm something precious. I want to trust him, even if I'm not sure about his pack yet.

"Okay," I say, stepping out and locking the door behind me. "Let's do this."

The drive to the pack house takes about twenty minutes, during which Darren keeps the conversation light, telling me about a prank war between Aidan and Zayn that involved an alarming amount of shaving cream. His obvious affection for his packmates, despite recent tensions, is endearing. It's clear that beneath the frustration and anger, there's a deep bond there.

"So they're not always jerks?" I tease as we turn onto a tree-lined street of large, well-maintained homes.

Darren laughs, the sound warm and rich. "Oh, they absolutely are. But they're my jerks." He pauses, expression growing more serious. "They're good guys, Lex. They just... they handled things badly. Really badly."

"Why, though?" I can't help asking. "What happened at the restaurant? One minute everything seemed fine, and the next they were practically running for the exits."

A shadow crosses Darren's face, there and gone so quickly I almost think I imagined it. "It's complicated," he says after a moment. "Pack dynamics stuff. But they'll explain tonight, that's part of why they wanted to do this."

Oh, that's not mysterious at all.

Coming from anyone else, I'd already be throwing my door open, tucking and rolling. We're only going about twenty-five miles an hour, I'd probably walk away with minimal road burn.

But Darren… Well, there's that dangerous five-letter word again. Trust.

Before I can press further, I realize we've gone from nice suburban homes to sprawling mansions in the blink of an eye. And of course, Darren pulls into the circular driveway in front of the very biggest one. The kind of place that looks like it belongs in a magazine spread about the lifestyles of the rich and famous.

And I guess that's exactly what this pack is.

Last chance to dive out of the car, Lexie.

"This is where you live?" I ask, unable to keep the awe from my voice.

"Home sweet home," Darren confirms, putting the car in park. "Five hockey players under one roof, and yes, it's as chaotic as it sounds."

I try to imagine it. Five large, athletic men sharing a space, with all the testosterone and competitive energy that implies. It's both intimidating and oddly appealing.

Darren comes around to open my door, offering his hand to help me out. The gesture is old-fashioned but sweet, and I find myself smiling as I take it. His palm is warm against mine, and I have a sudden flash memory of those hands on my body two nights ago.

Focus, Lexie.

"Nervous?" Darren asks, noticing my hesitation as we approach the front door.

"A little," I admit. "It's not every day you get a formal apology from four professional hockey players."

"If it helps, they're nervous too," he says, squeezing my hand reassuringly. "Especially Aidan. Poor rookie's been stress-baking all day. The kitchen looks like a bakery exploded."

The mental image of a six-foot-four goalie frantically baking makes me smile despite my nerves. He was so intense when I met him, it's hard to imagine him painstakingly measuring out the ingredients for muffins. "Well, at least we won't go hungry."

Darren's answering grin is infectious. "That's the spirit."

He opens the front door without knocking, calling out as we step inside. "We're here!"

The entryway opens into a spacious living room with high ceilings and large windows. The decor is masculine but tasteful, leather furniture, rich wood tones, and subtle hockey memorabilia integrated into the design. It feels lived-in and comfortable, not at all the bachelor pad I was expecting.

Four men appear from various directions, converging on the living room with an almost comical synchronicity. They're all dressed casually but neatly, as if they've put thought into their appearances without wanting to seem like they're trying too hard.

Jax reaches us first, his imposing height and broad shoulders making the large room feel suddenly smaller. He's wearing a simple gray henley that brings out the silver in his eyes, and his expression is solemn but welcoming.

"Lexie," he says, voice deep and steady. "Thank you for coming."

Before I can respond, Aidan bounds forward, practically vibrating with nervous energy like an overgrown puppy. He's in a green plaid button-down with the sleeves rolled up over his muscular forearms, flour dusting one of them. His hair, tousled the last time, has been carefully slicked back, but a strand in front bounces out with his movement, falling into eyes that aren't quite as sharky as I remember them being.

"Hi! Welcome! I made, um, pretty much everything," he says in a rush. "There's cookies and brownies and this lemon cake thing I saw on Instagram, and I wasn't sure what you'd like so I just⁠—"

"Breathe, rookie," Zayn interrupts, stepping forward with feline grace. Unlike the others, he's dressed more sharply in dark jeans and a fitted black sweater that looks expensive. His dark eyes assess me with an intensity that makes me want to fidget. It's not unfriendly, though. Quite the opposite. I can't help but wonder if maybe the intensity I felt emanating from all of them at that first disastrous meeting was something else entirely, but I immediately dismiss it as wishful thinking.

"What the puppy is trying to say," he continues, "is that we're glad you came."

Dmitri is the last to approach, moving with a deliberate calm that contrasts sharply with Aidan's nervous energy. He's somehow even taller than I remembered, with broad shoulders and light blond hair that falls slightly into his piercing blue eyes. He nods once in greeting, a small but genuine smile softening his intimidating presence. I get the feeling smiling isn't something he does often.

"Welcome to our home," he says, his accent wrapping around the words, rendering that deep voice soothing.

Standing here surrounded by them, I'm struck again by how physically imposing they all are. Each one is over six feet tall, with the kind of athletic build that comes from years of professional training. They're a study in just how different alphas can be with Jax's quiet authority, Aidan's boyish enthusiasm, Zayn's sharp edges, and Dmitri's watchful calm, but there's something cohesive about them too. They belong together.

And then there's Darren, solid and reassuring beside me, his hand still holding mine like an anchor in unfamiliar waters.

"So," I say, breaking the slightly awkward silence that's fallen. "What's this about cake?"

Just like that, the tension breaks and Aidan's face lights up with relief. "Yes! Tons of cake. And other stuff. Come on, everything's set up in the dining room."

He leads the way through the house, chattering about his baking adventures as we follow. I relax with every step, despite the opulence of this place.

I was expecting the Grizzlies' home to be big, but more like a penthouse bachelor pad, not a mansion emanating old wealth at every turn. And yet, somehow, it's comfortable. Inviting.

The dining room is as impressive as the rest of the house, with a large table that could easily seat twelve. It's been set for six, with simple but elegant place settings and several serving dishes already laid out.

"Wow," I say, genuinely impressed. "You guys went all out."

"It's the least we could do," Jax says, pulling out a chair for me. "After how we behaved at The Terrace."

I take the offered seat, Darren settling beside me. The others arrange themselves around the table with Jax at the head, Dmitri and Zayn across from us, and Aidan at the other end.

"Before we eat," Jax continues, his gray eyes meeting mine directly, "we owe you an apology. A real one."

The sincerity in his voice catches me off guard. I'd expected something perfunctory, maybe even reluctant, not this straightforward acknowledgment. Sorry isn't something the alphas I've known are eager to say.

Or the betas either, if I'm being honest.

"What happened at the restaurant was inexcusable," he says, each word measured and deliberate. "We were rude, disrespectful, and made you feel unwelcome. That's not who we are, or at least not who we strive to be."

"What the boy scout is trying to say is we fucked up," Zayn adds bluntly, earning a sharp look from Jax. "What? We did. No point sugar-coating it, it's not a press conference."

"He has a point," Dmitri interjects, his voice calm but firm. "Our behavior reflected poorly on us, both as individuals and as a pack. And it had nothing to do with you."

"It really didn't," Aidan agrees earnestly. "It was a... a pack thing. But that's no excuse."

I look around at their faces, searching for signs of insincerity or reluctance. But all I see is genuine regret, even from Zayn.

"I appreciate the apology," I say carefully. "But I'm still not entirely clear on what happened. One minute we were having dinner, and the next you all were gone."

The four exchange glances, some unspoken communication passing between them. It's Jax who finally speaks.

"It was a shock," he says, choosing his words with obvious care. "Meeting you. We weren't prepared for... for how well you and Darren seemed to connect."

I frown, not quite buying this explanation. "So you were what, jealous? Protective?"

"Not exactly," Dmitri says simply. "Before we met you, yes. But after… It is complicated."

"Pack dynamics often are," Zayn adds, leaning back in his chair with studied casualness. "Especially in this shitshow."

"I can understand that," I say, softening slightly. "Change is hard."

They exchange another look. Years of cooperation, pack intimacy, and yes, probably a lot of fighting, have created a connection that allows them to speak without words. With automatic understanding. Just one of many things that have always made being a part of a pack look so damn appealing, even if fate clearly has other ideas for me.

"It's not about Darren's status," Jax says carefully. "At least, not this."

"Then what is it?" I ask, unable to mask the hurt in my voice entirely.

The four men exchange another loaded glance, and I feel my patience wearing thin. I already feel like an outsider.

Jax clears his throat, his gray eyes finding Darren's in what looks like a silent question. Darren gives a subtle nod, his hand finding mine under the table and squeezing gently.

"Lexie," Jax begins, "what happened at The Terrace wasn't about us not approving of you, or discomfort."

"Then what was it about?" I press, the memory of that humiliating evening still fresh. "Because from where I was sitting, it sure looked like four alphas who couldn't get away from me fast enough."

"It was the opposite, actually," Aidan blurts out, his cheeks flushing immediately. "We weren't trying to get away from you. We were... processing."

"Processing what?" I look between them, my confusion mounting.

Another silent exchange passes between them. This time, it's Dmitri who speaks, his voice low and deliberate.

"When we met you at restaurant," he says, those piercing blue eyes holding mine, "we all recognized something in you. Something unexpected."

I frown. "What are you talking about?"

"Your scent," Zayn says bluntly, leaning forward with his elbows on the table. "Pumpkin spice."

I blink, momentarily thrown by the non sequitur. "My... what?"

"You're our scent match," Jax says quietly, the words landing in the center of the table like a bomb.

The room goes silent. I stare at him, certain I've misheard.

"I'm your what?" My voice comes out higher than intended.

"Our scent match," Aidan repeats, his green eyes wide and earnest. "All of us. That's why we freaked out at the restaurant. It wasn't because we didn't want you there, it was because we were completely blindsided."

I look at each of their faces in turn, searching for signs that this is some elaborate joke. But all I see is sincerity, and a hint of vulnerability that seems out of place on these confident, powerful men.

"That's not possible," I say finally, shaking my head.

"Statistically improbable," Dmitri agrees with a small nod. "But not impossible."

How do I tell him I don't mean it's impossible for a beta to be their scent match, or for us to have connected through an app? I mean it's impossible for me. Things like this don't happen to me.

"It happened," Zayn adds as if somehow reading my thoughts, his dark eyes intense. "Trust me, none of us were expecting it either."

I turn to Darren, who's been suspiciously quiet throughout this revelation. "Did you know about this?"

The guilt that flashes across his face is answer enough.

"You knew," I say, unable to keep the hurt from my voice. "And you didn't tell me?"

"I didn't know until after," he says quickly, his hand tightening around mine. "I swear, Lexie. They told me the day after we... after I came home from your place."

"But you've known for days," I press, pulling my hand from his. "And you didn't think to mention it before bringing me here?"

Darren flinches. "I wanted to, but I didn't know how. And I was afraid..."

"Afraid of what?"

"That you'd run," he admits, his blue eyes meeting mine with raw honesty. "That it would be too much, too fast. That you'd think I was only interested in you because of some biological quirk."

"Are you?" The question slips out before I can stop it, voicing the fear that's already taking root.

"No," Darren says firmly, no hesitation. "I was drawn to you before I knew anything about this. I can barely smell anything on these suppressants. But I still felt a pull toward you from the first moment we met."

"It's true," Aidan interjects, his expression earnest. "He was completely gone on you before any of us even met you."

"But it explains a lot," Darren continues, his voice softening. "Why I felt so comfortable with you so quickly. Why you smell so incredible to me, even through the suppressants, when I barely notice anyone else's scent."

"Like a pumpkin spiced latte you'd sell your soul for a single sip of," Aidan mumbles, smiling shyly when he catches me staring.

The comment startles a laugh out of me. "That's what you meant at the restaurant," I realize. "When you asked if I liked pumpkin spice?"

Aidan's cheeks flush again. "Yeah. Not my smoothest moment."

"None of us were exactly smooth that night," Zayn drawls, though there's a hint of self-deprecation in his tone. Considering the shock the others are looking at him with, I'm going to guess that isn't usual for him.

And I'm still trying to process all of this.

It's too much. Too impossible. Too... perfect.

"I'm just a beta," I say finally, voicing the doubt that's been circling in my mind.

The five men exchange confused glances.

"What does being beta have to do with anything?" Zayn asks, genuine puzzlement in his voice.

"Betas can absolutely be scent matches," Jax adds, his brow furrowing. "Designation doesn't determine compatibility."

"But..." I trail off, unsure how to articulate the lifetime of subtle messaging I've internalized. The way betas are portrayed as the practical choice, the sensible option, but never the passionate, destined match. The way I've been left behind, again and again, for the promise of something more intense, more "biologically right."

"You think being a beta makes you less?" Darren asks softly, realization dawning in his eyes.

I shrug, uncomfortable with how exposed I suddenly feel. "It's always been the reason before. Why I wasn't enough."

"That's bullshit," Zayn says flatly, surprising me with his vehemence. "Complete and utter bullshit."

"He's right," Dmitri agrees, his accent thickening slightly with emotion. "Designation is just one aspect of a person. Not the defining characteristic."

"The people who made you feel that way were idiots," Aidan adds, his green eyes flashing with indignation. "Being a beta doesn't make you any less of a match."

"If anything," Jax says thoughtfully, "it makes more sense for our pack. We already have an omega," he nods toward Darren, "and four alphas. A beta brings balance."

I look around at their faces, searching for any hint of insincerity or condescension. But all I see is genuine confusion at the idea that I might consider myself somehow lesser because of my designation.

It's refreshing. And completely unexpected. My alpha exes always acted like I was supposed to be grateful for being chosen.

And the messed up part? I was.

"So you're all saying that I, a beta woman you just met who knits fucking sweaters, am somehow the perfect scent match for an entire pack of giant professional hockey players?" I clarify, still struggling to wrap my head around the concept.

"Biology likes to throw you for a loop sometimes," Zayn says with a smirk. "Can't fault its sense of humor."

"Or its timing," Jax adds, a hint of rueful humor in his voice. "It's not an excuse for our behavior, but this came at a time when our brains were already collectively scrambled by Darren's designation."

"No, I get it, I just…" I take a deep breath, trying to center myself. "This is a lot to process."

"We know," Jax says, his expression softening. "And we understand if you need time. Space. Whatever you need."

"We just wanted to be honest," Aidan adds earnestly. "Now that all the cards are on the table."

"And to apologize again," Dmitri says, his blue eyes serious. "For the poor first impression. And second."

"We know we've made a mess of things so far," Jax continues, his gray eyes meeting mine directly. "But we'd like the chance to show you who we really are. What our pack is usually like, not what it's been lately."

The sincerity in his voice, in all their faces, is disarming. These aren't the awkward, uncomfortable men from The Terrace, or the absent pack from our first planned meeting. They seem genuine. Open.

And terrified I'm going to walk out the door. I'm used to being on the other end of the equation.

"I don't know what to say," I admit, overwhelmed by the intensity of five pairs of eyes fixed on me. "This isn't exactly a situation I ever imagined myself in."

"Join the club," Zayn mutters, earning himself an elbow from Dmitri.

"We're not asking for any decisions tonight," Jax assures me. "Just a chance. To get to know you. For you to get to know us."

"As people," Aidan adds quickly. "Not just as potential... whatever."

"We can take things slow," Darren says, his voice gentle as he tentatively reaches for my hand again. "As slow as you need."

I look down at our joined hands, his large palm engulfing mine. His touch grounds me, cuts through my chaotic thoughts.

I've been hurt before. Four times, to be exact. The idea of opening myself up to that kind of pain again, multiplied by five, is terrifying.

But there's something about these men. Something that makes me want to take the risk.

"Slow," I agree finally, looking up to meet five pairs of hopeful eyes. "We can try it slow."

The relief that washes over their faces is almost comical in its intensity. Aidan actually pumps his fist before catching himself, a blush spreading across his freckled cheeks.

The others look both relieved and excited, even though I can tell they're trying to play it cool. Not to scare me off.

And Darren... Darren looks at me like I've just handed him the world.

"Thank you," Jax says simply, the words carrying all five men's gratitude.

"Don't thank me yet," I warn, though I can't help the small smile that tugs at my lips. "I haven't agreed to anything beyond dinner."

"Dinner is good start," Dmitri says with a decisive nod. "Food builds bridges."

"Speaking of food," Aidan interjects, clearly eager to move past the awkwardness, "everything's getting cold. And I spent like six hours on that risotto."

"How is that even possible?" Darren quips. "Did you milk the cow yourself?"

Aidan's face goes blank. "What the hell do you think risotto is?”

The mood shifts, lightening as plates are passed and wine is poured. The conversation turns to safer topics. M business, their upcoming games, Aidan's apparent stress-baking habit that has filled their freezer with enough muffins to feed a small army, and Darren's lighthearted threats of an intervention.

Gradually, I find myself relaxing. These men are not what I expected. Jax, despite his intimidating presence and clear authority as pack alpha, has a dry wit that emerges when he's comfortable. Dmitri, for all his stoic exterior, listens with an intensity that makes you feel truly heard. Aidan's enthusiasm is infectious, his genuine interest in everything from my design process to my favorite movies drawing me out of my shell.

Zayn surprises me most of all. Beneath the sharp edges and caustic remarks is a keen intelligence and unexpected depth. He asks insightful questions about my business model, offering suggestions that actually make sense.

“Maybe limited edition collaborations,” he says as we move from dinner to dessert, an impressive array of Aidan's baking efforts. “Creates artificial scarcity. Drives up demand and justifies higher price points.”

"That's not a bad idea," I admit, surprised. "I hadn't thought of that."

He shrugs, a hint of smugness in his smile. "I minored in business before hockey took over my life. Some of it stuck."

Through it all, Darren remains a steady presence beside me, his hand occasionally finding mine under the table, his smile warm whenever our eyes meet. There's a new ease to him here, in his home with his pack, that I haven't seen before. Despite the complications, these men are his family. His foundation.

And they're trying. All of them, in their own ways, are making an effort to make me feel welcome. To show me who they really are, beyond our previous encounters. Or lack thereof.

It's nice. Nicer than I expected. Nice enough that when Aidan suggests moving to the living room for coffee and more dessert, I find myself agreeing without hesitation.

The living room is as comfortable as it first appeared, with plush leather couches arranged around a large coffee table. I settle onto one end of a sofa, expecting Darren to join me. Instead, Aidan plops down beside me, eagerly offering a plate of what he calls "experimental brownies."

"Uh, how experimental are we talking?" I ask warily. "There's an unusual spice, or I'm going to be dancing on the table by midnight?"

"Wouldn't complain about that," Zayn says, flashing a wolfish grin that immediately makes me blush.

"They just have chili powder," Aidan explains, watching anxiously as I take a bite. "Just a hint. For complexity."

The brownie is rich and fudgy, with a subtle warmth that blooms at the back of my throat. "These are amazing," I tell him honestly, and his face lights up with joy.

"Really? I wasn't sure about the balance. I tried three different versions before settling on this one."

"The rookie's been baking since dawn," Zayn comments, confirming what Darren told me in the car as he settles into an armchair across from us. "If you don't like something, please lie. For all our sakes."

"I heard that," Aidan calls over his shoulder, already heading back to the kitchen for coffee.

Darren takes the spot on my other side, his thigh pressing warmly against mine. "Having fun?" he asks quietly, his blue eyes searching mine.

"Surprisingly, yes," I admit. "Your pack is not what I expected."

"Good unexpected or bad unexpected?"

"Good," I assure him, and the smile that spreads across his face makes my heart patter.

Yep. I’m screwed.

The rest of the evening passes in a blur of conversation, laughter, and more dessert than any six people should reasonably consume. I learn that Dmitri has a secret passion for gardening, that Jax writes poetry he never shows anyone, that Zayn speaks three languages fluently, and that Aidan once tried to dye his hair team colors and ended up with what he describes as "toxic sludge green" for two months no matter what he did.

I find myself sharing stories too, about growing up with Jessica as a sister, about the disaster that was my first attempt at designing knitwear, about the time I accidentally shipped a customer the wrong order and ended up with a five-star review anyway because "the universe knew what she needed better than she did."

It's easy. Comfortable. Nothing like the strained, awkward interactions I'd been bracing myself for.

By the time I glance at my watch and realize it's nearly midnight, I'm genuinely surprised. The time has flown by in a way I wasn't expecting.

"I should probably head home," I say reluctantly, setting down my coffee mug. "I have orders to pack in the morning."

"Of course," Jax says, standing immediately. "Thank you for coming. For giving us a chance."

"Thank you for having me," I say, finding I mean it.

"It was our pleasure," Dmitri adds, his accent thicker with the late hour and what I suspect is a fair amount of Aidan's bourbon cherries.

"We should do this again," Aidan says eagerly, then catches himself. "I mean, if you want to. No pressure."

"I'd like that," I find myself saying, and I mean it. Despite the bombshell they dropped, despite the complications, I've enjoyed myself tonight.

Each of the alphas takes a moment saying goodbye, and Aidan secretly passes me his chocolate chip cookie recipe like it's an arcane secret and Zayn might intercept it at any moment.

Darren insists on driving me home, waving off my protests about him being tired after a long day. The others see us to the door, their goodbyes warm but not overwhelming. There's no pressure, no expectation, just genuine satisfaction in the evening we've shared.

The drive back to my apartment is quiet, comfortable. Darren's hand finds mine across the center console.

"Thank you," he says as we pull up in front of my building. "For tonight. For giving them a chance."

"They're not so bad," I admit with a small smile. "When they're not running away from the dinner table or making cryptic comments about pumpkin spice."

He laughs, the sound warm in the confines of the car. "They grow on you. Like a fungus."

"Charming comparison."

"You know what I mean." His expression grows more serious. "They really liked you, Lexie. All of them."

"Even Zayn?" I ask skeptically.

"Especially Zayn," Darren says with a grin. "He actually acted almost human tonight. That's practically a declaration of undying devotion from him."

I laugh, shaking my head. "The bar is very low, apparently."

"The lowest," he agrees, his smile softening as he looks at me. "But seriously, thank you. For being open to this. Whatever this is becoming."

"I'm still processing," I admit. "The whole scent match thing is... a lot."

"I know." He squeezes my hand gently. "No pressure, remember? We go as slow as you need."

I study his face in the dim light of the car, the strong line of his jaw, the warmth in his blue eyes, the slight curl at the corner of his mouth. Despite everything that should come between the two of us, I'm drawn to this man, this omega, in a way I can't fully explain.

Maybe there is something to this scent match business after all.

"Walk me to my door?" I ask, and his smile widens.

"Absolutely."

The night air is cool as we make our way up the walkway to my building, our hands still linked. At my door, I turn to face him, suddenly shy despite the intimacy we've already shared.

"So," I say, fidgeting with my keys. "That was an interesting evening."

"That's one word for it," he agrees with a soft laugh. "Not exactly how I planned to introduce you to the concept of being our scent match."

"Oh? And how did you plan it?"

"I didn't get that far," he admits. "I was still stuck on the 'how do I tell her without her running for the hills because of my crazy pack' part."

I smile, touched by his honesty. "Well, I'm still here. No hills in sight."

"Thank gods for that." His hand comes up to cup my cheek, his touch gentle. "And no window escapes, either." He pauses. "Can I see you again soon? Just us, maybe?"

The hope in his voice is impossible to resist. "I'd like that."

His smile is brilliant, lighting up his entire face. "Good. That's... good."

He leans in slowly, giving me plenty of time to pull away if I wanted to. I don't. Instead, I meet him halfway, our lips coming together in a kiss that's soft and sweet and full of promise.

When we part, his eyes are dark, his breath coming a little faster. "I should go," he says reluctantly. "Before I forget all about taking things slow."

The heat in his gaze sends a shiver down my spine. "Probably a good idea."

He steals one more quick kiss before stepping back. "I'll call you tomorrow?"

"I'll answer," I promise, and the smile that spreads across his face makes me decide this is a risk worth taking.

I watch him walk back to his car, waiting until he's inside before unlocking my door. As I step into my apartment, I can't help the smile that tugs at my lips.

I'm still terrified. Still uncertain. Still not entirely convinced that this impossible situation can work out.

But I guess I have a little bit of hope left in me after all.

Chapter

Twenty-Five

DARREN

Ibalance two coffees and a bag of pastries in one hand as I knock on Lexie's door with the other. It's barely 8 AM, which might be pushing it for a surprise visit, but I couldn't sleep. Not now that I have access to her outside my dreams, too.

The door swings open, and there she is, hair adorably tousled from sleep, wearing an oversized sweater that falls to mid-thigh, legs bare. My mouth goes dry at the sight.

"Morning," I say, holding up the coffee and pastry bag like an offering. "Too early?"

Her sleepy smile is answer enough. "Never too early for coffee." She steps back, gesturing me inside. "Though a text warning might've been nice. I look like I just rolled out of bed."

"You look perfect," I say, meaning it. Seeing her like this, soft and rumpled and unguarded, is impossibly sexy.

She rolls her eyes but accepts the coffee I hand her, taking a grateful sip. "Mmm, you remembered my order."

"Two pumps of vanilla, a splash of oat milk," I confirm, following her into the kitchen. "I pay attention to the important things."

"Apparently." She peers into the pastry bag. "Chocolate croissants? You're spoiling me."

"You need to raise your standards if you think that's spoiling, gorgeous," I say, winking at her. "But plenty of time for that. I just figured you might be hungry after last night. We talked a lot."

"And ate a lot," she says with a laugh. "I should still be full from all the baked goods."

"You'll develop a secondary dessert stomach," I say with absolute certainty. "For survival."

We settle at her small kitchen table, knees bumping in the limited space. I don't mind. Any excuse to be close to her.

"So," she says after finishing her croissant, "what brings you by so early? Besides being a very hunky breakfast delivery service."

"Hunky delivery, huh?" I muse, scratching at my stubble. "Sounds like a business in there."

She laughs. "If you get tired of hockey, I'm sure there is. Zayn could plan it out."

I snort. "We already come close enough to killing each other on the ice. I don't even want to think about adding numbers into the mix."

I take a sip of my coffee, buying more time to answer her question from a second ago. The truth is, I couldn't stay away. After last night, after the pack's revelation and Lexie's cautious acceptance, I needed to see her. To make sure she hadn't changed her mind in the cold light of morning.

"The truth is, I came over because I wanted to check in," I admit. "Make sure you were okay after everything last night. It was a lot to take in."

She studies me over the rim of her coffee cup, those warm brown eyes seeing more than I'm comfortable with. "I'm processing," she says finally. "Still wrapping my head around the whole 'scent match to five professional athletes' thing."

"Yeah, that's not something you hear every day. For what it's worth, I'm still processing too."

"Really?" She looks surprised. "But you've known for days."

"Knowing and understanding are different things." I pick at my second croissant, suddenly not as hungry. "I still can't fully smell it—the match, I mean. These suppressants dull everything. But I feel it. Have since we met."

"What does it feel like?" she asks, genuine curiosity in her voice. "For you, I mean."

I consider the question, trying to put into words something that exists mostly as instinct and feeling. "Like... recognition. Like meeting someone and immediately knowing they matter, even if you can't explain why." I meet her eyes, wanting her to understand. "It's not just biology, Lexie. The scent match might be what drew me to you initially, but it's not why I keep coming back."

"No?" Her voice is soft, almost vulnerable.

"No," I say firmly. "I come back because you're smart and funny and kind. Because you make incredible sweaters and climb through bathroom windows to escape insurance salesmen. Because of that cute little way your nose wrinkles when you laugh."

A flush spreads across her cheeks, but she holds my gaze. "You make it sound so simple."

"It can be," I say, reaching across the table to take her hand. "If we let it."

Her fingers twine with mine, warm and delicate against my calloused palm. "What about the pack? Are you sure they're as on board as they say?"

"Are you kidding? They haven't shut up about you since you left," I tell her. "Even Zayn is smitten."

She blushes the most perfect shade of pink I've ever seen. "And what about the omega thing? How are you handling that?"

The question catches me off guard, though it shouldn't. Lexie has a way of cutting through bullshit, of asking the questions that matter.

"Some days are better than others," I admit, more honest with her than I've been with anyone since the presentation. "The suppressants help with the physical stuff, but the rest..." I shrug, not sure how to articulate the identity crisis that's been raging inside me for weeks.

It's only intensified since finding out Lexie is my scent match and I realize it's because I want to get the full effect, to indulge my endless curiosity about this woman and her scent. But I'm also afraid. Afraid that if I let that side of myself out, if I stop fighting the omega nature I only recently found out about, she'll decide I'm not enough. Or that I'm too much.

"The rest is harder," she finishes for me, understanding in her eyes.

"Yeah." I squeeze her hand, grateful for her perception. "It's like I spent twenty-seven years building an identity around being a certain kind of player, a certain kind of man. And now I'm supposed to be someone else entirely."

"But you're not," she says, her voice surprisingly fierce. "You're still you, Darren. Your designation doesn't define you."

It's what I've been trying to tell myself, what I've been desperate to believe. Hearing it from her, stated so simply and with such conviction, loosens the knot in my chest.

"That's what I keep telling myself," I say with a wry smile. "Sounds better coming from you."

She laughs. "I could get used to the flattery."

"Only the truth," I assure her.

"And what about the suppressants?" she asks after a moment of consideration. "Will you stay on them forever?"

Another important question. "No," I admit. "They're not meant for long-term use. Eventually, I'll have to..." I trail off, the reality of what that means still uncomfortable to voice.

"Have a heat," she finishes for me, direct as always.

"Yeah." I look down at our joined hands, embarrassment heating my face. It's still strange to discuss this—my biology, my body's new reality—so openly. "Not looking forward to that particular experience."

"I can imagine," she says softly, no judgment in her voice.

"Though there is one upside to going off the suppressants eventually," I say, hoping to lighten the mood.

"Oh?" she asks. "What's that?"

"I'll finally get to smell you fully," I answer, grinning. "That's something."

There's that blush again.

"Good something or bad something?" she asks, a teasing lilt to her voice.

"Definitely good," I assure her, lifting our joined hands to press a kiss to her knuckles. "Though I already know we're compatible in other ways."

Her blush deepens, eyes darkening at the memory of our night together. And the morning after. "Very compatible," she agrees, voice dropping to a register that makes my body respond immediately.

I stand, tugging her gently to her feet and into my arms. She comes willingly, fitting against me like she belongs there.

"I've been thinking about you," I murmur against her hair, breathing in the faint scent of her shampoo. "About us."

"Me too," she admits, her hands sliding up my chest to link behind my neck. "Probably more than I should be."

I dip my head, capturing her lips in a kiss that starts gentle but quickly turns hungry. She responds eagerly, pressing closer, her body soft and warm against mine. When we break apart, we're both breathing harder.

"I want you," I say simply, honestly. "Not just because of some biological match. Because you're you."

Her eyes search mine, looking for truth or hesitation. She must find what she's looking for because she nods once, decisive. "Show me."

I don't need to be told twice. I lift her easily, her legs wrapping around my waist as I carry her to the couch. The bedroom is too far away for what I have in mind.

I set her down gently, kneeling between her legs as she settles against the cushions. Her oversized sweater has ridden up, revealing simple cotton panties that somehow manage to be sexier than any lingerie I've ever seen.

"Can I taste you?" I ask, hands resting on her thighs, kneading her soft skin.

Her breath catches, pupils dilating. "Yes," she whispers, lifting her hips slightly in invitation.

I hook my fingers in the waistband of her panties, sliding them down her legs with reverent care. She's already wet, her scent making my mouth water.

I start slow, pressing kisses to her inner thighs, working my way higher with deliberate patience even if I want to dive in like a buffet. By the time I reach her center, she's squirming, one hand fisted in my hair.

"Darren," she breathes, a plea and a demand wrapped in my name.

I give her what she wants, what we both want, dragging my tongue through her folds in a long, slow lick that makes her gasp. She tastes incredible, sweet and tangy and uniquely Lexie. I could do this forever, learning every sound she makes, every twitch and shudder.

I focus on her clit, gauging her reactions to find what she likes best. Her thighs tighten around my head, her back arching off the couch as I slip two fingers inside her, curling them to find that spot that makes her cry out.

"Right there," she gasps, her hips moving in rhythm with my fingers and tongue. "Gods, Darren, don't stop."

I have no intention of stopping. Not until she falls apart for me, until she knows without a doubt that this, us, is about more than biology or pack dynamics or scent matches.

Her release builds quickly, her body tensing as she approaches the edge. I double down, working her with fingers and tongue until she shatters, my name a broken cry on her lips as she comes against my mouth.

When I look up, her face is flushed, eyes half-lidded, lips parted as she catches her breath. The sight makes my cock throb almost painfully against my jeans, but I ignore it. This is about her.

I press a kiss to her inner thigh before moving up to join her on the couch, pulling her into my arms. She curls against me, boneless and satisfied, her head resting on my chest.

"That was incredible," she murmurs.

"Yeah," I agree, understanding perfectly. I press a kiss to the top of her head, content to just hold her. "You taste fucking amazing. I could eat you every day for breakfast, lunch, dinner, and dessert."

She gives a breathy chuckle that makes my jeans torture. "I wouldn't complain."

We stay like that for a while, her breathing gradually slowing. It's peaceful. Right.

"I could return the favor," she murmurs eventually, her hand sliding down my chest toward my belt.

"Trust me, that was my pleasure," I assure her. "But I definitely wouldn't turn that down."

Her smile is soft, almost shy. "You know, you're as good at eating pussy as you are hockey. A shame there's not a medal for it."

"Trust me, those sounds you make are better than any trophy on my shelf," I say, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

She settles back against me, her body warm and pliant in my arms. Our lips meet again, and just as she slides down lower, teasing my belt buckle with her fingertips, her phone buzzes from somewhere in the apartment, breaking the moment.

She groans, burying her face against my chest. "Ignore that."

I'm more than happy to do just that, but she's barely got my jeans open when the phone buzzes again, ringing this time.

"Fuck," she mutters. "It's only set to ring if someone calls three times in a row."

"You'd better get that," I tell her, talking my cock down off the ledge.

She gives me an apologetic look, reluctantly extracting herself from my embrace. She pads across the room to retrieve her phone from the kitchen counter, still gloriously bare from the waist down, her oversized sweater just barely covering her incredible ass. The view is distracting, to say the least. I think this could start a whole new trend. No pants, just a sweater. Men sure as hell wouldn't complain.

"Hey, what's up?" she asks, sounding surprisingly put together for a woman who was just gasping and writhing under my touch. Her expression falls flat. "Wait, she what? How did she even get scissors into—both pigtails?!"

I wince. Sounds like Godfather the kindergarten edition.

"Okay, yeah, I can be there in ten," Lexie says, flustered as she moves around the room gathering her keys and wallet. "Bye."

"It's Jess," she confirms as soon as she's off. "Apparently, Taylor got into a fight with a little girl who was picking on another kid at craft time. Glue was sprayed. Pigtails were cut."

"Man, kindergarten sounds rougher than hockey," I tease, watching her with my arm draped over the back of the couch. "Anyone hurt?"

"Nothing a few bandaids won't fix," she says with a sigh. "But Adam is home sick, and Jessica needs a sitter while she runs down to the school."

"Of course," I say, understanding immediately. Family comes first. It's one of the things I admire about her. "Need a ride?"

She shakes her head, already moving toward the door. "Thanks, but it's just a few blocks. Can you do me a huge favor and lock up?"

"Sure, but I think, I think you forgot something."

"Oh, right," she says, rushing back to plant the most delicious kiss on my lips. It sucks the breath out of me and I return it, resisting the urge to dig my hands into her hair since I know she needs to leave and I won't be able to help messing it up.

When she breaks away, I stare at her, dazed. "That was one hell of a something," I say, a smile tugging at my lips. "But I was referring to your pants."

She looks down with a startled yelp and tugs her sweater down. "Oh my God!" She rushes into her bedroom and I can't help but chuckle as I hear her rummaging around in her drawers.

I stand, adjusting myself discreetly. The situation in my pants has calmed somewhat, but I'm still uncomfortably aware of it. But the memory of her coming apart under my tongue is worth any discomfort.

"Sorry about this," she says, emerging from her bedroom in those new jeans a different sweater, this one a soft lavender that brings out the warmth in her brown eyes. "Raincheck?"

"Of course," I say, standing to meet her by the door. "You name the time and place, I'm there."

She smiles, that genuine, warm smile that makes me feel warm and tingly in the best way. Then, to my surprise, she reaches down, her palm pressing against the front of my jeans where I'm still half-hard.

"Raincheck on this, too?" she repeats, her voice dropping to that husky register that immediately sends blood rushing south again.

I swallow hard, covering her hand with mine and giving it a gentle squeeze before reluctantly moving it away. "Now that's a given."

Her eyes darken slightly, and she leans in to press a quick kiss to my lips. As she pulls back, a mischievous glint appears in her gaze.

"Maybe one of your packmates can help with that in the meantime," she suggests with a playful smile.

I give an awkward laugh, caught completely off guard by the suggestion. "Oh, no, we, uh, don't do that," I stammer, feeling heat rise to my face.

She cocks her head to one side, genuine surprise crossing her features. "Really? You guys all seem to have such good chemistry. I just assumed you were together even before you found out you were an omega."

The comment feels like a splash of cold water to the face. My packmates? Like that? The idea is so foreign, so unexpected, that I'm not even sure how to respond.

Sure, we're close. Closer than most teammates. We live together, train together, share victories and defeats. There's a level of intimacy there that comes with being pack. The casual touches, the physical closeness that's as natural as breathing.

But sex? With Jax or Zayn or Dmitri or Aidan? The thought has never crossed my mind other than this whole thing starting out because I didn't want them looking at me like that.

… Has it?

With my new omega biology, it's crossing my mind a little more than I'd like.

I realize I've been silent too long when Lexie touches my arm gently, concern replacing the playfulness in her expression.

"Hey, I didn't mean to make things awkward," she says softly. "I just thought... well, a lot of packs have that kind of dynamic."

"No, it's fine," I assure her quickly, forcing a smile. "We're just not like that. We're teammates first, you know? Pack second."

She studies me for a moment, like she's trying to decide if I'm being honest with her or with myself. Then she rises on her tiptoes to press another quick kiss to my lips.

"I should go," she says. "Have a good day, okay?"

"You too," I reply, grateful for the change of subject. "Text me when you're free later?"

"Definitely." Her smile returns, warm and genuine, as she grabs her keys and heads for the door.

I follow her out, walking her to the end of the path like the gentleman my mother raised me to be, despite growing up with three rowdy adoptive brothers. Lexie waves and rounds the corner, and then I'm alone with my thoughts.

Dangerous territory, that.

I lock up, and the walk back to my truck is short but gives me just enough time for Lexie's casual comment to take root in my mind. By the time I slide behind the wheel, I'm seeing interactions with my packmates in a whole new light.

Or am I just projecting, seeing things that aren't there because of this new omega biology screwing with my head?

And how the hell is all this going to work when I finally do go into heat? No matter how much I might want to, I know I can't avoid it forever.

Chapter

Twenty-Six

LEXIE

"Ican't believe we're actually here," Jessica whispers, gripping my arm so tightly I'll probably have finger-shaped bruises tomorrow. "Like, actually here. In the VIP box. At a Grizzlies game!"

I laugh, gently prying her fingers loose. "You've mentioned that. About twelve times now."

"Because it bears repeating!" She bounces on her toes, peering over the railing at the ice below where players are warming up. "Luke is going to lose his mind when he gets back from the bathroom. He's probably texting everyone he's ever met."

"Probably," I agree, adjusting the hem of my sweater. It's a deep navy blue with the Grizzlies logo emblazoned across the front, except I couldn't leave well enough alone. I bought a standard sweater from the team store, then spent two nights carefully deconstructing and rebuilding it with better materials, adding subtle gold accents and reshaping it to actually fit a woman's body instead of hanging like a potato sack.

The result is pretty great, if I do say so myself. Professional enough to pass for official merchandise at first glance, but with enough personal touches that it's uniquely mine.

My life has gotten weird.

And when life gets weird, I do the one thing that makes me feel in control. I craft. Pretty sure I could knit my way out of a nervous breakdown at this point, or at least have comfy grippy socks to wear to the hospital.

"There he is!" Jessica points excitedly at the ice. "Number forty-seven. That's your man!"

I follow her finger to where Darren is skating powerful laps around the rink, his movements fluid and perfectly executed despite his size. Even from this distance, he's magnetic. The way he carries himself, the confidence in every stride.

"He's not 'my man,'" I protest weakly, though my heart does a little flip when he glances up toward the VIP boxes. Can he see me from down there? Does he know I came?

“Please,” Jessica scoffs. “He spent half an hour pretending to be interested in Taylor's rock collection and then took you home and rocked your world. He's your man.”

"Jessica!" I hiss, heat rushing to my face as I glance around to make sure no one overheard. The VIP box is relatively private, but there are still other guests mingling around the catered buffet and open bar nearby.

"What? I'm just stating facts." She grins, unrepentant. "Besides, you're literally wearing his number."

I glance down at my sweater, where I've subtly incorporated the number 47 into the design. It's not obvious unless you're looking for it, but it's there.

"It's just a show of support," I mutter, though we both know it's more than that. "And I'm pretty sure he was genuinely interested in the rock collection."

“Uh-huh. Sure.” Jessica's knowing smirk is interrupted by Luke's return, his face flushed with excitement.

"You will not believe who I just met in the bathroom," he announces, practically vibrating. "Jax Lawson. The captain. In the flesh. Washing his hands right next to me!"

Jessica laughs, patting his arm. "Breathe, honey. Did you actually speak to him?"

"I tried," Luke admits sheepishly. "But all that came out was 'good luck tonight' and then I think I made a weird noise."

"Smooth," Jessica teases.

"He said thanks and that he hoped we enjoyed the game," Luke continues, undeterred by his wife's teasing. "And then he asked if I was with Lexie Goodwin's party, and when I said yes, he smiled and said they were glad we could make it."

I blink, surprised. "He asked about me specifically?"

"By name," Luke confirms, looking at me like I just became a rockstar. "Just how well do you know these guys?"

Before I can formulate a response that doesn't involve the phrases "scent match" or "dining table sex," a staff member appears with a tray of champagne flutes.

"Compliments of the team," she says with a professional smile. "The game will begin in about ten minutes. Please enjoy the refreshments, and let me know if you need anything else."

We each take a glass, and I use the moment to gather my thoughts. How do I explain my relationship with the Grizzlies to my brother-in-law without sounding completely insane?

"Lexie's officially dating Darren Malloy," Jessica supplies helpfully, ignoring my glare. "And by extension, sort of the whole team."

Luke chokes on his champagne. "The whole team?" he sputters, eyes watering. "Like, all of them?"

"Not the whole team," I clarify quickly. "Just... his pack."

"His pack," Luke repeats slowly. "As in, Malloy, Lawson, Copeland, Vinogradov, and McKinney? That pack? The Core Five?"

I nod, suddenly finding my champagne absolutely fascinating. It's news to me they had an official name.

"Holy shit." Luke collapses into one of the plush seats, staring at me like I've just announced I'm secretly royalty. "That's... wow. I thought it was just Darren. How did that even happen?"

"It's complicated," I say, which might be the understatement of the century.

"And new," Jessica adds, coming to my rescue. "Very new. So maybe cool it with the third degree, honey?"

Luke holds up his hands in surrender. "Wow. Right, sorry. It's just... wow. The Core Five. That's like... wow."

"You said 'wow' three times," Jessica points out dryly.

"Because it's wow-worthy!" Luke defends, then turns to me with a more controlled expression. "But seriously, that's great, Lexie. They seem like good guys. From what I've read. And seen. On TV."

I can't help but laugh at his earnest attempt to be supportive while clearly freaking out internally. "They are good guys," I assure him.

The conversation is mercifully interrupted by the announcement of the starting lineups. The lights dim, and spotlights sweep across the ice as the arena erupts in cheers. The energy is electric, thousands of fans on their feet as the Grizzlies skate out one by one.

I find myself holding my breath when they announce Darren's name, watching as he glides onto the ice with that quiet intensity that first drew me to him. He looks powerful in his gear, a force to be reckoned with despite the omega designation that supposedly should make him less imposing.

As if Darren Malloy could ever be anything but formidable.

The game itself is a blur of speed and skill that I can barely follow. Luke tries to explain the finer points—offsides, icing, power plays—but most of it goes over my head. I focus instead on watching Darren, the way he positions himself on the ice, the skilled movements as he blocks shots and clears the puck.

"He's really good," I murmur during a break in play.

"One of the best defensemen in the league," Luke agrees, his initial starstruck awkwardness giving way to genuine enthusiasm as he explains Darren's stats and accomplishments. “He more than makes up for his lack of alpha aggression with technique and positioning. Always in the right place at the right time.”

I try not to consider how applicable those words are to Darren's skill off the ice as well. Always in the right place at the right time, indeed.

The Grizzlies score first, Zayn dancing through defenders to flip the puck over the goalie's shoulder, and the arena erupts. I find myself on my feet, cheering along with Jessica and Luke, caught up in the collective joy of the moment.

"That was beautiful!" Luke shouts over the noise. "Did you see that move? The way he deked around that last defender?"

I nod, though honestly, it happened so fast I barely registered it. What I did see was the way Zayn immediately turned to bump gloves with Darren, who had started the play with a perfect pass. The easy camaraderie between them, even if it doesn't always translate to off the ice, the seamless teamwork that speaks to years of playing together.

The opposing team, the Tigers, according to the scoreboard, tie it up in the second period, and the mood in the arena shifts. I find myself genuinely invested in the outcome, gasping when Darren takes a hard hit along the boards, exhaling in relief when he pops right back up and continues playing.

"He's tough," Luke comments, noticing my reaction. "Always has been. That's why they call him 'The Brick.'"

The third period is a nail-biter. Tied 1-1 with minutes ticking down, both teams pushing for the go-ahead goal, Luke explains excitedly. The Grizzlies have several close chances. Dmitri rings one off the post, Jax just misses on a rebound, but nothing finds the back of the net.

Until Aidan makes a spectacular save at one end, and the puck quickly transitions up ice. Darren to Jax to Zayn, back to Jax, who fires a shot that the Tigers' goalie stops but can't control. Then it pops out to Dmitri, who scores it with five minutes left on the clock.

The arena explodes. Jessica screams in my ear, Luke pumps his fist and high-fives a stranger next to him, and I'm jumping up and down like I've been a hockey fan my entire life instead of for approximately two hours.

The final minutes are excruciating. The Tigers pull their goalie for an extra attacker, peppering Aidan with shots. One heart-stopping scramble in front of the net has me clutching Jessica's arm so tightly she winces, but somehow the puck stays out.

When the final horn sounds, the Grizzlies' 2-1 victory secured, the relief and joy in the arena is audible. And almost deafening. Players pour off the bench to mob Aidan, helmets and gloves flying as they celebrate.

"That was amazing," I breathe, surprised by how emotionally invested I've become in such a short time. "I had no idea it was so intense."

"Welcome to hockey," Luke grins, clapping me on the shoulder. "They were something else tonight, though. I've never seen them all so on fire, working together like that."

"Maybe they were trying to impress someone," Jessica says pointedly, a mischievous glimmer in her eyes.

I blush, sure she's just reading into things. "Yeah, right."

"Just wait until playoffs," Luke says with a wistful sigh. "This looks like it'll be their best season yet."

Playoffs. I can't help but wonder if I'll still be around, still be part of this world. It's too soon to think that far ahead, too soon to imagine myself as a fixture in the lives of these men. And yet...

"Ms. Goodwin?" A staff member approaches our box. "If you and your guests would like to come with me, I can take you down to meet the team."

Jessica squeals, actually squeals, and Luke looks like he might pass out. I smooth down my sweater, suddenly nervous. It's one thing to see Darren and the others in private settings. It's another to meet them in their professional environment, surrounded by teammates and staff and media.

"Lead the way," I say, hoping my voice sounds more confident than I feel.

We follow the staff member through a maze of corridors, down to a restricted area where security checks our credentials before waving us through. The sounds of celebration grow louder, music blaring, voices shouting, and the occasional whoop of victory, until we're ushered into a room adjacent to the locker room.

"The team will be out shortly," our guide informs us. "Please help yourselves to refreshments while you wait."

The "refreshments" turn out to be an impressive spread of catered food and drinks that would put most wedding receptions to shame. Jessica immediately gravitates toward a chocolate fountain, while Luke paces nervously, straightening his Grizzlies jersey every few seconds.

"Relax," I tell him, though my own stomach is doing somersaults. "They're just people."

"Just people," he repeats incredulously. "Just people who are the best hockey players in the league. Just people who could crush me with one hand. Just people who are apparently all dating my sister-in-law."

"They're not all—" I start to protest, but the door swings open, cutting me off.

Jax enters first, freshly showered but still flushed from the game. His gray eyes scan the room, landing on our small group with a warm smile. "You made it," he says, crossing to us with that confidence that seems to follow him everywhere. "What did you think of the game?"

Before any of us can answer, the rest of the pack files in and their faces light up when they see me in a way I can't deny.

"Lexie," Darren says, my name like a prayer on his lips as he crosses the room. He hesitates just before reaching me, clearly unsure about appropriate greetings in front of my family. I solve the dilemma by stepping forward and hugging him, breathing in the clean scent of soap and that underlying woodsmoke that's all him.

"You were amazing out there," I tell him as we separate. "Congratulations on the win."

His smile is blinding. "You liked it? The game, I mean?"

"Loved it," I assure him. "I still don't understand half of what was happening, but Luke's play-by-play helped."

"We can work on that," Darren promises, then seems to remember we're not alone. He smiles at Luke and Jessica. "Good to see you guys again."

Luke, who's been standing frozen like a deer in headlights, manages a jerky nod. "Big fan," he croaks. "Huge fan. Of all of you. The team. Hockey. Everything."

Jessica rolls her eyes fondly. "You'll have to excuse my husband. He's having a minor panic attack from excitement."

"Trust me, I know the feeling. Recently, in fact," Jax says graciously, extending his hand to Luke. "Thanks for coming tonight. Always good to meet fans."

Luke shakes Jax's hand with the reverence of someone being granted an audience with royalty, and I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing. Jessica has no such restraint, snorting audibly before turning her attention to the chocolate fountain.

"Great sweater," Aidan says, gesturing to my modified Grizzlies gear. "I don't think I've seen that design before."

"Yeah, it looks amazing," Darren says, giving me an appreciative once over. "I've never seen our merch look this good."

"Oh. I uh, made it," I say, suddenly flustered. What if they think that's cheesy? Or pathetic?

"You made this?" Zayn asks, arching an eyebrow. He steps closer, examining the stitching with a critical eye. "From scratch?"

"Not entirely," I admit, feeling a flush creep up my neck at the attention. "I bought a standard sweater from the team store and modified it. Better fabric for the logo, took in the sides to fit a woman's body better, added some details."

"It's way better than our official merch," Aidan declares, looking genuinely impressed. "You should see the women's section in the team store. It's all pink and sparkly."

"The 'shrink it and pink it' approach to women's sportswear," I agree with a grimace. "Not exactly my style."

"You should design a line for us," Zayn suggests, and I can't tell if he's serious or just making conversation. "God knows our licensing department could use the help."

"Don't let them hear you say that," Jax warns, though there's amusement in his eyes. "They're very protective of the brand guidelines."

"Which is why everything looks the same and sells for three times what it's worth," Zayn counters with a dismissive wave.

"I'm glad you guys like it," I say, smiling, though I doubt I'll be mass-producing Grizzlies sweaters anytime soon. This was a one-off, a gesture of support for Darren and his team.

His pack. My... whatever they are to me.

The conversation flows easily after that, with Luke gradually finding his voice to ask insightful questions about the game, judging by everyone's reactions. Jessica charms everyone with her straightforward humor, and I find myself relaxing into the dynamic. It's strange how comfortable it feels, being here with these men who are simultaneously larger-than-life professional athletes and also just... guys. Guys who tease each other mercilessly, who argue about plays and passes, who congratulate each other on a game well played.

Guys who keep looking at me when they think I won't notice, with varying degrees of subtlety.

It's a lot of attention. More than I'm used to. But not unwelcome.

After about twenty minutes of mingling, Darren gently touches my elbow. "Can I steal you for a second?" he asks quietly.

I nod, following him to a slightly more private corner of the room while the others continue chatting with Jessica and Luke.

"I'm really glad you came tonight," Darren says once we're relatively alone. "It means a lot. To me. To all of us."

"I wanted to support you," I tell him honestly. "And the others. You played great out there."

"Yeah?" His smile is almost shy, a contrast to his physical presence. "I was worried I might be off my game, knowing you were watching."

"Performance anxiety?" I tease, unable to resist.

His laugh is low and warm. "Never been a problem before," he assures me with a wink that sends heat rushing to my face. "But this is different. You're different."

The sincerity in his voice catches me off guard. We've known each other such a short time, yet there's an intimacy between us that feels earned rather than rushed. Maybe there is something to this scent match business after all.

"Good different, I hope," I say, aiming for lightness but hearing the vulnerability in my own voice.

"The best different," he confirms, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. The gesture is tender, almost reverent. "Listen, we were thinking… We'd love to take you out tonight. To celebrate the win. If you want to, that is."

I hesitate, glancing back at Jessica and Luke. "I came with them," I remind him. "I can't just ditch them."

"Of course not," he agrees quickly. "They're welcome too. Or..." He pauses, considering. "Jones and Peterson could show them around. VIP treatment at all the best spots in the city. They're good guys, they'd make sure your sister and brother-in-law have an amazing night."

The offer is thoughtful, but I'm still uncertain. "I don't know..."

"Think about it," Darren suggests. "No pressure. We just thought it might be nice to spend some time together. All of us."

All of us. Not just Darren, but the whole pack. The thought sends a flutter of nervous excitement through me.

Before I can respond, Jessica appears at my elbow, a mischievous glint in her eye that immediately puts me on alert.

"So," she says, loud enough for everyone to hear, "Did I eavesdrop correctly? You boys want to steal my sister for the evening?"

I groan internally. Subtle as a sledgehammer, my sister.

"Only if that's okay with all of you," Jax says smoothly. "We completely understand if you had other plans."

"Are you kidding?" Jessica laughs. "Luke and I would kill for a night out without the kids while we already have the sitter. And Lexie deserves some fun after working so hard lately."

"We were thinking Jones and Peterson could show you around," Darren explains, gesturing to two players who have just entered the room. "They know all the best spots in the city."

Jones and Peterson turn out to be a pair of pleasant alphas who seem thrilled at the prospect of playing tour guide to Jessica and Luke. Especially when Jax discreetly mentions that the team will be covering all expenses for the evening.

"You sure about this?" I ask Jessica quietly while the arrangements are being made. "You don't even know these guys."

"They're professional athletes, not axe murderers," she points out. "Besides, Luke is in hockey heaven right now. I couldn't drag him away if I tried."

She's right. Luke is currently engaged in an animated conversation with Jones about some play from three seasons ago that apparently was controversial.

"And what about you?" I press. "Will you have fun?"

Jessica's smile softens. "I'll be fine, Lex. More than fine. It's been ages since Luke and I had a ritzy date night." She squeezes my arm. "Go be with your hot pack. We'll compare notes tomorrow."

I flush at her phrasing but can't quite bring myself to correct her. They're not "my pack." Not yet. Maybe not ever. But the possibility hangs in the air, tantalizing and terrifying in equal measure.

"Okay," I agree finally. "But text me if you need anything. And don't let Luke embarrass himself too badly."

"No promises on that last one," Jessica grins, then turns back to the group. "It's settled! You boys can borrow my sister for the evening. Just have her home by midnight, or she turns into a pumpkin."

"A pumpkin spiced latte, more like," Aidan murmurs, then immediately turns red when everyone looks at him. "I mean, because of her scent. Not that I've been thinking about it. Or her. I mean, not in a weird way⁠—"

Jessica looks quizzically at him, but I haven't exactly had a chance to tell her about the whole scent matching thing. Maybe because it feels like it's too impossible and bringing anyone else in will pop that magical bubble and bring me back to reality.

"Quit while you're behind, rookie," Zayn advises, clapping him on the shoulder. "We'll finish getting ready and meet you out front in ten?"

The suggestion is directed at me, and I nod, suddenly nervous about what exactly I'm agreeing to. "Sure. Twenty minutes."

As the pack heads back to the locker room to change, Jessica pulls me into a quick hug. "Have fun," she whispers in my ear. "And remember, no more than two hockey sticks in the net, max."

"Jessica!" I hiss, mortified.

"What? Five hot hockey players, all apparently obsessed with you? I'm just saying, pace yourself." She winks, completely unrepentant. "And I want details. Not graphic ones, but you know, the general gist."

"I hate you," I mutter, though we both know it's a lie.

"Love you too," she sings, already turning to join Luke and their new tour guides. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do!"

Given that Jessica once skinny-dipped in the fountain at her college graduation party, that doesn't exactly narrow things down.

Twenty minutes later, I'm waiting in the VIP exit area, trying not to fidget nervously with my sweater. I've touched up my makeup and let my hair down from its practical ponytail, but I'm still wearing jeans and my modified Grizzlies sweater. Not exactly club attire, if that's where we're headed.

The doors swing open, and the pack emerges, all five of them looking unfairly good in casual but clearly expensive clothes. Darren spots me first, his face lighting up in a way that makes my heart skip.

"Ready?" he asks, offering his arm.

I take a deep breath, pushing aside the lingering uncertainty. "Ready," I confirm, linking my arm through his. "Though I have no idea where we're going."

"That's part of the fun," Zayn says with a smirk that somehow manages to be both irritating and charming. "Trust us?"

And that's the question, isn't it? Do I trust them? These five men who claim I'm their scent match, who want to integrate me into their already complicated dynamic?

"Yes," I say finally, surprising myself with how much I mean it. "I trust you."

With the night, if nothing else.

The smiles that break across their faces, five variations on the same theme of genuine pride, tell me I've made the right choice.

"Then let's go," Darren says, leading me toward the exit where a sleek black SUV waits. "The night is just getting started."

Chapter

Twenty-Seven

LEXIE

The night unfolds like something from a dream, or maybe a movie about how the other half lives. We start at an exclusive rooftop restaurant where the maître d' greets Jax by name and leads us to a private table with a view of the city skyline. No menus appear. Instead, the chef himself comes to our table to discuss what we might enjoy.

Yeah, I am definitely underdressed.

And yet, the guys keep stealing glances at me like I'm wearing a shimmering, haute couture ballgown.

"Just bring us your favorites," Jax tells him with confidence. "And a bottle of the Cristal."

I raise an eyebrow at that. "Cristal? Really?"

"What?" Zayn grins. "Too cliché for you?"

"No," I laugh. "Just… extravagant."

"Nothing's too extravagant for a night out with you," Aidan chimes in. "But what do you usually drink?"

I hesitate, already flushed. "Um, red?"

Jax nods, turning back to the sommelier who has materialized at his elbow. "The lady prefers red. Perhaps the 2015 Châteauneuf-du-Pape?"

The sommelier nods approvingly. "An excellent choice, sir."

As he departs, I can't help but laugh. "I have no idea what you just ordered, but it sounded fancy."

"It's good," Darren assures me, his thigh pressed warmly against mine under the table. "Trust me, you'll like it."

The food arrives in waves, delicate appetizers, perfectly cooked entrees, decadent desserts, each more impressive than the last. The conversation flows as easily as the wine, jumping from hockey to fashion to Aidan's latest baking disaster. Apparently he tried to make macarons and ended up with what Zayn describes as "colorful hockey pucks".

What surprises me most is how normal it feels. Despite the luxurious setting and the fact that heads turn whenever one of the guys is recognized, at its core this is just dinner with people I'm growing to care about. People who seem genuinely interested in my opinions, my work, my life.

People who look at me, a beta woman who makes sweaters for a living, like I'm someone extraordinary.

After dinner, we move to a private club where the music thrums through the floor and the lighting gives everything a sultry glow. A VIP section is cleared for us immediately, champagne and cocktails appearing without being ordered.

"Do you dance?" Aidan asks, looking adorably nervous as he gestures toward the crowded floor.

"Not well," I admit. "But I'm willing to try if you are."

His smile is blinding as he offers his hand, leading me into the mass of bodies moving to the beat. I expect awkwardness. He's so tall, and I'm not exactly a clubbing expert, but Aidan moves with surprising grace for someone his size. His hands find my waist, respectful but firm, guiding me to match his rhythm.

"You're good at this," I shout over the music, genuinely impressed.

He ducks his head, a flush visible even in the dim lighting. "Hockey requires good footwork," he explains. "And I may have taken a dance class in college. For, uh, credit."

The admission is so unexpectedly charming that I laugh, relaxing into the movement. One song blends into another, and I find myself passed between partners, from Aidan to Jax, whose controlled dominance on the dance floor matches his demeanor off it. Next is Dmitri, who doesn't so much dance as sway powerfully, his large hands spanning my waist in a way that makes me acutely aware of how small I am compared to him. Then Zayn, who moves with sensual purpose, his dark eyes never leaving mine. His hand on the small of my back feels like burning coals eating through my sweater, and the intensity of his gaze is even hotter.

Finally Darren pulls me close, his body familiar against mine. "Having fun?" he murmurs in my ear, making me shiver.

"More than I expected," I admit, arms looping around his neck. "Your pack knows how to show a girl a good time."

"We're just getting started," he promises, and the rasp in his voice makes my heart skip.

The night continues in a blur of luxury and attention, starting with a private tour of an art installation that should be closed but opens for Dmitri, who apparently is a major donor. Next up is cocktails at a speakeasy so exclusive it doesn't have a name, just a blue door in an alley where Zayn is greeted like royalty. And to top it all off, a midnight dessert tasting at a patisserie where Aidan exchanges baking tips with the chef while the rest of us sample exquisite creations.

Through it all, I'm the center of their attention, never smothered, never overwhelmed, but constantly aware that these five extraordinary men are focused on making me feel special. It's intoxicating in a way that has nothing to do with the champagne and everything to do with the way they look at me, touch me, listen to me.

By the time we pile back into the SUV in the early hours of the morning, I'm floating on a cloud of contentment and excitement.

"Where do you want to go next? Your place or ours?" Darren asks finally, his voice low and intimate in the darkness of the car.

The underlying question is clear. This night doesn't have to end with a chaste goodbye at my door. It could continue, could evolve into something more.

Something involving all of them.

The thought sends a jolt of heat through me, equal parts anxiety and desire. I've only been with Darren so far, only crossed that physical line with him. The others have been respectful, keeping their touches appropriate despite the obvious attraction.

"Yours is probably best," I decide, surprising myself with the certainty in my voice. "My apartment isn't exactly built for entertaining a huge pack. And you're well aware of the sweater situation."

He chuckles. "I don't mind worshiping your body on a stack of wool, but your customers might."

Warmth spreads across my cheek, matching the warmth building between my thighs as Darren strokes my knee.

The city lights blur past the SUV's tinted windows as we wind through nearly empty streets. Did I really just agree to go back to their place? To their mansion after a night of being wined, dined, and treated like royalty?

Yes. Yes, I did.

As we pull into the driveway of their mansion, I'm struck again by the sheer size of the place once more. It's not just big, it's fucking enormous. The kind of home that has history etched into its bones.

"Home sweet home," Aidan says cheerfully as Zayn parks the SUV in the circular drive. "Part two of the evening awaits."

The casual confidence in his voice sends a flutter through me. There's no pressure in his tone, just an easy assurance that whatever comes next will be good. Will be right.

Darren's hand squeezes mine gently as the others climb out of the vehicle. "You okay?" he asks, his voice pitched low for my ears only. "We can always call it a night, get you a cab home if you're tired."

The concern in his eyes is genuine, and it warms something in my chest to know he's giving me an out if I want to take it.

"I'm good," I assure him, leaning in to brush my lips against his. "Better than good, actually."

His answering smile is slow and full of promise. "Then let's not keep them waiting."

The house is quiet as we enter, the late hour wrapping the space in a hushed intimacy that feels both welcoming and slightly charged. Jax moves ahead, turning on soft lights that illuminates the living room. Dmitri heads toward what I assume is the kitchen, while Aidan and Zayn linger near us, their movements casual but their eyes tracking me closely.

"Can I get you something to drink?" Aidan asks, already heading toward a sleek bar set up in one corner of the living room.

"Water would be nice," I reply, slipping off my jacket. Darren takes it from me before I can look for somewhere to put it, his fingers brushing mine.

Dmitri returns from the kitchen, a platter of what appears to be artfully arranged cheese, fruit, and chocolate in his hands. "Thought you might be hungry after dancing," he says, his accent slightly thicker than usual as he sets the platter on the coffee table.

"You guys really know how to treat a date," I say, unable to keep the smile from my voice. "First the VIP treatment all over town, now gourmet midnight snacks?"

"We aim to please," Zayn says, dropping onto one end of the large sectional sofa. Despite his relaxed posture, there's something in his eyes that's anything but casual when they meet mine. Something hungry. "You'll find that out soon enough."

My pulse kicks up a notch.

Jax returns from wherever he disappeared to, having shed his jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his henley to reveal muscular forearms. He's carrying what looks like a stack of soft throw blankets. "In case you get cold," he explains, setting them on the arm of the sofa nearest to where I'm standing.

It's such a thoughtful gesture that I feel a rush of unexpected warmth. These men are fussing over me like I'm rare and valuable. Like I'm…

Well, an omega.

I never realized just how much of a second class citizen I was in my other relationships until this. Never had anyone, alpha or otherwise, so devoted to making sure I'm comfortable, fed, warm. The contrast between their intimidating physical presence and this gentle attentiveness is doing things to me I hadn't anticipated.

Aidan appears at my side, offering a glass of water. "A lovely cabernet, courtesy of the Brita," he teases.

"Thank you, good sir," I say with a giggle, accepting the glass and taking a sip. "Very posh."

Darren's hand finds the small of my back, warm and steady through the fabric of my sweater. "Let's sit," he suggests, guiding me toward the sectional where Zayn is already sprawled at one end.

I settle into the cushions, hyperaware of Darren beside me, of Zayn's proximity at the other end of the section, of Jax taking the armchair across from us, of Aidan perching on the ottoman, of Dmitri leaning against the fireplace mantel with his own glass in hand. They're all watching me with varying degrees of intensity, and I should feel intimidated or awkward.

Instead, I feel... powerful. Desired.

"So," I say, taking another sip of wine for courage, "is this how your nights usually end? The five of you bringing someone home?"

The question hangs in the air for a beat, and I wonder if I've crossed some invisible line. Then Zayn laughs, the sound rich and genuine.

"Hardly," he says. "This is actually a first."

I look between them, surprised. "Really? I would have thought..."

"That we do this all the time?" Jax fills in, his gray eyes warm with amusement. "No. We've never brought anyone home as a pack before."

That statement makes my skin prickle with awareness. I'm the first woman they've all shared. Whatever happens tonight, it's not just another routine evening for them.

"Then I'm flattered," I say, aiming for lighthearted but hearing the sudden huskiness in my voice.

"We're the ones who should be grateful," Dmitri says quietly from his position by the fireplace. "That you trust us enough to be here."

The sincerity in his voice hits me. This isn't just about sex for them, either. Although I want that, more than I care to admit. I want all of them.

Darren's arm slides around my shoulders, pulling me subtly closer to his side. "We can just talk, enjoy the company," he says gently. "No expectations."

The others nod in agreement, but there's an energy in the air now that makes my skin feel too sensitive, too aware of every point of contact. Darren's arm around me, his thigh pressed against mine, Zayn's gaze from the other end of the sectional.

"I didn't come back here just to talk," I admit, the words slipping out before I can overthink them.

The effect is immediate. The air in the room seems to thicken and crackle with hunger.

"What did you come back for, then?" Jax asks, his voice low and controlled.

I look at him, then at each of them in turn, my heart racing. "I came back because I want to see where this goes."

I should feel vulnerable, having laid my desire so plainly before these five men. Instead, I feel strangely powerful. I've acknowledged what I want, and now the ball is in their court.

Zayn is the first to move. He sets his wine glass down, then slides along the sectional until he's close enough that I can feel his body heat. “And where do you want it to go?” he asks, his eyes locked on mine. “We need to know you're sure, beautiful.”

I swallow, suddenly aware of how dry my mouth is despite the water. "I want... I want to explore this connection I feel. Whatever it is between us. All of us."

"All of us," Aidan echoes, his voice catching slightly on the words.

"Yes," I confirm, feeling my cheeks heat but holding my ground. "I've only been with Darren so far, but I feel drawn to all of you. And I know you feel it too."

"We do," Jax confirms, his expression growing heated. "Very much so."

"But only if you're certain," Darren adds, his hand squeezing my shoulder gently. "If you're ready."

I turn to look at him, finding concern mixed with desire in his blue eyes. "I'm sure," I tell him, then address the room at large. "I want this. Want you."

The confession seems to break something loose in the room. Dmitri pushes away from the mantel, moving to sit on my other side. Zayn shifts even closer. Aidan abandons the ottoman to kneel on the floor in front of the sectional.

I'm suddenly surrounded, encircled by their presence, but it doesn't feel threatening. It feels right. Like being enveloped in warmth and protection and desire.

Darren's fingers thread through my hair, gently turning my face toward his. His lips find mine in a kiss that starts gentle but quickly deepens as I respond eagerly. His tongue traces the seam of my lips, seeking entrance that I readily grant. The kiss is familiar now, but no less thrilling for its familiarity. He knows exactly how to tilt his head, how much pressure to apply, how to make me melt against him.

A large, warm hand settles on my thigh. Not Darren's, because both of his are accounted for, one in my hair and the other at my waist. I break the kiss to look down and find Dmitri's hand resting there, his pale blue eyes watching me intently for any sign of discomfort.

"This is okay?" he asks.

In answer, I reach down to cover his hand with mine, pressing it more firmly against my thigh. His fingers flex in response, squeezing gently through the denim of my jeans.

From my other side, Zayn leans in, his breath warm against my ear. "Can I touch you, too?"

The question makes me shiver. This powerful alpha, hanging on my next word. "Yes," I whisper, turning slightly toward him.

His hand comes up to cup my jaw, turning me further until I'm facing him. His dark eyes search mine for a moment before he closes the distance, capturing my lips in a kiss that's completely different from Darren's. Where Darren's kisses are passionate but controlled, Zayn kisses like he's trying to devour me. It's all heat and demand and barely leashed ferality.

I respond in kind, matching his intensity, surprised by my own boldness. His tongue sweeps into my mouth, claiming and exploring, and I let him lead, curious about the differences between them. His teeth catch my lower lip, nipping lightly in a way that sends warmth pooling low in my belly.

When we break apart, I'm breathing hard, my lips tingling from the force of his kiss. Zayn's eyes are dark with satisfaction as he sits back slightly, giving me space to breathe.

A movement at my feet draws my attention to Aidan, who's still kneeling on the floor, watching with an expression that's equal parts awe and hunger.

"Come here," I invite, beckoning him closer.

He rises up on his knees, bringing him to eye level with me. His hands settle hesitantly on my knees, touch light as a butterfly's wing. Unlike the others, there's a tentative quality to his approach that I find endearing. I lean forward to bridge the gap between us, pressing my lips to his.

Aidan's kiss is sweet at first, almost reverent, but there's a growing confidence as I respond, as my hands come up to frame his face. He tastes faintly of the wine we've been drinking when he kisses me, rich and smooth.

As we kiss, I feel movement behind me, and then Jax's hands settle on my shoulders, strong and steady. His thumbs press into the muscles at the base of my neck, beginning a gentle massage that has me sighing into Aidan's mouth.

"You're tense," Jax observes, his deep voice rumbling through me. "Let me help with that."

His fingers work magic on my shoulders, finding knots I didn't even know I had and working them loose with firm, circular motions. The dual sensation of Aidan's increasingly passionate kiss and Jax's skilled hands on my shoulders is almost overwhelming in the best possible way.

When Aidan finally pulls back, his green eyes are dark with desire, his cheeks flushed. "Wow," he breathes, and I can't help the small laugh that escapes me.

"Wow indeed," I agree, reaching out to brush my thumb across his lower lip.

Behind me, Jax's hands still on my shoulders. "My turn?" he asks, the question low and intimate near my ear.

I nod, turning my head to look up at him over my shoulder. He leans down, one hand sliding into my hair as his mouth finds mine. The angle is awkward but the kiss is anything but. Jax kisses with the same quiet authority he seems to bring to everything. His tongue sweeps into my mouth, exploring with deliberate intent that has me arching up into the contact.

As Jax claims my mouth, I feel other hands on me. Darren's at my waist, Dmitri's on my thigh, Zayn's sliding along my arm, Aidan's still resting on my knees. Five pairs of hands, each touch distinct but harmonious, creating a multifaceted sensation that has me melting into the sofa.

When Jax finally straightens, breaking the kiss but keeping his hands on my shoulders, I feel dazed. Four down, one to go.

I turn to Dmitri, who's been so patient, his touch steady on my thigh but making no further moves. "And you?" I invite, meeting those intense blue eyes.

Instead of answering, he simply leans in, one large hand coming up to cradle the back of my head as his lips meet mine. Dmitri kisses like he does everything else, with quiet intensity and unexpected depth. There's a deliberate quality to the way his mouth moves against mine, like he's memorizing the shape and feel of my lips. When his tongue slides against mine, it's a slow, thorough exploration that has my toes curling in my shoes.

By the time he pulls back, I'm breathless, my heart pattering in my chest. I've just kissed five men in the span of minutes, each one distinct, each one thrilling in its own way.

"Well," I manage, my voice slightly shaky, "that was quite an introduction."

Zayn laughs, the sound warm and genuine. "Just the beginning, if you're interested."

"Very interested," I confirm, feeling bold and desired and more alive than I have in months. Maybe years.

Darren's hand slides from my waist to my hip, his touch firmer now, more possessive. "What would you like?" he asks, his voice husky with desire. "Name it, and it's yours."

The question catches me off guard. What do I want? The possibilities seem endless, overwhelming even. Five gorgeous men, all focused on me, all willing to follow my lead.

"I want..." I start, then hesitate, not sure how to articulate what I'm feeling. "I want to be touched. By all of you. I want to feel what makes each of you different."

Jax's hands squeeze my shoulders gently. "We can definitely arrange that," he says, his voice a low rumble that I can feel through his hands.

Darren stands, offering me his hand. "Should we move somewhere more comfortable?"

I take his hand, letting him pull me to my feet. The others rise as well, moving with that strange, synchronized grace they seem to share. As if they can read each other's intentions without a word.

I can't help but wonder how that plays out in the bedroom.

"My room has the biggest bed," Jax offers, his gray eyes meeting mine. "If that's alright with you."

I nod, suddenly nervous but excited by the same token. "Lead the way."

Jax's bedroom is exactly what I would expect from him. It's spacious, tastefully furnished in rich, masculine tones, with a massive king-sized bed as the centerpiece. The sheets look expensive, a deep charcoal gray that complements the room's color scheme.

I stand just inside the doorway, five men arrayed around me, and for a moment I wonder if I've gotten in over my head. Then Darren's hand finds mine, squeezing gently, and the momentary anxiety fades. I'm exactly where I want to be.

"How do you want to do this?" Jax asks, his voice calm and steady, grounding me further.

I consider for a moment, then decide honesty is the best policy. "I'm not sure," I admit. "I haven't exactly done this before. With multiple partners, I mean."

"Neither have we," Aidan reminds me, his smile reassuring. "Not as a pack, at least."

"So we'll all discover this as we go," Zayn adds, moving closer. "But I have a few ideas, if you're interested."

"I'm all ears," I say, curious about what he has in mind.

"Let us worship you," he suggests, his dark eyes intense on mine. "One at a time, or all together. Whatever makes you comfortable."

"Worship me?" I echo, the phrase sending a shiver through me.

"You're our mate," Dmitri says simply, as if that explains everything.

"Let us show you what that means," Darren adds, his blue eyes warm on mine. "Let us give you pleasure."

The offer is tempting. Beyond tempting. Five skilled men focused entirely on my pleasure? What woman would say no to that?

"Yes," I agree, my voice steadier than I feel. "I'd like that."

Zayn steps forward, his movements fluid as he reaches for the hem of my sweater. "May I?" he asks, fingers brushing the fabric.

I nod, lifting my arms to help as he carefully pulls the sweater up and over my head, leaving me in my simple black bra. His eyes gleam as they sweep over my newly exposed skin, appreciation evident in his gaze.

"Beautiful," he murmurs, his fingers tracing a light path along my collarbone.

Dmitri moves next, kneeling before me to remove my shoes. His movements are gentle as he helps me step out of them. He looks up at me from his position near the floor but still nearly at eye level, those piercing blue eyes somehow both respectful and hungry at the same time.

I'm starting to see why they call him the Wolf.

Aidan approaches from behind, his hands gentle as they gather my hair, lifting it away from my neck. His lips brush the sensitive skin just below my ear, sending goosebumps down my arms. "Is this okay?" he whispers, and I nod, not trusting my voice.

Jax and Darren watch from a few feet away, their gazes intent, waiting their turn. There's something powerful about having these alphas waiting patiently, deferring to my comfort and pace.

Zayn's hands move to the button of my jeans, pausing there. "Let's get these off."

"Please," I manage, the word catching slightly in my throat.

He smiles, something knowing and slightly predatory in the curve of his lips as he deftly unfastens my jeans and slides the zipper down. With a gentle tug, he helps me step out of them, leaving me in just my bra and panties.

I should feel exposed. Instead, I feel sexy as hell. Five pairs of eyes are fixed on me with varying degrees of heat and hunger, five powerful bodies practically coiled with desire, all for me. A beta. A woman who's been told she's not enough more times than she cares to count.

Here, now, I am enough. More than enough. I am desired, adored, worshipped.

Jax approaches next, his movements measured as he comes to stand before me. His fingers trace the strap of my bra, following it down to the cup. “Let's take this off,” he suggests, his voice low.

I nod, turning slightly to give him access to the clasp. He unfastens it with ease, drawing the straps down my arms until the garment falls away completely. His sharp intake of breath is gratifying, as are the similar sounds from the others.

"Perfect," Darren says from where he stands, his blue eyes full of desire as they roam over my nearly naked form.

Dmitri, still kneeling at my feet, looks up with those intense eyes. "May I?" he asks, his large hands hovering near my hips, near the waistband of my simple black panties.

"Yes," I whisper, bracing my hands on his broad shoulders as he carefully slides the last barrier down my legs, helping me step out of them.

And then I'm completely naked, surrounded by five fully clothed men who look at me like I'm the most beautiful thing they've ever seen.

"What now?" I ask, my voice husky.

Darren steps forward, finally joining the circle around me. His hand cups my cheek, thumb brushing across my lower lip. "Now," he says, his voice a low rumble, "we show you what it means to be ours. If you'll have us."

He kisses me again, deep and thorough, as his hands begin to explore my naked skin. At the same time, I feel other hands joining his, exploring every inch of me like they can't get enough. It's overwhelming in the best possible way, five distinct touches that collectively have me gasping into Darren's mouth.

They guide me backward toward the bed, supporting me as I sink onto the edge of the mattress. For a moment, they step back, drinking in the sight of me naked on the bed.

"You should get comfortable," Jax suggests, his voice rougher than usual. "Lie back, let us take care of you."

I do as he suggests, scooting back on the massive bed until I'm propped against the pillows. The sheets are cool against my heated skin, the contrast making me more aware of my nakedness.

"What about you?" I ask, my gaze moving deliberately over their still-clothed forms. "Seems unfair for me to be the only one naked."

Zayn smirks, already reaching for the hem of his shirt. "That can be arranged."

What follows is a surprisingly coordinated display as five men strip with efficient grace. Shirts are pulled over heads, revealing torsos sculpted by years of professional athletics. Pants and underwear follow, until five gloriously naked men stand around the bed, each impressive in his own way.

I let my gaze wander, taking in the differences between them. Jax is all lean muscle and controlled power. Zayn has the kind of aesthetically perfect proportions that wouldn't look out of place in a renaissance painting of a young god. Dmitri is massive in every sense, broad-shouldered and powerful, with a body built for sheer strength. Aidan’s frame is slightly less bulky than the others, but still impressively athletic and powerful, with a smattering of freckles across his shoulders that match those on his face.

And Darren… Darren I know intimately already, but seeing him in this context, surrounded by his packmates, throws his beauty into even sharper relief. The defined muscles of his chest and arms, the narrow taper of his waist, the powerful thighs. I already know how those thighs feel pressed against mine, how those hands feel on my skin.

Now I get to learn how the others feel too.

Jax is the first to join me on the bed, moving to stretch out beside me. His hand settles warm on my stomach, just resting there as his gray eyes meet mine. "What would you like?" he asks, his voice pitched low for intimacy.

Before I can answer, Zayn joins us, settling on my other side. "I have a suggestion," he says, his dark eyes gleaming with mischief.

"Let's hear it," I encourage, curious about what he has in mind.

"We've all kissed you now," he points out. "But there are other places we could kiss. Other ways to taste you."

The meaning of his words sends heat flooding through me, pooling low in my belly. "Oh?" I manage, my voice breathier than intended.

"Let us taste you," Darren agrees, joining the conversation from where he stands at the foot of the bed. "All of us."

"One at a time," Jax clarifies, his hand sliding lower on my stomach, fingers brushing the curls between my thighs. "Or however you prefer."

The idea is both intimidating and wildly exciting. Five men, five ravenous mouths, all focused on giving me pleasure. The thought alone is enough to make me squeeze my thighs together, seeking friction.

"Yes," I agree, the word coming out as little more than a sigh. "I'd like that."

"Who goes first?" Aidan asks, settling onto the bed near my feet, his hand coming to rest on my calf.

"Ladies' choice," Dmitri suggests, his accent thicker than usual as he joins us, completing the circle of men around me on the bed.

I look at each of them in turn, considering. The choice feels significant somehow, even though I know I'll experience all of them eventually. Finally, my gaze settles on the one who's been the most patient, the most controlled.

"Jax," I decide, meeting those steady gray eyes. "You first."

He nods, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth as he shifts his position, moving down the bed until he's kneeling between my legs. His hands are warm on my thighs as he gently spreads them wider, making space for himself.

"You're already wet," he observes, his voice a low rumble that I can feel in my bones. "So responsive."

I blush at the observation, though it's hardly surprising given the circumstances. Of course I'm wet.

Jax doesn't make me wait. He leans down, his breath warm against my most intimate place for just a moment before his mouth makes contact. The first swipe of his tongue has me gasping, hips lifting involuntarily toward the source of pleasure.

His technique, like everything else about him, is precise and thorough. He explores me methodically, learning what makes me moan, what makes my thighs tense, what makes my back arch off the bed. When he finds my clit, circling it with just the right pressure, I cry out, one hand flying down to tangle in his hair.

He groans against me, the vibration adding another layer to the pleasure. His hands grip my thighs, holding me open as he devours me with controlled hunger. It's good, so good, and I can feel the orgasm building already.

But not yet. I want to experience all of them before I let myself fall over that edge.

"Enough," I gasp, gently tugging at his hair. "I want... I want to try the others too."

Jax pulls back immediately, his mouth glistening with evidence of my arousal. He looks thoroughly pleased with himself as he wipes his lips with the back of his hand. "Who's next?" he asks, his voice rough with desire.

I turn my head to where Zayn lounges beside me, his dark eyes watching the proceedings with undisguised interest. "Your turn," I tell him, both challenge and invitation in my voice.

He grins, all confident swagger as he moves to take Jax's place between my thighs. Unlike Jax's methodical approach, Zayn dives in without preamble, his mouth hot and demanding against me. Where Jax was thorough, Zayn is intense, focusing immediately on the spots that make me squirm.

"Oh god," I gasp, my hands fisting in the sheets as his tongue flicks rapidly over my clit, building the pleasure higher, faster. His technique is completely different, less exploratory, more direct, but equally effective.

His hands grip my hips, pulling me more firmly against his mouth as he devours me with single-minded focus. It's almost too much, too intense, the pleasure sharp-edged and overwhelming. Just as I think I might come, might shatter under his relentless attention, he pulls back slightly, his dark eyes meeting mine over the plane of my stomach.

"Not yet, gorgeous," he says, reading my building orgasm in the coil of my body. "Gotta let the others have a turn first."

I whimper at the denial, but I understand the logic. The reminder of the rule I set out for myself, even if I'm wondering what the hell I was thinking.

Oh, yeah. I want to experience all of them, to learn the differences in their techniques, their touches, their tastes. Sounds reasonable enough.

Dmitri is next, settling his large frame between my legs. His approach is different still. It's slow, deliberate, almost reverent. His tongue traces my folds with careful attention, as if memorizing every curve and dip. When he finally focuses on my clit, it's with a gentle pressure that's somehow more intense for its restraint.

I moan, my hips rocking against his mouth as he builds me up again with patient skill. His large hands grip my thighs, thumbs pressing into the sensitive inner skin in a way that makes me shiver. He reads my body like a book, backing off whenever I get too close to the edge, keeping me balanced on the knife's edge of orgasm without letting me fall.

By the time he pulls away, I'm trembling, my skin flushed and damp with sweat. Three down, two to go, and I'm already more aroused than I can ever remember being.

I don't know if I can do this. If I can hold back. But that's one failure I can't say I'd feel too bad about.

Aidan approaches next, taking his place between my trembling thighs. Where the others were confident, he seems almost reverent as he leans down to taste me. His first touch is tentative, exploratory, but he gains confidence quickly as he learns my responses.

What he lacks in experience, he makes up for in enthusiasm and attention to detail. He watches my face as he experiments, noting what makes me respond with the most intensity. He's a quick learner, adapting his technique based on my reactions until he finds a rhythm that has me clutching at the sheets, teetering on the brink of release.

"Wait," I pant, reaching down to tug gently at his hair. "Not yet. One more."

Aidan pulls back reluctantly, his lips and chin glistening with my arousal. He looks dazed, as if the taste of me is a drug he can't get enough of. The thought sends another pulse of heat through me, adding to the almost unbearable pleasure coiled in my core, demanding release.

Finally, it's Darren's turn. He settles between my legs with familiar ease, his blue eyes meeting mine with a heat that makes my breath catch. He knows my body already, knows what I like, what makes me come undone.

"Ready for me to bring you home, baby?" he asks, his breath hot against my inner thigh.

Those words almost do it without him even having to touch me.

"Please," I whisper, beyond pride, beyond restraint.

He smiles, a flash of white teeth before he lowers his head and takes me into his mouth. His technique is confident, skilled, honed by our previous encounters. He knows exactly how much pressure to apply, exactly where to focus his attention, exactly when to alternate between broad strokes of his tongue and more targeted attention.

The pleasure is immediate and intense, building rapidly on the foundation laid by the others. Four men have brought me to the edge, but Darren seems determined to push me over.

His hands slide beneath my ass, lifting me slightly to give him better access. He devours me with focused intensity, his tongue working magic against my most sensitive flesh. The coil winds tighter, tighter, until I'm gasping, trembling.

"Darren," I moan, a desperate plea in his name. "I'm close. So close."

He responds by increasing his efforts, tongue circling my clit with perfect pressure. And then, just as I think I can't take any more, just as I'm about to shatter, he sucks gently on that sensitive bundle of nerves.

My orgasm crashes through me with such force that I cry out, back arching off the bed as pleasure pulses through every nerve ending. Darren doesn't let up, tongue working against me as I ride the waves, drawing out the sensation until it's almost too much to bear.

When I finally come down, trembling and gasping, I open my eyes to find all five men watching me with satisfaction. Darren's mouth is slick with my arousal, his blue eyes dark with desire as he presses one last kiss to my inner thigh before moving up to stretch out beside me.

"So," Zayn says from my other side, his voice strained with suppressed hunger, "who wins?"

The question makes me laugh, a breathless sound that has more to do with residual pleasure than actual humor. "Wins?" I echo, voice still shaky from the intensity of my orgasm.

"The contest," he clarifies, smirking. "Who made you feel the best?"

I look around at the five expectant faces, all watching me with a mixture of desire and pride.

"I couldn't possibly choose," I answer honestly. "You were all incredible. Different, but equally amazing."

"Different how?" Aidan asks, curiosity evident in his voice.

I consider the question, trying to find words for the distinct experiences. "Jax is thorough," I begin, meeting those gray eyes with a small smile. "Methodical, in the best way. Like he's mapping every part of me."

Jax looks pleased at the assessment, a small smile on his lips.

"Zayn is intense," I continue, turning to where he lounges beside me. "Direct. Straight to the point, but incredibly effective."

He grins, unabashed. "I know what I want, and I go for it."

"Dmitri is patient," I say, shifting my gaze to where the huge alpha sits at the foot of the bed. "Controlled. Like he could spend hours taking me apart piece by piece."

His eyes darken at my words, a flash of heat that suggests he'd like nothing better than to do exactly that.

"Aidan is so gentle," I say, reaching out to run my fingers through his hair. "But so eager, and very responsive to feedback."

He gives me a wide grin that matches the glimmer in his eyes.

"And Darren?" Jax prompts when I pause, all eyes turning to the omega beside me.

"Darren knows me," I say simply, meeting that familiar gaze. "He pays attention, remembers what works, what doesn't. He's..." I search for the right word. "Intuitive."

Darren's hand finds mine on the bed, squeezing gently. The simple touch contains a wealth of meaning.

"So no winner?" Zayn asks, sounding amused rather than disappointed.

I shake my head, still catching my breath. "I think we all won," I say with a smile that feels both shy and bold at the same time. "And I think we're just getting started."

Then I yawn in spite of myself and Jax chuckles.

"Maybe we should take a brief intermission," the captain says in a knowing tone.

"But all of you…" I protest, even though I feel exhaustion creeping in.

"There'll be plenty of time for us to have our fill of you if you're staying the weekend," Jax assures me, kissing the back of my hand. "Besides, it's going to take training for you to be able to take our knots."

Heat floods my cheeks at the thought of it. Training. It has been a long time since I've taken an alpha's knot. Betas aren't exactly made for it. But as lackluster as my experiences have been in the past, something about the idea of doing that with these men feels… different.

Very different.

"Maybe I'll just close my eyes for a little while," I say, yawning again. I curl up between them, surrounded by their scents and warmth, feeling cared for and adored.

Two things I could get used to.

Chapter

Twenty-Eight

JAX

The bedroom smells like sex and satisfaction. I've been awake for twenty minutes, watching Lexie sleep against my chest while my pack sprawls around us in various states of undress. Her fingers twitch against my skin, chasing dreams I can't see.

Darren's got one arm slung across her waist, face buried in her hair. Dmitri's hand rests on Darren's shoulder, always touching, even unconscious. Aidan's curled at the foot of the bed, taking up an impressive amount of space. Zayn keeps to the edge, maintaining distance even now.

My pack. Complete for the first time.

I trace Lexie's cheekbone, cataloging freckles I didn't notice last night. She took all five of us with her mouth, found something to praise in each approach. No hesitation. No comparing. Just open want.

She fits.

Darren's eyes open first, meeting mine over Lexie's head. That satisfied smirk says everything. He slept better than he has in weeks. Since the presentation turned his world inside out.

That makes two of us.

Our whispers wake Dmitri. One second dead to the world, the next scanning for threats. Old habits from whatever he did before hockey. His gaze lingers on Lexie before finding mine.

I tilt my head toward the door. Breakfast.

Dmitri extracts himself from our tangle without disturbing anyone. I should stay. Watch her wake up in my bed, surrounded by my pack. See that moment when she realizes where she is and doesn't panic.

But I want to feed her. Prove we're more than just good in bed.

I ease away from her warmth. She makes a soft protest, hand searching. Darren fills the space immediately, and she settles.

Dmitri's already grinding coffee when I reach the kitchen. That's Dmitri. Efficient on ice, in bed, everywhere.

"She slept well." Not a question.

"Like the dead," I confirm, pulling eggs from the fridge. "We wore her out."

His mouth twitches. For Dmitri, that's practically a grin. "Good start."

Two words, but I hear everything underneath. Good start to bringing her in. Good start to fixing what we almost broke. Good start to something permanent.

Because that's where my head's at, even if it's too soon to say. Lexie's not just convenient or willing. She's our scent match. All five of us pulled to one beta woman who makes sweaters and climbs out bathroom windows.

"What are we making?" Dmitri asks.

"Something that shows effort." I grab bacon. "She deserves the full treatment after last night."

"Aidan's cinnamon rolls," Dmitri suggests.

Perfect. Nothing says “we want to keep you” like homemade pastries.

Aidan stumbles in right on cue, hair defying gravity, wearing only boxers. "Someone say cinnamon rolls?"

"Get baking," I tell him. "We're spoiling Lexie."

Sleep vanishes from his face. "Fuck yes. Give me forty-five minutes."

The kitchen becomes controlled chaos. Dmitri arranges fruit like he's creating art. I handle eggs and bacon. Aidan attacks dough with the same focus he brings to blocking shots.

Zayn appears twenty minutes later, fully dressed and shower-fresh while the rest of us look like we just rolled out of bed. Which we did.

"Smells good." He heads straight for coffee.

"We're making Lexie breakfast in bed," I explain, flipping bacon.

His smirk says everything. "Captain's orders?"

"She earned it," Dmitri says without looking up from his strawberry spiral.

Zayn's expression shifts. "Yeah. She did."

We work in sync, no words needed. Years of living together, fighting together, winning together. Now we can add fucking the same woman to the list.

"Someone should check on them," Aidan says, watching his rolls rise through the oven door.

"I'll go." I wipe my hands. "Ten more minutes?"

"Yeah, perfect timing."

I take the stairs two at a time. The bedroom door's still cracked. I push it open quietly, not wanting to jar them awake.

And stop dead.

Darren's on top of Lexie, the omega's muscles flexing as he drives into her. Her legs wrap around his waist, nails dragging down his back as she moans.

They freeze when the door creaks.

"Oh." Lexie's face goes from flushed to mortified. "Sorry!"

Darren looks over his shoulder, grinning. "Thought we had time."

"Don't apologize." I lean against the doorframe, enjoying the view. "Sleep well?"

"Very," Lexie manages, still breathless. She shifts and gasps, since Darren's still inside her.

"I'll let you finish." My cock's already responding to the sight of them together, our omega and beta joined so intimately, but this is their moment. "Breakfast will be ready in ten."

I close the door on Darren's curse and Lexie's embarrassed laugh. The mattress starts creaking again immediately.

Just another thing we'll learn to figure out. Sharing space, sharing time, sharing her.

Downstairs, we load everything onto the massive breakfast tray once it's ready. Everything except the cinnamon rolls, that is. Aidan cradles them protectively on a separate tray like newborns. By the time we file back upstairs, the room's shifted.

Lexie sits cross-legged on the bed in my T-shirt. It hangs off one shoulder, showing skin I want desperately to taste. Her hair's pulled up into a sexy, messy bun on top of her head, her face glowing with that just-fucked satisfaction.

Darren emerges from the bathroom, still catching his breath. The others know exactly what happened. The room smells of pumpkin-spiced sex. But nobody comments. Even Zayn keeps his mouth shut. The last thing we want to do is scare her off.

We arrange ourselves around her, which feels so natural. Darren is beside her, their shoulders touching. Dmitri claims the armchair. Zayn leans against the headboard. Aidan protects his cinnamon rolls at the foot of the bed.

"You're spoiling me," Lexie says, her eyes widening as we lay the spread out before her.

"That's the plan." I set the tray where everyone can reach.

She demolishes Aidan's cinnamon rolls with enthusiasm that makes him preen. As we eat, she asks about our routines, our habits. Who wakes up first (me), who hogs the shower (Zayn), who controls the remote (ongoing war).

She's not just making conversation. She's learning us. Building something beyond last night's pleasure.

I watch her work through each of us. Thoughtful questions for Dmitri that get more than his usual three-word answers. Genuine interest in Aidan's baking experiments. Even Zayn opens up about his business degree when she asks the right questions.

Eventually, as the plates and mugs empty, a comfortable silence settles over us.

"So," Lexie sets down her mug, finally breaking the silence. "Darren mentioned you all have some kind of plans for how this weekend is going to go?"

We've discussed this. How to approach training the gorgeous beta's body for our knots without making it clinical or pressuring.

"We do," I confirm. "If you're interested."

She raises an eyebrow. "I'm listening."

Zayn beats me to it. "We want to help you work up to taking our knots. Betas need plenty of preparation."

Her cheeks pink, but she doesn't look away. "All of you?"

"Eventually." I shoot Zayn a look he ignores. "Not all at once. Today's about starting slow, finding what works for you."

Her blush deepens, but she's smiling. "When you put it that way..."

"Your pleasure comes first," Dmitri adds. "Always. You say stop, we stop."

"I know." She looks at each of us. "I trust you. I wouldn't be here otherwise."

Trust. The foundation of everything.

"So," I bring us back to practical matters. "Are you interested?"

She takes a breath, meeting my eyes directly. "Yes. Very interested."

Heat coils in my gut. "Good. We'll go slow, focus on building your comfort. Actual knotting comes later."

"Who starts?" she asks.

Silent communication passes between us. As pack alpha, I take point. Set the tone. The others agreed, though Zayn wanted to go first. With Lexie, he's learning patience.

She's the first reason he's ever had to bother, I'm pretty sure.

"I will," I tell her. "If that works for you?"

She nods, eyes darkening. "It does."

"The others can stay or give us privacy. Your choice."

She catches her lip between her teeth, considering. "They can stay. If they want."

"Oh, we want," Zayn confirms, all predator.

"Definitely," Aidan agrees.

Dmitri just nods, gaze locked on Lexie.

"Remember," Darren says as he squeezes her hand. "You're in control."

"I know." She turns to me with arousal evident in her gaze that only reignites the fire that started when I saw her with Darren earlier. "How do we start?"

I move the tray to the floor. "First, we get comfortable."

I cup her cheek, feeling her warmth. She meets me halfway when I lean in, lips soft against mine. The kiss starts gentle but deepens as she opens for me. Coffee and cinnamon on her tongue.

My hands find the hem of the borrowed shirt she's wearing, slipping underneath. She shivers at the touch, arching into my palms. I keep it light, letting her set the pace.

The others watch with varying intensity. Darren's moved to the armchair. Dmitri by the window. Zayn sprawled at the foot of the bed. Aidan cross-legged on the floor. They're all watching, all intent on her every movement and breath.

Their presence adds heat. Lexie draws energy from their attention, responses growing bolder.

I pull back to check in. "You good, beautiful?"

"Very good." Her voice is so rough with want. "More. Please."

I capture her mouth again, more demand this time. My hands explore higher, cupping the underside of her breasts. She makes a sound that goes straight to my cock.

I help her remove the shirt. She's bare underneath, skin flushed pink. "Absolutely perfect," I whisper.

I shape her soft breasts to my hands, watching her face as my thumbs brush her nipples. She gasps, eyes fluttering before meeting mine again.

"So you're sensitive there," I note, repeating the touch. "I'll remember that."

I lower my head, taking one peak in my mouth. She tastes clean and warm. Her hands find my hair, holding me close as I work her with lips and teeth and tongue. My other hand keeps her other breast occupied, rolling the nipple between my fingers.

I switch sides, using teeth this time. She arches with a breathy "oh."

Zayn shifts, adjusting himself. My packmates getting hard watching me pleasure our mate adds another layer to the whole experience. One I decide I want to repeat every single night, forever.

I trail kisses down her stomach, tongue dipping into her navel. Her hands loosen in my hair, letting me explore.

"Lie back," I murmur against her skin.

She settles into the pillows, hair spread around her. I continue mapping her body, cataloging responses. The spot below her ear that makes her gasp. The curve of her hip that makes her squirm. The inside of her thigh that makes her legs fall open.

By the time I settle between her thighs, she's panting. I look up for permission.

"Please," she whispers. "I want your mouth again."

I breathe her in, arousal mixed with satisfaction from earlier. She's already wet, pink and swollen. My cock throbs, demanding attention I ignore at the memory of tasting her last night. Too briefly for my liking. But right now, she's all mine. No contest, no switching off to the others.

As captain, I'm used to putting the others first, but this woman makes me want to be selfish.

I start with broad strokes of my tongue, learning her taste. She jerks at the first touch of my tongue to her clit. I explore thoroughly, alternating pressure and rhythm based on her responses. When she's trembling, I slide one finger inside.

Tight. Wet. Perfect.

"More," she gasps, hips lifting.

I add a second finger, stretching gently while my tongue works her clit. I curl my fingers, searching, and know I've found it when she cries out.

"There. Right there, don't stop."

I maintain the rhythm, fingers stroking that spot while my tongue circles her clit. She's close, body tensing.

"I'm close," she warns. "So close."

"Let go," I growl against her. "Let us see you come."

She shatters with a cry, clenching around my fingers. I work her through it until she pushes at my shoulder, oversensitive.

I press a kiss to her thigh before moving up beside her. Her eyes are closed, chest heaving. When they open, satisfaction glows there.

"That was incredible." She laughs softly. "Wow."

"Just starting," I promise. "Are you ready for more?"

Her gaze drops to my obvious erection. "Definitely. But you should get naked first."

I stand and strip, letting her look. Her eyes widen at my cock, at the beginning swell of my knot at the base.

"Impressive," she murmurs, taking a longer look than she did last night now that she's as focused on me as I am on her, the others fading into the background even though I can tell from the scent of arousal and labored breathing they're still there.

"Alpha genetics," Zayn supplies, his own arousal evident. "Blessing and curse."

"Which is why we're going slow," Darren adds.

Lexie looks at each of us, taking in our various states of arousal. There's no fear in her eyes, just interest.

"I'm not feeling patient," she admits. "But I understand the need for preparation."

"Patience pays off," I assure her, rejoining her on the bed. "And there's plenty we can do meanwhile."

I kiss her deep, letting her taste herself. She pulls me closer, skin to skin sending hunger through me.

"Do you taste that?" I purr. "How fucking sweet you are?"

Her cheeks color beautifully. "Jax…"

I position myself between her thighs, my cock brushing her entrance. She gasps, hips lifting in invitation.

"You sure?" I check. "We can wait."

"I'm sure." Her gaze is steady. "I want this. Want you."

Fuck, those are the sweetest words in the English language on her lips.

I guide myself to her entrance and push forward slowly. She's tight. Even tighter than expected. I ease in gradually, letting her adjust. When I'm seated deep, everything but the knot, we both groan.

"You okay?" I hold still despite the desperate need to move.

"More than okay." Her nails dig into my shoulders. "Move, Jax. Please."

I start slow, with shallow thrusts while she adjusts. Her body relaxes around me with each stroke. Tight, wet heat gripping my cock perfectly.

"So good," I murmur, increasing pace as she starts meeting my thrusts. "You feel amazing."

"You too," she gasps when I hit the right angle. "There, please."

I maintain that angle, watching pleasure build across her face. Her hands clutch my shoulders, legs wrapping around my waist to pull me deeper.

Around us, the others watch. Zayn's shoved his pants down, stroking himself. Aidan's hand moves under his clothes. Dmitri and Darren show more control, but arousal tightens their expressions.

Knowing they're watching, getting off on seeing me claim our mate, it intensifies everything.

I increase the pace, driven by her encouraging sounds. She's taking me easier now, wet and open.

"Close," she warns. "So close."

I find her clit with my thumb, circling in rhythm with my thrusts. She comes immediately, clenching around me with my name on her lips.

Her orgasm nearly triggers mine. My knot bumps against her with each thrust, but she can't take it yet, so I focus on extending her pleasure.

When she comes down, her eyes meeting mine with dazed satisfaction, I slow but don't stop. "How you doing, beautiful?" I ask, my voice strained with how much I want her. How much I need to be inside her, filling her.

"Amazing," she confirms. "Don't stop. Please."

I maintain that steady rhythm that has her gasping again quickly. I'm close, the pressure building, my knot beginning to swell. Normally I'd press for entrance, lock us together.

But Lexie's not ready. I can feel it in the way her body resists me, even as she's clearly trying to take more. So I focus on her pleasure, driving us both toward release.

"I'm going to come soon," I warn her, my voice rough with control. "Not knotting you, but I need to know… inside or out?"

"Inside," she decides immediately. "I'm on birth control, and I… I want to feel you."

Her permission sends heat through me, along with a possessive satisfaction at marking her this way. I increase the force of my thrusts as my control slips.

Her second orgasm surprises us both, her pussy suddenly clenching even tighter around me as she cries out. The rhythmic pulse of her around my cock sends me over the edge.

I come with her name on my lips, hips pressed tight to hers as I empty inside her. My knot swells partially outside the perfect heat of her cunt, but even though we're not locked, it's still intense. So intense my vision whites out for a moment.

We stay connected, both panting. Her hands stroke my back, grounding me. When I withdraw carefully, she makes a soft sound of loss.

"That was so... fuck, I'm running out of adjectives."

"Agreed." I kiss her forehead before lying beside her. "Thank you for trusting me, Lexie."

"I didn't take your knot," she says, her brow furrowing slightly, her breath still strained from exertion.

I stroke a strand of hair out of her perfect face. "You were so good for me," I murmur. "When the time's right and you're ready, it will happen. And we'll enjoy every moment, every touch it takes to get there."

Her gaze softens at the reassurance and I finally pull away, knowing I have to share her.

She looks at the others. Zayn's already finished. Aidan looks close. Dmitri and Darren are hard but controlled.

"I think we've created a situation," she observes with a smile.

"They can handle themselves," I assure her. "Unless you're offering."

She considers. "Maybe one more. But not all the way. I'm too sensitive after you."

Darren's eyes widen at the invitation. "You sure? No obligation."

"It's not obligation." She stretches, drawing all our eyes to the elegant curves of her body. "It's want. I want your mouth again, Darren."

The request sends heat through me despite just coming. Watching Darren pleasure her, make her fall apart… I want to see it.

The chorus of approving alpha growls from around the room makes it clear we all do.

Darren positions himself between her thighs. He'll be tasting where I marked her with my seed, but he shows no hesitation.

He starts gentle, letting her recover. She sighs, digging her hand into his hair. When he reaches where I left my claim, tasting us mixed together, it should be strange. Instead it feels right. A pack sharing pleasure. Sharing our mate.

Lexie's responses grow enthusiastic as Darren finds his rhythm. I stroke her hair, her breasts, adding to the sensation he's lavishing on her.

"I can't," she gasps, tugging at his hair. "Please... inside?"

Darren moves eagerly, climbing on top of her and sliding into her slick heat where I was moments ago. Watching him thrust into her, his cock coated in my release—fuck.

The others find their release as they watch Darren bring her to the precipice of another orgasm. Our girl has stamina.

Good. She'll need it to keep up with four alphas and one omega who's as desperate for her as we are.

Aidan comes first with a muffled groan. Dmitri is near silent. Zayn watches with satisfaction until the very last moment, where he spills over his hand at the sound of Lexie coming apart.

Lexie's next orgasm is gentler but still intense. She sighs Darren's name, trembling as she comes. He follows quickly, and watching him drive into her makes my spent cock twitch.

"Fuck!" Lexie cries as Darren finishes inside her. "Fucking fuck!"

"We really need a thesaurus," Zayn drawls, but his gaze stays dark on them. "I need her to scream every word in the English language in that exact tone."

"Thoughtful," she retorts playfully, still breathless.

I stroke her hair, Darren still trembling on top of her as he comes down from his release. "How are you feeling?"

"Amazing." She stretches. "A bit sore in the best way possible, and…"

"And?"

"And now I really want you to knot me," she breathes. "Not right now. I'd pass out. But..."

Tenderness washes through me. "We want that, too, beautiful. More than you have any idea."

"Like he said, it'll be worth the wait," Aidan says with a sleepy, satisfied grin.

"Besides," Zayn sits up, stretching. "The journey's half the fun."

For once, we agree on something.

Chapter

Twenty-Nine

LEXIE

The hot water runs down over my skin, washing away sweat and the delicious ache of well-used muscles. I sink deeper into the oversized tub, which is practically a small pool, letting bubbles rise to my chin as I stretch my legs out. The bathroom is steamy, lavender-scented, and exactly what I needed after the morning's activities.

Their bathroom. Their tub. Their house.

Five men. One me.

I should be freaking out. Normal people would be freaking out, right? But all I feel is a pleasant buzz humming through my body and a sense of... rightness?

Is that weird? Probably. But I'm past caring.

My fingertips trace the marks on my collarbone, evidence of Aidan's enthusiasm from an hour ago. After breakfast and recovery time, he'd looked at me with those big green eyes, asked so politely if he could have a turn, and then proceeded to pin me against the wall of his bedroom with surprising strength. The contrast between his gentle requests and the way he'd gripped my hips hard enough to bruise had left me gasping.

Not that I'm complaining.

I sink lower, letting the warm water lap at my chin. My body aches pleasantly everywhere. Jax this morning, then Darren, and now Aidan.

Three down, two to go.

The thought brings heat to my cheeks that has nothing to do with the bath water.

I'm not sure how long I've been soaking when a knock interrupts my thoughts.

"You planning to turn into a prune in there?" Zayn's voice comes through the door, amused and slightly impatient.

"Considering it," I call back, smiling despite myself. "The amenities are excellent."

"Dinner's not for a couple of hours," he continues through the door. "Jax and Aidan are doing some fancy shit with a roast. Thought maybe you'd want company while you wait."

My heart skips. Company. I know exactly what kind of company he means.

"Door's unlocked," I say, surprising myself with my boldness.

The door opens and Zayn steps in, followed by Dmitri. The steam swirls around them, and I'm suddenly very aware of my nakedness despite the bubbles providing minimal coverage. Zayn's eyes flick over me, sharp and assessing, while Dmitri's gaze is steady, almost reverent.

"Room for two more?" Zayn asks, leaning against the counter.

I raise an eyebrow. "In this tub? Probably room for the whole hockey team."

Dmitri's mouth quirks in what might be a smile. "It's a good size. Custom build."

"Of course it is," I murmur, watching as Zayn pulls his shirt over his head in one fluid motion.

I should look away. Should probably feel some modicum of shyness. But after the morning's activities, it seems ridiculous to pretend at modesty now. So instead, I watch as they undress, taking in the differences between them.

Zayn is all lean muscle and sharp angles, with a swimmer's build despite his hockey training. Dark tattoos wrap around his biceps and across his chest, forming patterns I want to map with my fingers. His movements are deliberate, performative even, like he knows exactly how good he looks and doesn't mind the appreciation.

Dmitri is broader, more solid. His chest and shoulders bear the kind of muscle that comes from years of hard work rather than careful sculpting. Scars mark his pale skin, and a particularly jagged one across his ribs catches my eye. He undresses efficiently, no wasted motion, no show.

Two distinctly different men. Two distinctly different approaches to life, to pleasure, to me.

"You gonna make room, beautiful?" Zayn asks, now gloriously naked and clearly not bothered by it.

I shift forward, bringing my knees to my chest to create space behind me. "Help yourself."

Zayn slides in behind me, water sloshing over the edge as he settles. His legs bracket mine, chest warm against my back. Dmitri takes the opposite end, his large frame somehow fitting comfortably as he stretches his legs alongside mine.

"This is cozy," I manage, hyperaware of Zayn's breath on my neck and Dmitri's intense gaze.

"We're just getting to know each other," Zayn says, his hands finding my shoulders and beginning to knead the muscles there. "It's important for pack dynamics."

I snort. "Is that what we're calling it now?"

Dmitri's eyes crinkle. "He has many names for it. Most not appropriate for polite company."

"Good thing I'm not polite company then," I reply, leaning into Zayn's touch as his fingers work out knots I didn't know I had.

"You've had quite the day," Zayn murmurs, his lips brushing my ear. "Jax, Darren, now our young goalie. Enjoying yourself?"

Heat floods my cheeks. "Seems like you already know the answer to that."

"Want to hear you say it," he insists, hands sliding from my shoulders down my arms.

"Yes," I admit, watching Dmitri watch me. "I'm enjoying myself."

"Good," Dmitri says, the word heavy with meaning in his accented voice. His large hand finds my ankle under the water, thumb pressing gently against the arch of my foot. "Some things should be enjoyed."

The simple touch sends shivers up my leg, surprising me with its intensity. I've never considered my feet particularly sensitive, but the careful pressure of his fingers has me fighting not to squirm.

"We were thinking," Zayn continues, one hand now running over my stomach just below the water's surface, "you might be interested in some unique preparation."

My breath catches. "Preparation?"

"For knotting," he clarifies, direct as always. "It takes time. But there are ways to help the process."

Oh. Oh.

"What kind of ways?" I ask, curiosity mixing with arousal.

Zayn reaches past me, retrieving something from beside the tub that I hadn't noticed before. A box. He opens it, revealing a silicone toy in a shape I recognize immediately, the flared base unmistakable.

"Specially designed," he explains, his tone matter-of-fact despite the intimacy of the conversation. "Adjustable. We can start small, work up gradually."

I stare at the toy, heat pooling low in my belly. This is so far outside my normal experience that I should be nervous, maybe even intimidated. Instead, I'm intrigued. Turned on.

"Do many betas use these?" I ask, trying to sound casual despite the way my heart is suddenly hammering.

"Some," Dmitri answers, his hand still working magic on my foot. "Just a matter of personal choice. No pressure."

"But it could be helpful," Zayn adds, setting the box back down. "If you're interested."

Am I interested? My body certainly seems to be, responding to their touches and the mere suggestion with embarrassing eagerness. The idea of being able to take one of their knots, eventually all of their knots, is both intimidating and thrilling.

"I'm interested," I admit, my voice embarrassingly breathy. "But maybe not in the bathtub?"

Zayn chuckles, the sound vibrating against my back. "Fair enough. Bedroom's more comfortable anyway."

"We'll finish the bath first," Dmitri says firmly, giving Zayn a look I can't interpret. "No rush."

There's a brief pause, a silent communication passing between them that I'm not privy to. Then Zayn relaxes against me again, his hands returning to my shoulders.

"The big guy's right," he concedes. "Let's enjoy this first."

What follows is perhaps the most sensual bath of my life. The two of them take turns washing me, their hands gentle but thorough as they soap every inch of skin. Zayn is efficient but attentive, his touches clinical until they suddenly aren't, lingering just long enough to make me gasp. Dmitri is methodical, treating each part of me like it deserves careful consideration, his large hands surprisingly delicate.

By the time they help me from the tub, I'm flushed and trembling with need, water streaming down my body as Dmitri wraps me in a plush towel.

"Whose room?" I ask, trying to sound casual and failing miserably.

"Mine," Zayn decides, already leading the way. He doesn't bother with clothes, padding naked down the hallway with complete confidence.

Dmitri follows suit, and I find myself walking between two nude hockey players through an absurdly expensive house, wrapped only in a towel. My life has taken a decidedly surreal turn.

Zayn's bedroom reflects him perfectly, minimalist but expensive. Dark wood furniture, crisp white bedding, everything clean-lined and intentional. The only personal touches are the books stacked neatly on the nightstand and a single framed photo I can't make out from this distance.

"Make yourself comfortable," he says, gesturing to the king-sized bed.

I hesitate only briefly before letting the towel drop and climbing onto the bed. Their eyes follow me, Zayn's sharp and assessing, Dmitri's warm with approval.

"Beautiful," Dmitri says simply, joining me on the bed. He sits beside me, not touching yet, just close enough that I can feel the heat from his skin.

"Very," Zayn agrees, retrieving the box from wherever he stashed it before our bathing adventures. "And brave."

The compliment catches me off guard. "Brave?"

"Taking on five athletic alphas,” he clarifies, setting the box on the nightstand. "Not everyone would be so... adaptable."

I hadn't thought of it that way. "I'm just following where this feels right."

"Good instincts," Dmitri murmurs, finally touching me, a broad hand cupping my face, his thumb brushing my cheekbone. "Trust them."

His touch is gentle but firm, grounding me in the moment. I lean into it, surprised by how much I crave the contact. I never realized just how touch starved I was until this pack couldn't keep their hands off me.

"So," Zayn says, joining us on the bed, "ground rules. You say stop, we stop. You say slower, we go slower. Clear?"

I nod, appreciating the directness. "Clear."

"Good girl," he says, the praise sending a surge of heat between my thighs.

Dmitri notices, his eyes crinkling slightly. "You like that? Being called good girl?"

My cheeks heat. "Maybe."

"Interesting," Zayn observes, catching on immediately. "Very interesting."

Before I can feel self-conscious, Dmitri leans in, capturing my mouth in a kiss that starts gentle but quickly deepens. His lips are surprisingly soft given his rugged appearance, moving against mine with confidence. When his tongue slides along the seam of my lips, I open eagerly, welcoming him in.

While Dmitri claims my mouth, Zayn's hands begin exploring my body, starting at my ankles and working upward with deliberate patience. By the time his fingers reach my inner thighs, I'm squirming between them, desperate for more direct touch.

Dmitri breaks the kiss, his blue eyes dark with desire. "So responsive," he murmurs, brushing my hair back from my face. "Like a perfectly tuned instrument."

"Let's see what sounds we can get out of her," Zayn suggests, his fingers finally brushing against my center.

The touch, light as it is, makes me gasp. I'm already embarrassingly wet, my body primed from their attention in the bath and now their focused touches.

"Perfect," Zayn approves, circling my entrance teasingly. "So ready for us."

There's that praise again, making my insides clench with need. I bite my lip, fighting the urge to beg for more.

"Tell us what you want," Dmitri encourages, one large hand now cupping my breast, thumb brushing over the nipple.

"More," I manage, arching into his touch. "Please."

"More what?" Zayn presses, his fingers still teasing. "Be specific, Lexie. Good girls use their words."

The pet name—good girl—sends another jolt through me. "Your fingers," I clarify, finding my voice. "Inside. And Dmitri's mouth. On my breast."

"See? Perfect," Zayn praises, sliding one finger inside me without further preamble.

Dmitri obligingly lowers his head, taking my nipple into his mouth. The dual sensation of Zayn's finger curling inside me, Dmitri's hot mouth sucking firmly, has me moaning before I can think to be embarrassed about it.

"That's it," Zayn encourages, adding a second finger alongside the first. "Let us hear you."

Time becomes fluid as they work me over with practiced skill. Zayn's fingers find a rhythm that has me gasping, while Dmitri's mouth alternates between my breasts, occasionally returning to my lips to swallow my increasingly desperate sounds.

Just when I think I might come from their attentions alone, Zayn withdraws his fingers, leaving me empty and aching.

"Not yet," he says, answering my unspoken protest. "We want you desperate first."

"I'm already desperate," I pant, not even embarrassed by the admission.

"Not enough," Dmitri counters, nipping lightly at my collarbone. "Need you senseless."

The prospect should alarm me, but instead, it sends another flood of heat through me. Yes, I want that, want to be taken apart so thoroughly I can't even breathe.

"How do you want us?" Zayn asks, his hand now stroking his own length. "We both have ideas, but it's your choice."

I consider the question, looking between them. "What are your ideas?"

Dmitri smiles slightly. "I want that beautiful mouth first," he says simply. "Zayn wants your pretty pussy."

"Then after," Zayn continues, "we switch to the toy. See how you handle it."

The imagery their words evoke makes me clench around nothing, desperate to be filled. "Yes," I agree immediately. "That. Please."

Zayn's smile is sharp with approval. "Good girl. So polite."

There it is again, that praise that somehow bypasses all my defenses and heads straight to my core. I flush, catching Dmitri's knowing look.

"She likes when we tell her how good she is," he observes, brushing a strand of hair from my face. "How perfect. How brave."

Each word sends another pulse of arousal through me, making me squirm. "Please," I whisper, beyond caring how needy I sound. "Please, I need⁠—"

"We know exactly what you need, beautiful," Zayn assures me, positioning himself between my legs. "And we're going to give it to you until you can't handle it anymore. Just be patient a little longer."

Dmitri moves up the bed, sitting with his back against the headboard. He guides me toward him, large hands gentle on my shoulders as he positions me between his spread legs, my back to his chest.

"Comfortable?" he checks, his accent thicker now with arousal.

I nod, leaning back against his solid warmth. From this position, I can see Zayn kneeling between my spread thighs, his expression intent as he takes in the sight of me.

"Beautiful," he murmurs, hands stroking up my legs. "So perfect for us."

Dmitri's arms wrap around me from behind, one hand splayed across my stomach, the other cupping my breast. "Relax," he instructs, lips brushing my ear. "Let us take care of you."

And then Zayn is pushing inside me in one smooth thrust, filling me completely. Everything but his knot. The sensation makes me cry out, my body stretching to accommodate him.

"That's it," he praises, holding still to let me adjust. "Taking me so well."

Dmitri's hand moves from my stomach to between my legs, fingers finding my clit with unerring accuracy. "Good girl," he murmurs as I buck against the dual stimulation. "So responsive."

When Zayn starts to move, it's with considerable restraint. Each thrust is measured, hitting spots inside me that have me seeing stars. Dmitri's fingers match his rhythm, circling my clit with just the right pressure.

"Perfect," Zayn groans, his pace increasing slightly. "So tight and warm for me."

Their praise washes over me, heightening every sensation. I'm aware of being thoroughly controlled in this moment, played like an instrument by two virtuosos, but I can't bring myself to care. Not when it feels this incredible and the aim is my pleasure.

And they did ask nicely.

Dmitri shifts slightly behind me, and suddenly his cock is pressing against my lower back, hot and hard. "See what you do to me?" he murmurs, his free hand guiding my hand back to wrap around his length. "How much I want you?"

He's huge, my fingers barely meeting around him. The thought of eventually taking him—taking all of them—inside me, knots and all, sends another pulse of arousal through me.

"I need you," I pant. "In my mouth. Want to taste."

His gaze darkens at the desperation in my voice. Zayn pauses, and I whimper when he pulls out, but he grabs me by the waist, maneuvering me easily.

"Just trust me, beautiful," he murmurs, flipping me onto my hands and knees with ease. He's so much stronger, bigger. And when I find myself face to face with Dmitri's massive cock, I can't complain anymore about the loss.

Dmitri gently guides me toward his crown and I watch his gaze intensify as my lips wrap around the swollen crown. He mutters something in Russian that sounds profane and sultry at once, making my pussy throb.

Zayn is quick to fill me again, this time from behind. My hips buck violently in response, craving being filled again. Everything but the knot.

I moan around Dmitri's crown, barely able to get more than that into my mouth, but not for a lack of trying. The way his hand tightens in my hair and his eyes roll back is proof it's still enough.

"Your mouth is so hot and wet for me," Dmitri pants, his body vibrating with restraint as he resists bucking into me. "So perfect."

"She is," Zayn agrees, thrusting harder. I feel his knot bumping up against my pussy each time he thrusts, and I clench in response, hungry for it. I want it so fucking bad, the only thing keeping me from begging is being unwilling to release Dmitri's shaft from my mouth.

They work me in tandem, one thrusting in while the other thrusts out, until I feel absolutely stuffed with them at both ends. But not enough. Not until they fill me. I want their come, Dmitri's down my throat and Zayn's stuffing my pussy until it dribbles down between my thighs.

I want them to fuck me, take me, fill me until there's no part of me left that they haven't touched or claimed.

"Come for us," Dmitri commands, his voice rumbling through me as his hand strokes my hair, then cradles the back of my head, gently guiding his cock just a bit deeper into my mouth. Enough that my jaw strains, but it's so fucking good, I don't care. I still want more. More of him. More of both of them. "Be a good girl and come."

The permission, the command, the praise—it all combines to push me over the edge. I come with a cry, my body clenching rhythmically around Zayn as waves of my orgasm crash through me. My pussy is so wet, I might as well be an omega in heat, each clench down on them my own way of begging for a knot I can't take yet. But knowing that logically doesn't make me want it any less.

"Fuck," Zayn hisses, his rhythm faltering as he follows me over, hips pressed flush against mine as he empties himself inside me. Dmitri is next, and I swallow down every hot pulse his release sends down over the back of my tongue, still milking him dry until he finally pulls out with a ragged growl of satisfaction.

They both stay there for a moment, and I can imagine they're locked inside me. Knotting me. Filling me. Then, Zayn slowly withdraws, and Dmitri follows, collapsing against the headboard.

I slump against Dmitri, boneless and satisfied. But then I remember the toy and that we're far from finished.

"Rest a moment," he says generously, pressing a kiss to my temple. "Then we continue."

I nod, grateful for the brief reprieve. Zayn disappears briefly, returning with a warm washcloth that he uses to clean between my legs with surprising gentleness.

"You doing alright?" he checks, his usual sharp edges softened in the aftermath. I never imagined this alpha had such tenderness and care in him.

"More than alright," I assure him, smiling lazily.

His answering smile is satisfied, almost smug. "Good. Because we're just getting started."

The statement should intimidate me, but instead, it sends a fresh pulse of want through me. I want everything they have to offer, everything they want to show me.

"Ready for more?" Zayn asks, his voice still husky with desire despite his recent release.

"Yes," I pant, already squirming into position on my back for him. "Please."

"Good girl," he praises, reaching for the box on the nightstand. "So polite, so eager."

I watch as he removes the toy, coating it liberally with lubricant. It's approximately the size of Zayn's cock at its thickest part, with a flared base that mimics a knot.

"We'll go slow," he promises, positioning it at my entrance. "Tell me if it's too much."

Dmitri's hands cup my face, drawing my attention back to him. "Look at me," he instructs gently. "Focus here."

His consideration touches me, giving me something to concentrate on besides the new sensation. I meet his eyes, letting myself fall into that steady gaze as Zayn begins to press the toy inside me.

The stretch is immediate, more than fingers but not uncomfortable. Zayn works it in with careful patience, never pushing too fast.

"Doing so well," he praises as I take more of it. "Taking it like you were made for this."

Dmitri's thumbs stroke my cheeks, his expression intense but encouraging. "She was. Our beautiful scent match."

Their words wash over me, making the stretch easier to bear, turning potential discomfort into pleasure. By the time the widest part of the toy is pressing against my entrance, I'm panting with need rather than pain.

"A little more," Zayn encourages. "Almost there."

I bear down slightly, working with him rather than tensing against the intrusion. The toy slips past the tightest point, the rest following more easily until the flared base is snug against me.

"Look at you," Zayn says, voice thick with approval. "Taking it so perfectly."

I feel impossibly full, stretched in a way that borders between pleasure and discomfort. Then Zayn presses something on the base of the toy, and it inflates slightly inside me, mimicking the swell of a knot.

The sensation makes me gasp, my inner walls clenching around the intrusion. "Oh!"

"Too much?" Dmitri asks immediately, concern flashing across his features.

"No," I assure him quickly. "Just... intense. Good intense."

Relief softens his expression. "Good," he says, thumb brushing my lower lip. "Very good."

Zayn adjusts something else, and the toy begins to vibrate gently, the sensation radiating through my entire core. I moan, eyes falling closed as pleasure washes through me.

"That's it," Zayn encourages, his hand moving to stroke along my spine. "Feel it all."

Dmitri lets me slip down his lap, so his partially stiff cock is within reach, and guides me back. I eagerly take it back into my mouth, grateful for the distraction from the overwhelming sensations below. The dual stimulation—the vibrating fullness inside me, the heavy weight of his cock against my lips as I suckle the tip at a more casual pace—pushes me toward a precipice I didn't know existed.

"Perfect," Dmitri praises, his accent thicker as his control slips. "So good with your mouth, lyubimaya."

I don't know what the word means, but the tone is unmistakable. Approval, praise, and desire at the same time. It spurs me on, makes me take him deeper, work him harder.

Zayn's hands are on my hips now, guiding me to rock back against the toy, increasing the pressure, the friction. "That's it," he encourages. "Work yourself on it, show us how much you like it."

I comply eagerly, finding a rhythm that has me moaning around Dmitri's length. The vibrations inside me increase in intensity, pushing me closer to the edge with each movement.

"Are you going to come like this?" Zayn asks, his voice rough with arousal. "With your pussy and your mouth stuffed so full? Show us, good girl. Show us how perfectly you take it all."

His words, the praise, the multiple sensations, it's too much. I come with a muffled cry, my body spasming around the toy as waves of pleasure crash through me. Dmitri's hand tightens in my hair, holding me steady as I ride out the intensity of the whole ordeal.

"Beautiful," he murmurs, watching me fall apart.

As I come down from the high, trembling and oversensitive, Dmitri gently pulls me off him. I make a sound of protest, since I wanted to finish him again, but he shushes me with a tender kiss.

"Is okay," he assures me. "We have time. No rush. Don't want to overwhelm you."

Zayn carefully deactivates the toy, the vibrations ceasing, leaving me with just the fullness of the artificial knot. It's not fully inflated, but if I'm going to take the real thing, I need practice with it coming out, too. It's about as deflated as a real knot would be. "I'm going to take it out now, beautiful," he says, his touch gentle on my hip. "Relax for me."

I try to comply, focusing on releasing my coiled muscles as he slowly, carefully withdraws the toy. It catches on my rim, but pops out just on the verge of causing pain. The emptiness that follows is almost disappointing, my body already missing the fullness.

"How do you feel?" Zayn asks, setting the toy aside and stretching out beside me.

"Like I was just spit roasted between two tree trunks," I admit, my voice rough from exertion.

Dmitri chuckles, the sound vibrating through his chest where my head now rests. "Our little designer is a poet, too. So descriptive."

"Hush, you," I mumble, too blissed out to manage a better comeback. "Words are hard right now."

"You did beautifully," Zayn says, squeezing my hip in approval. "Took it like you were made for it."

"Does that mean... next time...?" I let the question hang, not quite able to articulate what I'm asking.

"One step at a time," Dmitri says firmly, pressing a kiss to the side of my head. "This was first step. There will probably be a few more before we can actually pop a knot in you without it hurting too much."

"But you're on the right track," Zayn assures me, his usual acerbic nature tempered with genuine warmth. I can't believe this side of him exists. I certainly never expected he'd be a praise dom in the bedroom. "If you keep taking instruction so well, being such a good girl for us, you'll be ready before you know it."

The praise sends one last shiver of pleasure through me, even as exhaustion starts to pull at my consciousness. "I like it when you say that," I admit quietly, the post-orgasmic haze making me braver than I might otherwise be.

"Say what?" Zayn asks, though the knowing glint in his eye suggests he already knows.

"When you call me your good girl," I clarify, feeling my cheeks heat. "I like... being told I'm doing well."

"Praise kink," Zayn identifies immediately, looking pleased with the discovery. He gives me an absolutely devastating wink. "Interesting."

"Very," Dmitri agrees, his large hand stroking soothingly along my spine. "We'll remember."

I should probably be embarrassed by how quickly they've categorized this newly discovered aspect of my sexuality, but I'm too content, too worn out to care. Instead, I let myself sink into their combined warmth, sandwiched between two very different men who, somehow, both make me feel equally safe.

"Rest," Dmitri murmurs, pulling a light blanket over us. "Dinner won't be ready for while yet, judging by all the clanging pots going on out there."

I hadn't even noticed, but alphas definitely have more sensitive hearing.

"Mmm," I manage, already drifting. "Wake me for food?"

"Promise," Zayn assures me, pressing a surprisingly gentle kiss to my shoulder. "Can't have our good girl going hungry, can we?"

I smile, letting their continued praise wash over me as I slip toward sleep, thoroughly satisfied and looking forward to whatever comes next.

Chapter

Thirty

LEXIE

Candles flicker across the expansive dining table, illuminating the mouthwatering feast laid out in front of us. The rich aroma of perfectly seasoned roast lamb mingles with garlic, rosemary, and a sweet fragrance I've never smelled before. My stomach growls embarrassingly loud, reminding me that despite all the physical activity, I haven't had a proper meal since breakfast, even if Aidan has been supplying me with plenty of tasty snacks.

"I can't wait for you to try this recipe," Aidan says with a grin, pulling out my chair. His hand brushes my shoulder, a casual touch that somehow manages to feel both soothing and possessive. "Good thing we made enough to feed a small army because I'm starving."

"You and me both," I tell him.

If there was any doubt Aidan's love language is food, it's gone now.

I sink into the offered seat, wincing slightly as certain well-used muscles protest. The pleasant ache between my thighs serves as a vivid reminder of everything we've done this weekend. All five of them. In various combinations. My body feels simultaneously exhausted and more alive than ever.

"Everything okay?" Darren asks, noticing my slight grimace as he takes the seat beside me. His scent, as subtle as it is on the suppressants, is always calming.

"Just a little sore," I admit, feeling my cheeks heat. "In a good way."

Zayn chuckles from across the table. "I'll take that as a compliment."

"As you should," I quip back, finding my confidence. It's strange how comfortable I've become with them all in such a short time. With five different men. A pack. My pack? The thought sends a flutter through my chest that I'm not quite ready to unpack.

Jax enters from the kitchen carrying a bottle of wine in each hand, Dmitri following with another behind him. "We couldn't decide," Jax explains, setting the bottles on the table. "So options it is."

"This is... a lot," I say, taking in the spread before us. Roast lamb, golden-brown potatoes, three different vegetable sides, fresh bread, and what looks like homemade cranberry sauce. "You didn't have to go to all this trouble."

"It's no trouble," Jax says, smirking proudly. "After everything that happened earlier, you need proper fuel."

"Besides," Aidan adds, "we like taking care of you."

The words fluster me automatically.

When was the last time I was with one person who actually enjoyed looking out for me and treating me like I'm special, let alone five of them?

"We should probably discuss things," Jax says carefully, looking around at the others at the table. "If you're up for it."

A weighted silence falls over the table. Five pairs of eyes focus on me with varying degrees of intensity.

"Things?" I ask with a laugh that sounds nervous despite my best attempts. Maybe I've been reading this whole situation wrong.

"You're special to us," Aidan says earnestly. "All of us."

I look around at them, these five impossibly beautiful men who have somehow decided I'm worthy of their collective attention. It's overwhelming, but not in a bad way.

Not at all.

"You're all special to me, too," I admit honestly. "But I'm still processing. This wasn't exactly how I expected my weekend to go when I signed up for that dating app."

Darren laughs, the sound warm and genuine. "Yeah, well, I didn't expect to present as an omega at twenty-seven either. Life's full of surprises."

I give him a smile and squeeze his hand. "It definitely is."

"What we're trying to say," Jax begins, pouring a rich, ruby-red wine into my glass, "is that we'd like this to continue. Beyond just this weekend."

The wine catches the candlelight as it swirls in my glass. I take a sip to steady myself, the flavor grounding and smooth on my tongue.

"Continue," I repeat carefully, looking around the table. "You mean... all of us?"

"That's exactly what we mean," Zayn says, direct as always.

My heart hammers against my ribs. I set down my wine glass to hide the trembling of my fingers.

"We understand it's a lot," Darren adds quickly, his hand finding mine under the table. His touch is warm, reassuring. "No pressure. No timeline."

"We can give you all the time you need," Dmitri agrees, his deep voice resonating across the table. "Take things as slow as you need."

I look at each of them in turn, trying to process what they're offering. What they're asking.

Five incredible men. And they all want me. Not just for a weekend fling, but for something more ongoing. Something real.

"I don't know what to say," I admit, my voice softer than intended.

"Take all the time you need," Jax assures me, his gray eyes sincere. "We're not going anywhere."

"Unless there's a road game," Aidan interjects with a grin, breaking the tension. "But even then, we always come back."

I can't help the laugh that bubbles up. "Good to know."

I take another sip of wine, using the moment to gather my thoughts. Am I interested in continuing this? My body's emphatic response throughout the day suggests an obvious answer. And the fact that I'm apparently their scent match adds a whole other layer of rightness.

But also even more potential for this to crush me like nothing ever has before if it all goes wrong.

I think about the conversations we've shared. The intimacy. And as terrified as I am of letting these men in even more than I have already, I'm more terrified of losing this. Of not seeing where it leads.

"I'd like that," I say finally, surprising myself with the steadiness in my voice. "To continue this. To see where it goes."

The change in the atmosphere is immediate, like a collective exhale of relief. Aidan's face splits into a wide grin. The others are smoother, but I can tell they're excited. And Darren... Darren squeezes my hand so tightly I can feel his pulse hammering through his palm.

"We were hoping you'd say that," Jax says, his voice rough with emotion.

"Though we would have respected whatever decision you made," Dmitri adds solemnly.

"Respected while obsessively trying to change your mind," Zayn adds.

I can't help but laugh. "I appreciate the honesty."

"To honesty," Jax says, raising his glass with a faint smile on his lips. "And to the most beautiful woman any of us has laid eyes on giving us a second chance we definitely didn't deserve."

"Technically, it's a third," I tease, but I raise my glass in salute.

We all take a drink, letting the realization of what we just figured out settle in.

"So," I say, setting down my glass and reaching for the platter of roast lamb, suddenly ravenous, "how would this work, exactly? Practically speaking."

"However you want it to," Jax answers smoothly. "There's no rulebook for this."

"Though there are some logistics to figure out," Aidan adds, passing me the potatoes. "Like schedules and stuff."

"Hockey season means we're on the road a lot," Darren explains, taking a generous portion of vegetables after putting some on my plate. I'm not used to other people feeding me. Making sure I have what I need first without having to ask, but it seems to come intuitively to them, and it feels… nice. "Home games are easier, but away games can mean three or four days away sometimes."

"So you'll have space from us if you need it," Zayn says dryly. "Or…"

"Or?" I ask, tilting my head.

"Or you could come with us when you want," he says with a shrug. "The tour bus is nice. We'd make sure you have your own space. Clear some of Darren's shit out of the extra room."

"You make it sound like I'm a packrat or something," Darren grumbles, stabbing his meat with his fork.

"Or something," Aidan says with a snort, getting a piece of bread lobbed at his head.

The idea of going on the road with them is at once overwhelming and exciting. Five men and one me in one small space.

But… the opportunity to get to know them better when they're out on the road under high-pressure situations isn't the worst idea. And I have to admit, I'm already starting to miss them just thinking about them being gone.

"I'd be willing to try that," I say, deciding to take it slow. "It sounds fun."

Their faces all brighten, even though I can tell they're trying not to spook me too much. It's kind of endearing.

"When we're home, we should probably have some one-on-one time," Dmitri reasons. "So you can get to know us as individuals, too. Zayn might not hold up well under scrutiny."

"Oh, fuck off," Zayn grumbles at his deadpan joke.

I can't help but chuckle.

"Like dating," I say, reframing it in more familiar terms. "Just... with five of you instead of one."

"Exactly," Aidan agrees enthusiastically. "Five times the date options!"

"Five times the scheduling nightmares," Zayn counters dryly.

"We'll make it work," Dmitri says with confidence.

I take my first bite of the lamb and have to stifle a moan. It's perfectly cooked, tender and flavorful, with herbs and spices that complement rather than overwhelm.

"This is amazing," I tell Jax and Aidan, who exchange pleased glances.

"Wait till you try the potatoes," Aidan urges. "Secret recipe."

I comply, sampling the golden-brown potatoes that somehow manage to be crispy on the outside and creamy within. "Oh my god," I manage around the bite. "If hockey doesn't work out, you could definitely open a restaurant."

"I've been telling him that for a while" Darren says, nudging Aidan with his elbow. "The rookie's got skills beyond the crease."

The conversation flows easily after that, shifting to lighter topics. They tell me stories about road trips and team pranks. I share anecdotes about particularly demanding customers and my sister's attempts to set me up on blind dates.

"So your sister," Aidan says, reaching for seconds, "what is she going to think about this arrangement?"

I consider the question seriously. Jessica has always been supportive, but this isn't exactly a conventional situation.

"She'll probably be surprised," I admit. "But she already knows I'm seeing Darren, and she met all of you after the game. She already likes you."

"I guess the VIP box worked its charm," Zayn says with a grin.

"It definitely did on her husband, Luke," I say with a laugh. "He's the hockey fanatic."

"The important thing," Jax interjects, "is that we want to be respectful of your existing relationships. Family, friends. This arrangement doesn't have to be public yet if that makes you uncomfortable. If it adds too much pressure."

I appreciate the consideration, but I find myself shaking my head. "I'm not ashamed of this," I say firmly. "Sure, it's unconventional, but I don't want to hide you guys away like some dirty secret."

"Good," Dmitri says simply. "No hiding."

Those simple words settle anxiety within me I didn't even know I was holding onto.

These men aren't hiding anything, from each other or from me. They just want to move forward, exploring this connection we all feel, with all the cards on the table. It's new. Refreshing.

And I desperately hope I'm not setting myself up for another disappointment.

Chapter

Thirty-One

LEXIE

Iunlock the door to my apartment, struggling with the key as I juggle my laptop bag, coffee, and a stack of mail. Three days back in the real world after my weekend with the pack, and I'm still finding it hard to focus on mundane tasks. My mind keeps drifting back to candlelit dinners, laughter-filled conversations, and five pairs of hands learning every inch of my body.

Focus, Lexie.

My living room, already crowded with inventory and shipping supplies, now resembles a high-end flower shop. Bouquets of every size and description occupy every available surface. Roses in deep crimson and pale pink, exotic orchids in vibrant purples, sunflowers the size of dinner plates, and lilies giving off a scent so strong I can taste it.

I set my things down on the only clear spot left on my coffee table and pick up a card from the nearest arrangement I brought in earlier since I didn't have time to glance at it after bringing it in. It's a stunning collection of deep, dark blue hydrangeas and white roses.

Lexie, these reminded me of your eyes when you laugh. See you Friday. —Jax

My eyes? They're brown, not blue.

But then I remember how he looked at me in his bedroom when it was just the two of us, his fingers gently memorizing my skin as we talked about nothing and everything. "They change color," he'd murmured. "Brown with flecks of amber in the sun, almost like the night sky in certain light."

He noticed that. Remembered it.

I move to the next arrangement, a wild, untamed collection of native wildflowers that somehow looks both chaotic and perfectly composed.

Can't wait to see you again soon, wild thing. —Z

A smile tugs at my lips. Of course Zayn would send something unconventional.

The doorbell rings, startling me out of my thoughts. Must be Jessica. We'd planned to spend the afternoon packing orders and catching up. I navigate the botanical obstacle course to reach the door.

Instead of my sister, I find a delivery man holding yet another arrangement, this one a massive basket of cookies, chocolates, and other artisan sweets, even though I haven't even made it a quarter of the way through the homemade ones Aidan sent over.

"Delivery for Lexie Goodwin?" he says, already looking tired. "Where do you want it?"

I glance behind me at my apartment, already bursting with flowers. "Honestly? Anywhere at this point."

He gives me a sympathetic look. "Anniversary?"

"No," I say, taking the enormous basket. "It's... complicated."

"Must be," he mutters, handing me a clipboard to sign. "This is my third trip here today."

I manage to find space for the new arrival on my dining table, displacing a stack of sweaters that now join their brethren on the floor. The card reads:

I'm a hazard in the kitchen, but I didn't want Aidan to be the only one sending you sweets. Can't wait to taste you again. —Dmitri

My face warms up. Definitely glad the delivery guy didn't see the note.

I hope.

Before I can process this, my phone chimes with a text from Jessica.

JESSICA: Running 10 min late. Adam ate a crayon. Be there soon!

I text back a quick acknowledgment, then take another bewildered look around my apartment. Nearly ever surface is covered in gifts from the pack. Little signs throughout the week that they're thinking of me.

I can't help but have a flashback to my last anniversary with Mark. I'd been searching months for his gift. A vintage camera he'd been lusting after for years, but could never find. When I finally saw one come up on one of the thrift shop sites I had constantly loaded in my browser tabs, I drove an hour just to get it only to come back and hear him talking shit about me to his best friend.

"Wait, I thought you guys were getting married," Paul had said as I quietly shut the door, having seen the car in the driveway and not wanting to interrupt.

His words stopped me in my tracks, though, and Mark's reply? It gutted me.

"We were, it's just… you know how it is," he'd said in that dismissive, slightly slurred voice that made it clear he'd had a few too many already. Just enough to loosen his tongue so the truth could dance off it. "She's just a beta. She's so… boring."

Paul's laugh was awkward. Nervous. "But you're a beta…"

"Yeah, but I want a pack. She doesn't," Mark had argued, as if he'd had this conversation a thousand times before in his head. "She refuses. Honestly, it's pathetic she thinks she'd ever be enough for me. For anyone."

"Damn, man, that's kind of harsh," Paul had said while my world was falling apart, pieces of me drifting into space. A part of me was convinced I was dreaming.

"Yeah, well, it's the truth," was Mark's callous response. "Besides, omegas are so much better in bed. So naturally submissive. That's not something she could ever give me."

And just like that, the final pieces of a heart holding together with glue shattered all over again. I wished I could say I left that night, but I didn't. Maybe a part of me didn't want to believe it. A part of me was grasping at straws, hoping maybe Mark was just drunk, talking shit he didn't mean to impress his friend.

As if that would make it better.

Finding him in bed with the omega who was so much better than I was, according to him, brought me down to reality. It was a crushing blow, but at least there was no longer any doubt.

The ache in my chest isn't as intense as it used to be as my focus comes back to the present and I find myself wondering if it has something to do with the pack that's surrounded me with physical reminders of their intentions, even when we're apart.

And there, half-hidden behind a particularly exuberant arrangement of lilies, is a stuffed animal. Not just any stuffed animal, but a bear wearing a tiny Grizzlies jersey with Darren's number on it. I pick it up, noticing the card tucked under its arm.

Something to cuddle you until I can. Miss you. —D

"Miss you too," I whisper to the empty apartment, hugging the bear against my chest.

This is ridiculous. It's been three days. Three days since I left their mansion with promises to see them soon, with the taste of them still on my lips and the ache of their touch still in my muscles. Three days of near-constant texts, calls, and floral invasions.

I should be overwhelmed. Smothered. Running for the hills.

Instead, I'm fighting a giddy smile as I arrange the bear on my couch with the throw pillows, making sure it has a good view of the apartment.

The doorbell rings again, and this time it is Jessica, her eyes widening comically as she steps inside.

"Holy shit," she says, spinning in a slow circle. "Did a florist's shop throw up in here? And a bakery?"

"Pretty much," I admit, moving a vase of tulips so she can set down her purse. "This is what happens when you're being courted by five different men, each with his own idea of romance."

"Courted," she repeats, a grin spreading across her face. "Listen to you, Miss Jane Austen."

"Shut up," I say affectionately. "Help me find space for these shipping boxes before I drown in pollen."

Jessica picks her way through the floral labyrinth, examining the offerings with undisguised curiosity. She pauses at a particularly elaborate arrangement of exotic orchids. "Well, they all have good ideas, I'll give them that." She peers at the card. "Who's 'Z'?"

"Zayn," I explain, clearing a space on the dining table. "The one with the dark eyes who looks like he could either seduce you or murder you, and you'd thank him either way."

She snorts. "That tracks." Her eyes fall on the bakery box. "Please tell me those are edible and not some weird flower-shaped pastry thing."

"Very edible," I confirm. "Aidan baked them himself. The goalie."

"The cute one with the freckles?" She's already opening the box, eyeing the contents with naked desire. "Damn, girl. He can bake too?"

"You have no idea," I say, remembering his cinnamon rolls, still warm from the oven. "Help yourself. I'm going to need a bigger apartment at this rate."

"I volunteer as tribute to help eat the food," Jessica says solemnly, already biting into a chocolate croissant. "Oh my god," she moans, eyes closing in bliss. "I think I just had a tiny orgasm."

"Seems to be going around," I mutter, feeling heat rise to my cheeks.

Jessica's eyes snap open, zeroing in on me with laser focus. "Alexandra Marie Goodwin," she says, using my full name like she always does when she's about to interrogate me. "You have not told me nearly enough about last weekend."

I busy myself with the shipping labels, avoiding her gaze. "We had a nice time. They're very... attentive."

"Attentive," she repeats flatly. "That's the word you're going with? Because I seem to recall you saying you couldn't go out to coffee Monday because you couldn't walk, and we both know why that is."

I can't help the laugh that bursts out of me. "You're terrible."

"I'm right," she counters, taking another bite of pastry. "So, what's next? When are you seeing them again?"

I sit down on the couch, moving aside a vase of daisies to make room. "Friday night I'm going to their place for the weekend. But I'm also going on individual dates with each of them over the next couple of weeks."

Jessica raises an eyebrow. "Getting to know them one-on-one? Smart."

"That's the idea," I agree. "They're all so different. I want to understand who they are individually, not just as a pack."

"And when's the next big hockey trip?" she asks, reaching for another pastry. "Luke mentioned something about Vancouver?"

"Two weeks away," I confirm, feeling a flutter of nervous excitement in my stomach. "They've invited me to go with them. I think I'm ready. I want to get to know them better, see what they're like in their professional environment."

"You'll be a busy girl," Jessica observes, her expression a mix of amusement and concern. "Five men, a business to run, road trips... you sure you can handle all that?"

"I'm already in talks to hire someone to help with the business," I admit. "I can definitely afford it, now that sales are booming. A part-time assistant to handle shipping and customer service. I've been needing to do it for a while anyway. Just a matter of finding a decent place that's actually available in this market."

"Look at you, expanding the empire," Jessica says, pride evident in her voice. "Mom and Dad are going to flip when they find out about..." she waves her hand to encompass the flower-filled apartment, "all of this."

I groan, dropping my head into my hands. "I haven't even thought about how to explain this to them."

"Just introduce them one at a time," Jessica suggests, grinning. I'm not surprised she's taking this all in stride. "Start with Darren, then maybe six months later, 'Oh, by the way, I'm also dating his entire pack now.' It'll be the scandal of the HOA."

"You're not helping," I mutter, but I'm smiling despite myself.

My phone chimes with a new text. I glance at the screen to see Zayn's name.

ZAYN: Did you get the flowers?

Jessica peers over my shoulder. "Is that one of your boy toys?"

"They're not boy toys," I protest, but I can feel the blush spreading across my cheeks. "And yes, it's Zayn."

I snap a quick picture of my flower-filled living room and send it to him.

LEXIE: Yes, and then some. I barely have room for sweaters anymore.

ZAYN: Oops. Well, our next present might fix that. Can you meet us tomorrow morning downtown?

I stare at the message, equal parts intrigued and wary. "What are they doing now?" I mutter.

"What's up?" Jessica asks, peering at my phone again.

"They want me to meet them downtown tomorrow morning," I explain. "Apparently they have another present that might 'fix' my space issues."

Jessica's eyes widen. "Holy shit, are they buying you a bigger apartment?"

"What? No," I say automatically, but then hesitate. They wouldn't do that, would they? "No," I repeat more firmly. "That would be insane."

"You're dating five professional hockey players who are all obsessed with you," Jessica points out. "I think we left 'sane' behind a while ago."

She has a point.

I text him back.

LEXIE: What are you up to? But yes, I can meet you. Where and when?

ZAYN: 10 AM. I'll text you the address tomorrow.

I notice he doesn't respond to my other question. He's definitely up to something.

"Maybe they're taking you shopping for storage boxes," Jessica suggests, glancing around at my crowded apartment. "Not very romantic, but you could use it."

I laugh. "Guess I'll find out tomorrow."

Chapter

Thirty-Two

LEXIE

Icheck the address on my phone again, confirming it matches the building in front of me. It's a sleek, modern structure in the heart of downtown, all glass and steel with a stylish lobby. Not the type of place I'd normally have any business being in.

Especially not at 10 AM on a weekday, when I should be packing orders.

Is this where the pack's next extravagant gift is waiting? After flowers and pastries and who knows what else, I'm almost afraid to find out what they've come up with now.

I push through the revolving door into a lobby with polished marble floors and a security desk. The guard looks up as I approach.

"I'm here to meet someone," I say, suddenly feeling underdressed in my jeans and sweater. "Third floor, Suite 317? The name should be under Lawson or McKinney."

The guard checks his screen, nodding. "Yes, Ms. Goodwin? They're expecting you. Elevators are to your right."

So they've been here awhile already. My curiosity deepens as I ride up to the third floor. The elevator doors open to a hallway lined with office doors, sleek nameplates beside each one. I follow the numbers until I reach 317.

There's no nameplate yet, just the suite number on a frosted glass door. I take a deep breath, knock once, and push it open when I hear Jax's voice call, "Come in!"

I step inside and freeze, taking in the scene. It's a large, open space with high ceilings and windows that flood the room with natural light. The walls are a soft cream color, and the hardwood floors gleam under the sunlight. There's a desk pushed against one wall, a couple of clothing racks in the corner, and what looks like a photography setup near the windows.

And there are five hockey players standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, all looking strangely nervous.

"Surprise?" Aidan says, his voice lifting into a question at the end, his hands fidgeting at his sides.

Taking everything in, I try to make sense of what I'm seeing. "Oh, it's... an empty office?"

The men look at one another, and I realize I've missed something.

"Not exactly empty," Darren explains, stepping forward. "We brought in some basic furniture, but we figured you'd want to set the rest up yourself."

"Set it up?" I repeat, still confused.

"Your office," Jax clarifies, his usual confidence slightly tempered with what appears to be genuine nervousness. "Or studio, I guess would be more accurate. For your business."

My business? I stare at them, looking from one face to another, waiting for the punchline.

"If you'll accept it," Dmitri adds, his hands clasped behind his back.

The silence stretches as my brain tries to catch up. "Wait, are you serious? This is... for me?"

Zayn shrugs, aiming for casual but not quite hitting it. "Your apartment was overflowing, partly because of us. Seemed logical."

Walking further into the space, I turn in a slow circle to take it all in. Now I notice other details. A large cutting table against the far wall, industrial clothing racks, a professional steamer, and even a small photography setup for product shots. They've considered everything.

"This is..." I trail off, genuinely speechless. "I can't accept this. It's too much."

"Why not?" Aidan asks, looking like a hurt puppy.

"Because this place must cost a fortune," I explain, gesturing at the sleek space around us. "Downtown real estate like this? There's no way my business can afford something like this. Not yet, anyway."

The five of them exchange glances, a silent communication passing between them.

"Actually," Jax says, stepping forward, "we wanted to give it to you. As a gift."

My eyes widen. "A gift? You can't be serious."

"We are," Darren insists. "We wanted to do this for you."

"You've mentioned how crowded your apartment has become," Dmitri adds. "How difficult it is to work efficiently in such a small space."

"And we might have contributed to that problem," Zayn says with a pointed glance at Aidan, "with all the flowers. And baked goods."

I shake my head, overwhelmed by their generosity but knowing I can't possibly accept something so extravagant. "I appreciate the thought, really, I do, but I can't let you just... buy me an office space. That's way too much."

"We figured you might say that," Jax says with a knowing smile. "So we made sure the lease terms were reasonable."

"Extremely reasonable," Aidan adds eagerly. "Like, suspiciously reasonable."

"We got a great deal through some connections," Jax continues, shooting Aidan a look. "The building owner is a hockey fan. We used that to our advantage."

"Seriously?" I ask, still stunned. "So I could just take over the lease?"

"That was our backup plan," Darren explains, watching me carefully. "We wanted to give it to you outright, but we knew you might be uncomfortable accepting something like that at this stage."

"The lease is month-to-month," Jax explains, "so there's no long-term commitment if it doesn't work out. And the rate is locked in for three years."

My hand runs along the edge of the cutting table as I consider their offer. The space is stunning, exactly what I would have picked if money were no object. Tall ceilings for displaying hanging pieces. Natural light for photography. Enough room to actually move around while working instead of climbing over inventory in my apartment.

"And it's only a few blocks from the arena," Darren points out. "So when we have home games..."

He doesn't finish the thought, but I get it. I could see them more easily. Drop by practices. Be part of their world while still having my own professional space. Even more than the thoughtfulness of this space, the fact that they want to see me is what touches me the most.

"Can I look around?" I ask, still stunned.

"It's your space," Jax says simply, grinning. "If you want it."

Starting to explore in earnest, I imagine how I would use each area. The main workspace with the cutting table. A small photography corner for product shots. A shipping station with proper shelving instead of stacks on my dining table. There's even a tiny kitchenette and a bathroom with a shower, practical for long workdays.

"This is kind of incredible," I murmur, running my fingers along a windowsill. "There are never spaces available in this area. I've searched before."

"Like Jax said, we pulled some strings," Zayn admits, watching me with those intense dark eyes.

Every detail has been considered. Made as risk-free as possible. A gift that's both extravagant and practical at the same time.

"I don't know what to say," I admit, turning to face them all. Five men still standing awkwardly in the center of the room, looking so hopeful it makes my chest ache.

Aidan shifts his weight, looking like he might explode if I don't give an answer soon. "Do you like it? I know it's a lot, but we all pitched in ideas. Zayn found the space, and Jax handled the lease negotiation, and Dmitri picked the cutting table because he said it had to be the right height so it wouldn't hurt your back, and I just thought⁠—"

"It's the most thoughtful gift anyone has ever given me," I cut in, stopping his adorable rambling. My voice catches on the words, emotion tightening my throat. "I love it."

The collective relief that washes over their faces is almost comical. Aidan's shoulders drop, his stiffness visibly melting away. They all look like I've just given them a gift.

"You deserve a lot more than that," Darren says, closing the distance between us to take my hands in his.

"Why are you all so nervous?" I ask, squeezing his hands. "Did you think I wouldn't like it?"

The men exchange quick looks again.

"We weren't sure if you'd think it was too much," Jax admits. "Too presumptuous."

"Or that we were trying to control your business," Aidan adds.

"Or that you'd refuse the gift outright and also hate the lease idea," Zayn says.

Surveying the space again—my space—a swell of gratitude washes over me. It’s so intense, it's almost overwhelming. They didn't just buy me something expensive. They created a solution to a real problem in my life, one that supports my independence rather than diminishing it.

"It is too much," I say finally, wiping at a traitorous tear that escapes down my cheek. "But it's incredible. And I appreciate that you understood I might not be comfortable with a gift this expensive. The lease is perfect."

Aidan looks alarmed at my tears. "Are those happy tears or sad tears? I can never tell the difference."

"Happy," I assure him with a watery laugh. "Definitely happy."

"Would now be a good time to show her the storage room?" Dmitri asks, nodding toward a door I hadn't noticed yet.

Jax nods, his smile growing. "I think she's ready."

"There's more?" I ask, unable to imagine what else they could have possibly thought of.

Darren leads me to the door, his hand warm against the small of my back. "Just a small addition."

The "storage room" turns out to be a generous secondary space, already fitted with industrial shelving units perfect for inventory organization. But what catches my breath is the far corner. They've set up a cozy sitting area with a comfortable couch, a small coffee table, and a mini-fridge.

"For when you're working late," Jax explains. "Or when you want any of us to visit without distracting you from your work."

"Though we make no promises about the distraction part," Zayn adds with a smirk.

I'm speechless. It's not just a workspace. It's a haven. Somewhere I can build my business, create my designs, and still have moments of connection with them. The perfect balance of independence and togetherness.

"How did you know?" I ask, turning to face them all. "How did you know exactly what I needed?"

"We pay attention," Dmitri says simply.

"We've seen how hard you work," Darren adds. "How your apartment has become overrun with inventory. And, uh, our gifts. Sorry about that."

"So we did something about it," Zayn concludes with a shrug, as if it's the most natural thing in the world.

Maybe to them, it is. This is how they operate, five different men with five different approaches, all working together toward a common goal. In hockey, it's winning games. With me, it's making sure I have what I need to thrive.

Moving around the storage room, my fingers run along the shelving units, imagining them filled with neatly organized inventory. No more stacks of sweaters threatening to topple over. No more shipping supplies cluttering every surface. Space to breathe. Space to create.

"When can I move in?" I ask, turning back to them with a smile I can't contain.

"Today, if you want," Jax says. "The lease started yesterday."

"We can help you move your inventory," Dmitri offers. "We have a team day off tomorrow."

"And I can set up your computer and equipment," Aidan adds enthusiastically. "I'm good with tech stuff."

Looking at these five extraordinary, thoughtful, overwhelming men, something clicks into place inside me. An emotion that feels a lot like belonging.

"Thank you," I say again, the words inadequate for the emotions swirling inside me. "Not just for the space, but for... seeing me. For understanding what I need."

"Always," Darren says softly, and I can see in his eyes that he means it.

I cross the room to him, wrapping my arms around his waist and pressing my face against his chest. His arms come around me automatically, solid and secure. One by one, the others join us, until I'm surrounded in a group embrace that should feel claustrophobic but instead feels like the safest place I've ever been.

As we stand there, tangled together in the morning light of my new studio, I realize something that should terrify me but somehow doesn't.

I'm falling for them. All of them, in different ways, for different reasons.

And for once, I'm not afraid.

Chapter

Thirty-Three

DARREN

Ican't stop grinning like an idiot as I watch Lexie organize her travel bag on our driveway. Even the dark clouds threatening rain can't dampen my mood. Two weeks since we gave her the studio, and she's already different. More confident, more relaxed, more comfortable around all of us.

"Stop staring at the pretty lady and help me with this," Zayn demands, elbowing me as he struggles with one of Lexie's larger suitcases.

"I'm supervising," I tell him, but I grab the handle anyway, easily lifting the bag.

The tour bus idles in our driveway, massive and gleaming black with the Grizzlies logo emblazoned on the side. Lexie keeps sneaking glances at it, a mix of excitement and nervousness on her face.

"First road trip as a proper hockey girlfriend," I say, bumping her shoulder gently with mine. "Nervous?"

She rolls her eyes, but I catch the slight upturn of her lips. "I'm not nervous. I'm just wondering if I brought enough yarn."

"Yarn?"

"For knitting," she explains, patting her carry-on. "Long trips are perfect for getting work done. Plus, it keeps my hands busy."

"I can think of other ways to keep your hands busy," I murmur, low enough that only she can hear.

The blush that spreads across her cheeks is deeply satisfying. Two weeks of solo dates, each of us taking our turn, has only intensified the connection between all of us. I've learned that Lexie's blush starts at her cheeks and spreads down her neck to her chest in a wave that makes me want to follow it with my tongue.

"Behave," she whispers back, but her eyes sparkle. "We're in public."

"Our driveway is hardly public," I counter, but I keep my hands to myself as Jason, our driver, approaches to help with the luggage.

"Morning, Malloy," he says, nodding respectfully. He turns to Lexie with a smile. "And you must be Ms. Goodwin. The boys haven't stopped talking about you."

"Just Lexie, please," she says, extending her hand. "And all good things, I hope?"

Jones laughs. "Nothing but praise, ma'am. Let me get these bags stowed for you."

As Jason loads Lexie's luggage underneath the bus, the rest of the pack emerges from the house with their own gear. Road trips are old hat for us; we've got the packing routine down to a science. Jax carries only a single duffel and his captain's folio. Dmitri has his standard black suitcase and a small bag of books. Aidan, still in the overpacking phase of his career, struggles with two large bags and what appears to be his own pillow. Zayn, of course, has the most luggage of all, since looking runway-ready on the road is apparently a non-negotiable for him.

"Ready for your first time with the circus?" Jax asks Lexie, gesturing toward our collection of bags. "We're not exactly light travelers."

"Says the minimalist," Zayn retorts, pointing at Jax's single bag. "Some of us have standards."

"Some of us have steamer trunks, apparently," I add, eyeing the mountain of luggage that definitely belongs to Zayn. Suppressants might dull my omega senses, but I'd recognize the faint leather scent clinging to his bags anywhere.

Lexie laughs, and the sound sends a pleasant pulse through me. "I think I'm somewhere in the middle of the spectrum. Not quite 'one pair of underwear per day of travel' level, but definitely not bringing my entire closet."

"Rookie mistake," Zayn says seriously. "What if there's a sudden formal event? Or unexpected weather? Or⁠—"

"Or a spontaneous fashion show?" Aidan interjects, rolling his eyes as he hands his bags to Jones. "We're going to Vancouver for four days, not moving there."

The usual bickering continues as we finish loading the bus. Lexie watches with a bemused expression, taking in this new facet of pack dynamics. It's one thing to see us at home or on dates, another to witness the well-worn routines of a team that spends half their lives on the road together.

Once everything's stowed, I take Lexie's hand and guide her up the steps. "Ready for the grand tour?"

Her eyes widen as she takes in the interior. Our team bus is hardly standard. It’s more like a luxury RV designed specifically for a professional hockey team. The front section has comfortable captain's chairs arranged in pairs with a center aisle. Behind that is a small kitchenette and dining area, and the rear third houses sleeping quarters and a bathroom.

"This is... not what I was expecting," Lexie admits, running her fingers along the polished wooden table in the dining area. "I thought it would be more like a school bus with better seats."

I can't help but laugh. "The team believes in traveling comfortably. Makes recovery between games easier."

"And keeps the peace when you're stuffing a bunch of competitive alphas in a metal tube for hours," Jax adds, coming up behind us. He drops his duffel in one of the sleeping compartments before joining us. "The extra space prevents murders."

"He's only mostly joking," I stage-whisper to Lexie. "You should have seen what happened when Aidan accidentally used Zayn's hair product on our Detroit trip."

Aidan groans from where he's stowing his pillow. "Are we still talking about that? It was an honest mistake!"

"It was a crime against humanity," Zayn corrects, brushing past us to claim his favorite seat. "My hair looked flat for an entire day. People noticed."

"No one noticed," Dmitri rumbles, settling into a chair near the front with a book already in hand.

"The hockey blogs mentioned it!"

Lexie's eyes dart between them, taking in the easy banter with a small smile. She's clearly amused by our bullshit.

"Where should I sit?" she asks, looking at the various options.

"Wherever you want," I tell her, squeezing her hand. "But I was hoping you might join me?"

I gesture toward a pair of seats near the middle of the bus, not too close to Zayn's dramatics at the front, but not isolated in the back either. Lexie nods, and I stow her carry-on in the overhead compartment before settling in beside her.

The bus rumbles to life beneath us as Jason starts the engine. Jax heads to the front to discuss route details with him, while the rest of the pack settles into their road trip routines. Dmitri opens his book, already lost in whatever historical tome he's working through this week. Aidan unpacks what appears to be an entire gaming system that he hooks up to the small TV in the kitchenette area. Zayn puts on noise-canceling headphones, closing his eyes in what will undoubtedly be a failed attempt at beauty sleep before we even leave the driveway.

And then there's Lexie, sitting beside me with her knitting needles already in hand, looking both out of place and perfectly at home surrounded by my pack. My chest tightens with an emotion I'm not sure I'm ready to name.

"You good?" I ask softly as the bus pulls out of the driveway.

She nods, her needles clicking in a soothing rhythm. "Better than good. This is nice."

I lift my arm, an invitation she accepts by tucking herself against my side. The woodsmoke scent that's become my unwanted signature since presenting as an omega rises in response to her closeness, but it's muted by the suppressants. Still, I catch the way she inhales slightly deeper, like she's trying to catch more of it.

Everything is perfect. But in the back of my mind, I know the ultimate test of our new pack dynamics is still to come. I still haven't gone into heat, and while I know these suppressants won't hold forever, all I can do is hope I have some more time to adjust.

Chapter

Thirty-Four

LEXIE

The Vancouver arena locker room smells like leather, sweat, and that particular combination of disinfectant and ice that I'm starting to associate with hockey. I'm perched on a bench, trying to look like I belong here while five massive hockey players gear up around me.

The energy tonight is different from home games. It's sharper, more focused. There's something about being on enemy territory that brings out the predator in all of them and it's hotter than I care to admit.

"You're fidgeting," Zayn observes, pulling his jersey over his head. The movement makes his abs flex in a way that's frankly criminal. "Nervous?"

"I'm not fidgeting," I protest, then immediately stop bouncing my knee. Shit. "Okay, maybe a little. This is different from watching at home."

"Because you care more now," Dmitri says simply, adjusting his shoulder pads with the ease of someone who's done it a hundred times a year for over a decade. His accent is thicker when he's focused like this, preparing for battle. That's what this is for them, controlled warfare on ice.

He's right, of course.

Two weeks of individual dates, late-night phone calls, and stolen moments at my new studio have only deepened what I feel for each of them. Just the other day, Jax took me to an art gallery and surprised me with his knowledge of contemporary sculpture. Aidan taught me to ice skate, holding my hands and laughing when I death-gripped his arms. Zayn showed up at my studio at midnight with Thai food and helped me reorganize my inventory system. Dmitri brought me to a Russian bakery and told me stories about his grandmother while we ate pastries that made Aidan jealous. And Darren has been at my apartment more nights than not, sometimes just sleeping beside me, like he needs the closeness as much as I do.

"I care about all of you," I admit, watching Aidan tape his stick. "Is that weird? That I'm equally worried about each of you getting your teeth knocked out?"

"Our dental insurance is excellent," Jax says dryly, but his gray eyes are warm when they meet mine. He's already fully dressed except for his helmet, looking every inch the captain. "And no, it's not weird. It's exactly what we hoped for."

"Still," I say, standing and smoothing down my jeans. I'm wearing one of Darren's jerseys tonight. We decided to rotate whose number I wear for away games, and tonight felt right for his. "I should probably head up to the VIP box before⁠—"

"Wait," Darren says, crossing to me in three quick strides. He's intimidating in full gear, all bulk and padding, but his touch is gentle when he cups my face. "We need our good luck charm first."

Before I can ask what he means, he's kissing me. It's not a quick peck either. It's thorough, claiming, the kind of kiss that makes my knees weak and has me gripping his jersey for balance. When he pulls back, his eyes are dark with satisfaction.

"For luck," he says, like that explains everything.

"If that was for luck, the Grizzlies are about to have their best season ever," I manage, still breathless.

"My turn," Aidan announces, practically bouncing over. His kiss is different. Enthusiastic, sweet, with just enough heat to leave me feeling chilly after it ends. "Gotta make it a proper ritual," he says against my lips. "Can't mess with the system now."

"Since when is this a system?" I ask, but Zayn's already there, spinning me to face him.

"Since right now," he says, then proceeds to kiss me like he's trying to win a competition. His kiss is a whirlwind of heat and demand, his hand tangling in my hair, making me forget we have an audience. When he releases me, I have to blink several times to remember where I am.

"I think you broke her," Dmitri observes, but he's already moving in for his turn. His kiss is like him. It's intense, focused, with an underlying tenderness that makes my heart do a stupid little stutter in my ribs. He tastes like the cinnamon gum he always chews before games, and I file that detail away with all the others I've been collecting on my pack.

I mean… this pack.

They're not mine. Not yet. Not officially.

"One more," Jax says, and I turn to find him watching with that quiet intensity that still makes me shiver. He kisses me with complete control and devastating effectiveness. By the time he pulls back, I'm gripping his jersey with both hands and unsure of how to stand.

"Okay," I breathe, looking around at five very satisfied hockey players. "If you lose after that, it's definitely not my fault."

"We're not going to lose," Darren says with the kind of confidence that would be arrogance on anyone else. On him, it's just fact. "Not with our good luck charm in the building."

"Your very dizzy good luck charm," I correct, pressing a hand to my chest. "Seriously, you can't just spring a five-way kiss attack on a girl without warning."

"Seemed to work pretty well," Zayn smirks, and I resist the urge to throw something at him. Barely. Mainly myself.

"Get that perfect little ass up to the VIP box," Jax orders, but he's smiling. "We've got a game to dominate and we expect our girl to be watching."

His words make my legs jelly, and suddenly I'm not sure I'll be able to make the climb to said VIP box.

I make my way to the door on unsteady legs, pausing to look back at them one more time. They're finishing their preparations, stretching and checking equipment, and I feel a twinge of anxiety.

"Be careful out there," I say, meaning it for all of them.

"Always are," Darren replies, but there's a waver in his voice that makes me pause. Before I can analyze it, Aidan's herding me toward the door.

"Go on, you're distracting us with your gorgeous face," he says, grinning. "We'll see you after we crush Vancouver's dreams."

The walk to the VIP box feels longer than it should, probably because I'm replaying five different kisses and trying to get my heart rate under control. The arena is already filling up, a sea of hostile Vancouver jerseys with scattered pockets of Grizzlies fans who made the trip. The energy is electric, and I understand why the guys love this. There's a primal quality about it, like gladiators preparing for battle, crowds baying for blood.

The VIP box is smaller than the one at home but just as well-appointed. I settle into a seat with a perfect view of the ice, accepting a glass of wine from the attendant more out of habit than desire. My stomach is doing gymnastics that have nothing to do with altitude and everything to do with the five men currently making their way through the tunnel.

I could get used to this, I think, watching them take the ice for warm-ups. The crowd's reaction is immediate. Boos for the visiting team mixed with grudging respect. Even Vancouver fans know they're watching something special when the Grizzlies take the ice. I just cheer louder to make up for it.

Aidan's gaze meets mine across the ice and the thousand-watt grin makes me melt.

Unfortunately, he's not the only one who notices me. The jumbotron immediately pans over to the VIP box and locks on my expression of panic. I give a smile that feels like it'll crack and an awkward little wave as the camera puts a heart eyes filter over my face along with a line of pink neon text that reads: Lovebird Lane.

Oh my God. This is humiliating.

But the guys are laughing their asses off already and Darren waves boldly over his head before he cups his gloved hands around his mouth and yells, "That's our girl!"

These men are going to be the death of me. Or the reason I get out of bed in the morning. It's a tossup.

The camera finally pans away to assault more unsuspecting crowd members when my phone buzzes with a text from Jessica.

JESSICA: OMG, we just saw you on the jumbotron! You bitch, I'm so jealous!

LEXIE: Wonderful. So glad my humiliation has made it all the way home.

JESSICA: Please. You're glowing and your lips are swollen. Let me guess… steamy new pregame ritual?

LEXIE: SHUT UP, JESS.

My face is red hot as I close my phone and prepare to focus on the game before Jessica can respond with more inappropriate, if startlingly accurate, speculation.

The game starts with the kind of intensity that sets my nerves off like horses in a race. Vancouver comes out aggressive, clearly hoping to establish dominance early on their home ice. But the Grizzlies are ready for it. More than ready. They're hungry.

Darren's on the ice for the opening face-off, and I find myself tracking his every movement. There's something different about watching him play now that I know what those hands feel like on my skin, now that I've seen him vulnerable and tender in my bed. On the ice, he's a solid wall of violence and strategic brilliance, reading plays before they develop, shutting down Vancouver's offense before it can even start.

The VIP box is filling up as some latecomers join in, and even though I don't recognize any of them from back home, we all develop a fast camaraderie that makes it a little less nerve-wracking than watching alone.

"Your boyfriend's having himself a game," the man next to me comments, and I realize I've been leaning forward in my seat, hands clenched.

"Which one?" I ask without thinking, then feel heat flood my face as he gives me a strange look.

"The defenseman. Number forty-seven. You're wearing his jersey, so I figured..."

"Oh. Yes. Right." I sit back, trying to look less like someone who just admitted to dating an entire hockey line. "He's... they're all doing great."

They are. By the end of the first period, the Grizzlies are up 2-0, both goals coming from beautiful plays that started with Darren and ended with Zayn putting the puck in the net with his signature style. The Vancouver crowd is getting restless, their team frustrated, and I can see the other team starting to play dirty. Little hooks and holds the refs don't catch, trying to get under the Grizzlies' skin.

"Cheap fuckers," I mutter when one of them catches Aidan with an elbow after the whistle. The man next to me laughs.

"First away game?"

"Yeah." I accept the fresh glass of wine the attendant offers, needing something to do with my hands. "It's more intense than I expected."

"Wait 'til the playoffs," he says knowingly. "This is nothing."

The second period is even better. The Grizzlies are in complete control now, passing with the kind of ease that makes it look like they're telepathic. Jax scores off a pass from Dmitri that's so pretty I actually gasp. The Vancouver goalie never had a chance.

But something's wrong.

I notice it first in the way Darren shakes his head after a whistle, like he's trying to clear it. Then in how he's skating. Still effective, but not with his usual grace. By the middle of the second period, I'm sitting forward again, that anxious knot reforming in my stomach.

Then I remember the locker room. That strange little hitch in his voice. Maybe I wasn't imagining things.

"You okay?" the man next to me asks, and I realize I've been gripping the armrest hard enough to leave marks.

"I... something's wrong with Darren," I say, tracking Darren as he goes for a change. He practically collapses on the bench, and I can see Jax leaning over to talk to him, concern evident even from this distance.

"Forty-seven? Looks like maybe equipment issue?" the woman on my other side suggests. "Or he tweaked something. Happens all the time."

But I know it's not equipment. I know it's not a minor injury. Because I can see the way the other Grizzlies are reacting. The way Aidan keeps looking over at the bench even when he's in net, the way Zayn's usual swagger has been replaced by sharp attention. Jax and Dmitri are equally on edge.

They know something's wrong too.

Darren goes back out for his next shift, but it's worse now. He's sweating more than he should be, his movements increasingly erratic. He manages to break up a play at the blue line, but when he turns to pass, he stops mid-motion, doubling over slightly.

The whistle blows over an icing call and I watch Jax skate directly to Darren, grabbing his jersey. They're having an intense conversation, Darren shaking his head, Jax clearly insisting. The refs are getting impatient, wanting to drop the puck, but Jax uses his captain privileges to call for time.

That's when I see it. The way Darren's hand goes to his stomach, the flush on his face that has nothing to do with exertion, the way he's breathing through his mouth like he can't get enough air.

"Oh no," I breathe, the pieces clicking into place with horrible clarity. "No, no, no."

"What?" The man next to me is looking at me with concern now. "What's wrong?"

But I can't answer him. Can't form words past the sudden understanding that's crashing over me like a cold wave. The suppressants. He's been on them for months, pushing his body to maintain his beta façade, ignoring his omega biology. And now, in the middle of a game, in front of thousands of people, surrounded by alphas and aggression and intense physical stress...

Darren is going into heat.

Chapter

Thirty-Five

AIDAN

The puck slides across the ice like it's on fucking rails, and I snatch it out of the air with my glove before Vancouver's center can even blink. The crowd groans, and I can't help the shit-eating grin that spreads across my face. We're demolishing these assholes, and Lexie's watching from the VIP box. Life doesn't get much better.

"Nice save, rookie!" Zayn calls as he skates past, tapping my pads with his stick.

I flip the puck to Dmitri, who starts the breakout with that ease that makes him so fucking dangerous. Everything's clicking tonight. We're moving like one organism, five bodies with a single mind, and Vancouver can't keep up.

But something's off.

I track the play as it develops, ready for the inevitable shot that'll come my way, but my eyes keep drifting to Darren. He's in position, doing all the right things, but there's an offness with the way he's moving. Like he's fighting against his own body instead of working with it.

The whistle blows for an offside, and I take the opportunity to skate out to the blue line, pretending to adjust my gear while really getting a better look at our omega defenseman. Up close, it's worse. Sweat's pouring off him in rivers, way more than it should be even with the intensity of the game. His face is flushed, and not the good kind of flushed from exertion.

"You good, Brick?" I ask, keeping my voice low.

He doesn't look at me, just nods sharply. "Fine. Get back in your net."

But he's not fine. I've spent enough time around Darren to know his tells. The way his jaw clenches when he's fighting an injury. The slight tremor in his hands that he's trying to hide by gripping his stick tighter. The way he keeps shifting his weight on the ice like his gear suddenly doesn't fit right.

Fuck.

The ref drops the puck, and I scramble back to my crease, but my focus is split now. Half on the game, half on Darren. He wins a battle along the boards, but when he pivots to make the outlet pass, he stumbles. Just for a second, barely noticeable to anyone not watching for it, but I see it.

My heart drops.

No. Not here. Not now.

Vancouver gets a shot off, and I make the save on autopilot, my body moving without conscious thought while my brain tailspins. Darren's been on suppressants for months. We all knew they weren't a permanent solution, but he's been so careful. Why now? Why in the middle of a fucking game in a hostile arena with thousands of people watching?

The play continues, but I can't shake the dread building in my chest. Every time Darren touches the puck, I hold my breath. Every hit he takes makes me want to charge out of my net and protect him. Which is insane. He's Darren fucking Malloy, The Brick. He doesn't need protection.

Except maybe he does.

The second period ends with us up 3-0, but I barely register Jax's goal. All I can see is Darren practically collapsing on the bench, Jax leaning over him with that captain's concern that usually means someone's about to get benched.

I can't hear what they're saying from my end of the ice, but I can read body language well enough. Darren's shaking his head, stubborn as always. Jax is commanding. Probably trying to get him off the ice.

Come on, Darren. Just listen to him for once.

But no. Of course not. When the third period starts, Darren's back out there, and now I'm genuinely panicked. Because I'm not the only one who's noticed something's wrong.

Vancouver's players are predators, just like us. They smell weakness like blood in the water. I see it in the way their biggest defenseman—Brennan, I think—keeps eyeing Darren. The way their forwards are suddenly targeting him specifically, testing him with little shoves and jabs after the whistle.

They don't know what's wrong yet, but they know he's a target.

"Heads up, boys," I mutter to myself, tracking the play as Vancouver brings it into our zone.

Darren moves to challenge their winger, but he's half a second too slow. The winger blows past him, and I have to make a desperation save to keep it out of the net. The crowd roars, smelling blood, and I see Darren slam his stick against the boards in frustration.

That's when it happens.

Brennan skates past Darren after the whistle, close enough that I see him lean in and whisper something. I can't hear the words, but I see Darren's whole body go rigid. See the way Brennan's eyes widen, then narrow with predatory interest.

"Oh fuck," I breathe.

Brennan knows. The way he's suddenly circling Darren like a shark, the way his nostrils flare as he obviously scents the air. He fucking knows.

I want to scream a warning, but the play's already restarting. Darren wins the faceoff, but his movements are getting more erratic. The flush on his face is deeper now, and even from my crease, I can see the way his chest heaves with each breath.

Kowalski is conversing with his linemate, who looks at Darren and nods. Then they both look at their bench, and I see their coach's eyes go wide.

Shit. Shit shit shit.

"Time!" I scream, slamming my stick against the post. "We need time!"

But the refs don't hear me over the crowd noise, or maybe they just don't care. The play continues, and now Vancouver's players are actively hunting Darren. Not trying to score, not trying to win. Just hunting.

Jax must sense it too because he's suddenly shadowing Darren, trying to shield him without making it obvious. Dmitri's doing the same on the other side. Even Zayn's dropped back from his usual aggressive positioning.

We're trying to protect our omega, but it's too late.

Brennan gets position on Darren in the corner, and instead of playing the puck, he presses close, his lips forming around words that make Darren drop his gloves and shove him. Hard.

The whistle blows, but Brennan's laughing. "Holy shit, boys!" he shouts, loud enough for the whole arena to hear. "Malloy's in heat! He's a fucking omega!"

Time stops.

The arena goes silent for a heartbeat, even if most of them probably can't hear what was said. But everyone on the ice heard.

Then there's chaos.

The Vancouver bench erupts. Their players are banging their sticks, shouting, and I see at least two of them struggling against their own instincts. The crowd's going insane, some booing, some cheering, most just shocked.

And Darren...

Darren looks like he wants to die.

He's backed against the boards, stick raised defensively, but his whole body is shaking now. The omega in heat pheromones must be pouring off him because I can see our own guys fighting their reactions.

"Get him off the ice!" Jax roars, but it's too late.

Vancouver's enforcer loses it. I see the moment his control snaps, see his eyes go dark and feral as pure alpha instinct takes over. He charges at Darren with a sound that's more animal than human.

I don't think. I just move.

My goalie gear weighs a ton, but adrenaline makes me faster than I've ever been. I launch myself across the ice, catching Morris with a body check that would make Dmitri proud. We go down in a tangle of limbs and equipment, but I'm already swinging before we hit the ice.

My blocker connects with his jaw, snapping his head back. My glove hand finds his throat. And then I'm just... gone. Lost in a red haze of protective fury that burns through every rational thought.

This fucker tried to hurt Darren. Tried to attack my packmate. My omega.

Mine to protect.

I hit him again. And again. His helmet comes off somewhere in the struggle, and my blocker finds his nose, his cheek, his eye. Blood splatters across the ice, across my jersey, across everything. He's trying to fight back, but I've got leverage and rage and primal alpha instincts driving me forward.

"Aidan! Aidan, stop!"

Hands grab at me, trying to pull me off, but I shake them away. Morris's face is a mess of blood and bruises, but I can't stop. Won't stop. He tried to hurt what's mine.

"AIDAN, STOP!"

Jax's alpha bark cuts through the rage, and suddenly Dmitri's arms are around me, physically lifting me off Morris's limp form. I struggle against him, still trying to get at the Vancouver player, but Dmitri's stronger than me. Stronger than anyone.

"Enough," he says in my ear, his accent thick. "It is enough, Aidan. You got him."

The red haze starts to clear, and I see what I've done. Morris isn't moving. There's so much blood on the ice it looks like someone spilled paint. The refs are blowing their whistles frantically, and both benches have emptied onto the ice.

But worse than all of that is Darren.

Zayn's got him at the bench, physically holding him back from the ice while also standing in the way of anyone who might think of following in Morris’s footsteps. He's clearly deep in heat now, no hiding it. His face is flushed, his eyes glazed, and the way he's pressing back against Zayn isn't about trying to get free. It's about seeking contact, seeking an alpha's touch.

The whole arena can see it. The cameras are definitely rolling. There's no taking this back.

My eyes track to the VIP box and lock instantly on Lexie. She's still there, still watching, her eyes wide with shock and concern. I don't know if she's afraid of me after what she saw me do to Morris, or just afraid for Darren. Maybe both.

The thought makes my soul ache. Have I made things worse for Darren and lost her?

"Get him to the locker room," Jax orders Zayn, his captain's authority cutting through the chaos. "Now!"

Zayn doesn't need to be told twice. He practically carries Darren off the ice, and I can hear the crowd's mixed reaction. Every possible emotion rolled into a roar that makes my ears ring.

Dmitri still has me in a gripping bear hug, and I realize I'm shaking. Not from exertion or adrenaline, but from the magnitude of what just happened.

"Is Morris...?" I can't finish the question.

"Alive," Dmitri confirms. "But he wouldn't have been if you'd kept going."

The Vancouver trainer is on the ice now, working on Morris while the refs try to restore order and the medics rush onto the ice. I can see them conferring, probably trying to figure out what the fuck to do. There's no protocol for this. No rule book entry for "what to do when an omega goes into heat during a game and violence erupts between alphas."

"Aidan." Jax is in front of me now, his gray eyes serious. "You need to get off the ice. Now."

I nod, suddenly exhausted. The adrenaline's wearing off, leaving me feeling hollow and scared. "Jax, I⁠—"

"Not now," he cuts me off. "Locker room. Go."

Dmitri releases me, and I skate toward the tunnel on legs that feel like jelly. The crowd's booing now, throwing things onto the ice. I don't know if it's for me, for Darren, or for the whole situation. Maybe all three.

As I reach the tunnel, I turn back to look at the ice one more time. It's chaos. Our second string and Jones are going at it with the other team, the refs pulling them apart. Both coaches are screaming. The fans are going wild. And there's still a puddle of Morris's blood staining the ice where I left him.

Maybe I'm supposed to regret it now that the adrenaline is worn off, but I fucking don't.

All I can think about is Darren and Lexie watching from the stands. How scared they must be. How vulnerable. And how the whole fucking world just watched us fall apart on national television.

The media's going to have a field day. The league's going to lose their minds.

And, fuck, what's this going to do to Darren?

I stumble into the tunnel, my skates clicking against the concrete as I head for the locker room. Behind me, I can hear the arena announcer trying to restore calm, but it's pointless.

Everyone knows.

The league knows. The fans know. The whole fucking world knows.

Darren Malloy, The Brick, is an omega who just went into heat during a professional hockey game. And I nearly beat a man to death defending him.

There's no coming back from this.

Chapter

Thirty-Six

DARREN

The world tilts sideways, and I can't fucking breathe. My skin feels like it's on fire, and my blood like it's literally boiling. Real heat, not the game-induced sweat I'm used to, rips through me like a goddamn wildfire. The suppressants were supposed to prevent this. Were supposed to keep me safe, keep me functional, keep me from becoming exactly what I am right now, which is a pathetic omega going into heat in front of thousands of people.

Zayn's hands are on me, dragging me through the tunnel, and I want to lean into his touch and run from it at the same time. His leather scent is overwhelming, making my head spin worse than it already is. Everything smells too strong, too much. The arena reeks of alpha aggression and my own humiliation.

"Just a little further," Zayn mutters in my ear, his grip tightening as my legs threaten to give out. "Come on, Brick. Stay with me."

Brick. The nickname feels like a mockery now even though for once, he's not being a dick. He's being caring and attentive and protective, and somehow that makes it so much worse.

Some fucking brick I turned out to be, crumbling at the first real test. All the suppressants, all the pretending I could still be the player I was before, and for what? To end up proving everyone right who said an omega couldn't hack it in the NHL?

They shove me into a room, either some kind of VIP suite or green room, but I can't tell through the haze, and suddenly I'm surrounded. Jax, Dmitri, Zayn, and then Aidan stumbles in, his knuckles bloody, his face wild.

"Is he—" Aidan starts, then stops when he sees me slumped against the wall. "Fuck, Darren, I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry."

"For what?" I manage to croak out, though speaking feels like swallowing glass. "For defending me? For doing what I couldn't?"

Because that's the real kicker, isn't it? I couldn't even defend myself. Just stood there like prey while Morris came at me, while the whole arena watched me fall apart. If Aidan hadn't⁠—

"I went too far," Aidan says, and there's a haunted quality in his green eyes. "I nearly killed him. I couldn't stop, I just… When I saw him coming for you⁠—"

"You did what you had to," I cut him off, because I saw Morris's face too. Saw the feral look in his eyes when he caught my scent, when he realized what I was. That wasn't going to end with a clean check into the boards. My gut churns with revulsion at the thought of what he would've done if he'd gotten to me. "Would've been a bloodbath either way."

"Darren's right," Jax says, his captain voice cutting through the chaos in my head. "Morris crossed a line. We all saw it. We'll all vouch for what happened."

"Fucker's lucky to be breathing," Dmitri adds, his accent thicker with anger. "Coming after pack like that."

Pack. The word makes my chest hurt.

But fuck, the way they're looking at me. I can see it in their eyes, the way their nostrils flare slightly, the tightness in their shoulders. They're affected by my heat, trying so hard not to show it, to be good teammates, good packmates. Jax's jaw is clenched so tight I'm surprised his teeth don't crack. Dmitri's standing further back than usual, hands fisted at his sides. Even Zayn, who's still got an arm around me, is breathing through his mouth while trying to keep as much space between us as he can.

I spent so long fighting my designation, convinced it would change everything, but here they are. Still treating me like a teammate. Still looking out for me. Still trying to give me space even though this room smells like a fucking rut house.

What did I think? That my teammates, the men I've played alongside for years, were going to do a sudden one-eighty the moment I went into heat, like that bastard out on the ice?

The realization that reality couldn't be further from the truth is at once a comfort and a source of shame. I can rely on my pack, but can they rely on me? After tonight, I'm not so sure.

"Stop that," Jax says sharply, and I realize he's reading my face. "Whatever you're thinking, stop. This doesn't change anything."

"Doesn't it?" I laugh, but it comes out more like a sob. "I just went into heat in the middle of a fucking game. The whole world saw. The press is going to⁠—"

"Fuck the press," Zayn interrupts, finally stepping back. "We need to get you somewhere safe."

Safe. Right. Because I'm an omega that needs protecting now. The irony isn't lost on me. The Brick, who spent his whole career protecting others, reduced to this.

"Where's Lexie?" The question tears out of me before I can stop it. Because if I've ruined things with my own career, that's one thing. But Lexie... "She saw everything. She was in the VIP box, she⁠—"

"Dmitri already left to get her," Jax assures me.

I look around the room and wonder when the hell the mountain of an alpha disappeared. Fuck, my head is clouded.

"She's probably worried sick," Aidan mutters, clearly still beating himself up for beating the ever loving shit out of Morris out there. Have to admit, I didn't know the rookie had it in him.

He's right. She must be worried. Or disgusted. Or reconsidering everything about being with someone who just proved he can't control his own biology. The thought makes me want to curl up and die.

"Darren," Jax says, his voice gentler now. "Breathe. We're going to figure this out."

But how? How do you figure out that your teammate just outed himself as an omega in heat on national television? How do you figure out that everything I've worked for just went up in flames?

The door bursts open, and suddenly she's there. Lexie, still wearing my jersey, her face flushed from running, Dmitri right behind her. I expect her to stop at the door, to look at me with disgust or pity or disappointment.

Instead, she flies across the room and drops to her knees beside me.

As soon as she reaches me, it hits me. Her scent.

Oh, God, her scent.

It's… perfect.

Pumpkin spice, like Aidan originally pointed out, but also… everything. Warmth and sex and the gentle brush of her skin against mine when we're curled up in bed together. Every good thing in this world, all blended into one scent.

And I know from the moment her eyes lock on mine, she feels it, too. My scent and hers, mingling, meant for each other.

She was always meant for me. For us.

"Are you okay?" Her hands are on my face, checking me over like I might be physically hurt. "Darren, talk to me. Are you hurt?"

I stare at her, unable to process. "You're still here. You still want to…?"

"Want to what? Be here? Of course I'm here." Her brown eyes flash with ferocity. "Did you think I'd run because of this?"

Yes. That's exactly what I thought. What I've been thinking since the moment I presented. That if I let the omega show, if I couldn't maintain the beta mask, everything would crumble. That she'd see me as less than, as weak, as not worth the trouble. That my team would start treating me like a liability.

"I'm in heat," I say stupidly, like she might not have noticed.

"I know," she says, her lips twitching in a smile. "You smell… fuck, Darren. You smell amazing. I didn't know an omega could affect me like that."

Her words strum something deep within me, but it can't fully replace the embarrassment. "So do you, but I… Lexie, I went into heat in public. Everyone knows.”

"I don't give a fuck what everyone knows,” she says, and the vehemence in her voice makes me blink. "I care about you. Are you okay?"

The question breaks what's left of my composure. Because no, I'm not okay. I'm burning up from the inside out, my skin too tight, my head spinning, every alpha scent in the room making it worse and better at the same time. But she's here. She's touching my face with gentle hands, looking at me like I'm still worth it.

"We need to get him out of here," Jax says, all business now. "The press is going to be swarming. We need a plan."

"Fire exit," Dmitri suggests. "I'm sure building security can help. We could create a distraction at the main entrance."

"I'll do it," Aidan says immediately, guilt still written all over his face. "I'll go out front, give them something else to focus on. After what I did, they'll want to talk to me."

"I'll go with him," Lexie says, and my hand shoots out to grab her wrist.

"No. Don't leave." I hate how desperate I sound, how needy, but I can't help it. The omega in me is screaming at the thought of her walking away. I need her here, with me, where I know she's safe.

"I'm not leaving you," she says firmly, covering my hand with hers. "But if Aidan and I go out front together, it'll be a bigger story. The pack's new girlfriend and the alpha who just beat someone half to death? They won't be able to resist."

Aidan looks like he wants to stuff himself into a locker, but he doesn't argue.

She's right. I know she's right. But every instinct is screaming at me to keep her close, to not let her out of my sight.

"I'll go with them," Jax says, clearly picking up on my hesitation. Probably sharing it. "Make sure nothing happens. You three get Darren to the car and back to the rental."

The rental. Right. We'd arranged a house outside the city since it's less conspicuous than the close quarters of a hotel. Just in case I needed somewhere private to ride out a heat. I'd thought they were being paranoid.

"Can you walk?" Zayn asks me, and I want to say yes, want to pretend I have any control left. But when I try to stand, my legs shake like a newborn colt's.

"I've got you," Dmitri says, moving in to drape my arm over his shoulder and take some of my weight. His pine scent washes over me, and I have to bite back a groan. Everything is too much.

"The plan?" Lexie asks, sounding admirably confident despite the worry in her eyes.

"We go out front in five minutes," Jax says. "Make a scene, draw the cameras. You three wait for security's signal, then move fast. Car's in the underground lot, level B2. We'll meet you at the house."

It's a good plan. Simple. Direct. The kind of play we'd run on the ice. Except I'm not a player right now, I'm the puck everyone's trying to move around the board.

"Darren," Lexie says, and I force myself to focus on her face. "It's going to be fine. Okay?"

I force a smile and give her a nod, but all I can think about is how I've dragged them all into this mess. My pack, having to deal with the fallout. Lexie, about to face a media storm she never signed up for. All because I couldn't keep my shit together for one more game.

If she never wants to see me again after this, I wouldn't even blame her. Even if the thought of it hurts like a fucking gunshot wound.

"Ready?" Aidan asks, and there's a desperation in his eyes, like he needs to do this to make up for earlier. Like nearly killing a man for me wasn't enough.

Lexie stands, but not before pressing a kiss to my cheek. "Five minutes," she promises. "Then we'll be right behind you."

They move toward the door, Lexie, Aidan, and Jax, and every step she takes away from me feels like agony. The heat is getting worse, clawing at my insides, making rational thought harder to hold onto.

"Hey," Zayn says, his hand on my shoulder tightly controlled. "Just hold on a little longer."

Hold on. Right. Like I have any fucking choice.

The door closes behind them, and the plan goes into motion.

Chapter

Thirty-Seven

LEXIE

The door shuts behind us, and suddenly I'm face-to-face with the reality of what we're about to do. The corridor outside the green room is eerily quiet compared to the chaos we just left behind, but I know that's about to change.

"Remember," Jax says, his hand warm on my shoulder, "we're just creating a diversion. Don't engage with specific questions. Keep moving."

"And stay between us," Aidan adds, flexing his bruised knuckles. There's still blood on his jersey and the sight makes my heart flip. He defended what was his. What was ours.

I think I'm getting a little too into hockey.

"I can handle myself," I say, injecting more confidence into my voice than I feel. "I've dealt with worse than reporters. Ever tried to explain to an entitled customer that yes, wool does in fact shrink in hot water?"

Aidan's laugh is strained but genuine. "Fair point."

Jax leads us through a maze of corridors, his captain's authority clearing a path through the few staff members we encounter. They stare at us, at Aidan's bloodied jersey, at my flushed face, at the way Jax positions himself in front of me like a shield, but no one stops us.

The noise hits us before we even reach the main exit. It's a dull roar that grows louder with each step, punctuated by shouting and what sounds like hundreds of cameras clicking. My mouth goes dry.

"Holy shit," I breathe. "Is that all for the team?"

"For Darren," Jax corrects grimly. "But we're about to make it about us."

Security flanks the doors, their faces solemn. One of them, a woman with steel-gray hair and the build of someone who could bench press me without breaking a sweat, steps forward.

"Mr. Lawson," she says, nodding respectfully. "We've got a perimeter set up, but it's a zoo out there. You sure about this?"

"We're sure," Jax confirms. "Our teammate needs a clear exit. We're the distraction."

She studies us for a moment, her gaze lingering on Aidan's knuckles and my jersey—Darren's jersey. "The omega?"

"He's our packmate," Aidan says, and there's a warning in his voice that makes even this intimidating woman take a step back.

"Of course," she says quickly. "We'll do what we can to help. When you're ready."

I take a deep breath, squaring my shoulders. I can do this. For Darren. For my pack, and… fuck, when did I start thinking of them as mine?

"Ready?" Jax asks, looking between Aidan and me.

"Let's give them a show," I say, channeling every ounce of fake bravado I possess.

The doors open, and we're immediately assaulted by chaos.

Cameras flash like strobe lights, momentarily blinding me. The crowd surges forward, held back only by a thin line of security. Reporters shout questions, each trying to be heard over the others. Fans scream, some supportive, some definitely not. The energy is electric and terrifying.

"Jax! Jax! What's the team's position on Malloy's omega status?"

"Aidan! Did you know Morris is in critical condition?"

"Who's the girl? Is she Malloy's girlfriend?"

"Was this planned? Did the team know he's an omega all along?"

Jax's hand finds the small of my back, guiding me forward. Aidan flanks my other side, using his considerable bulk to create space. We push through the crowd, ignoring the questions even as they get more invasive.

"Miss! Are you dating the whole pack?"

"How long have you known about Malloy's designation?"

"Do you think omegas belong in professional sports?"

That last one makes me see red. I turn toward the reporter, a weaselly looking man with a press badge from some gossip rag, and before Jax can stop me, I'm talking.

"I think anyone who can play at Darren's level belongs wherever the fuck they want to be," I snap, my voice carrying over the noise. "His designation doesn't change the fact that he's one of the best defensemen in the league. Or are you too busy sniffing around for scandal to actually watch the games?"

The reporter's mouth opens and closes like a fish. Someone laughs, another reporter, maybe, and then everyone's shouting questions at once.

"Is that confirmation of a relationship?"

"How long have you been involved with the pack?"

"What's your name?"

"Aren't you afraid you'll be pushed out of a pack that already has an omega?"

Holy shit, these people are vultures.

Aidan steps forward, partially blocking me from view. "Back off," he growls, and there's a bark-adjacent edge in his voice that makes the crowd step back instinctively. They're probably also recalling what he just did on the ice.

"Keep moving," Jax murmurs in my ear, but I catch the hint of approval in his voice.

We push through the crowd, security finally getting their shit together and creating a clearer path. The SUV is visible now, idling at the curb with its engine running. Just a few more yards.

"Aidan! Aidan! How do you justify nearly killing a man?"

"Morris was facing an omega in heat! Don't you think⁠—"

Aidan stops so abruptly I nearly run into his back. He turns to face the reporter who asked that last question, and the look on his face makes my blood run cold. This is the same expression he wore before he destroyed Morris.

"Morris," he says, his voice deadly quiet but somehow carrying over the crowd, "was about to assault our teammate. An omega in a vulnerable state. If you think that's acceptable, then you're part of the fucking problem."

"But the violence⁠—"

"Would have been ten times worse if Morris had gotten what he wanted," I interject, surprising myself with my boldness. "Or do you think omegas in heat are fair game? Is that the story you're pushing?"

The reporter, a blonde woman with too much makeup and predatory eyes, focuses on me. "And who are you, exactly?"

"Someone who thinks you should be more concerned about an alpha who lost control at the scent of an omega than about the alpha who protected his packmate," I shoot back. "Because if he's a danger to omegas on the ice, he's a danger to omegas off of it, too. But I guess that doesn't sell papers, does it?"

She looks like she's about to respond, but then she's stopped short.

"Enough," Jax says, his bark cutting through the noise. "We're done here."

He guides us the final few feet to the SUV, practically lifting me into the backseat. Aidan follows, slamming the door hard enough to rattle the windows. Jax slides into the front passenger seat, and the driver, someone who works for the team, judging by his Grizzlies jacket, peels away from the curb.

The sudden quiet is almost overwhelming. My hands are shaking, adrenaline making my whole body vibrate. Outside the tinted windows, I can see reporters still chasing us, cameras flashing uselessly against the dark glass.

"Holy fuck," I breathe, slumping back against the leather seat. "Is it always like that?"

"No," Jax says, turning to look at me. "Tonight they're extra. But it could be worse."

I laugh, slightly hysterical. "Worse? How could it possibly be worse?"

"You handled yourself well," he says, and the approval in his voice makes warmth bloom in my chest. "Quick thinking with those responses."

"She was fucking brilliant," Aidan adds, grinning despite everything. "Did you see that reporter's face when you called her out? Priceless."

"I just..." I run a hand through my hair, trying to process what just happened. "They were talking about Darren like he's some kind of liability. Like being an omega makes him less than. It pissed me off."

"Good," Jax says simply. "That protective instinct? That's pack."

His phone buzzes, and he checks it quickly. "Zayn. They're out. On their way to the rental."

Relief floods through me so intensely I feel lightheaded. "Thank God. Is he okay?"

"As okay as he can be," Jax says carefully. "Heat is... intense. Especially when suppressants fail. His body's been fighting his biology for a while now, and now it's demanding payment."

"Will he be alright?" I ask, worry gnawing at my insides. "I mean, physically?"

"He'll be fine," Aidan assures me. "Uncomfortable as fuck for a few days, but fine. The bigger concern is..." He trails off, exchanging a look with Jax.

"Is what?" I demand. "Don't start keeping secrets now."

"The psychological impact," Jax says after a moment. "Darren's spent all this time trying to prove he can still compete as an omega. Tonight probably felt like a very public failure to him."

"But it wasn't his fault," I protest. "The suppressants⁠—"

"Logic doesn't matter when you're dealing with this kind of thing," Aidan says quietly. "Trust me. The shame spiral is real."

The city lights blur past as we leave downtown behind. The rental is outside the city proper, isolated enough to provide privacy. My mind is tangled chaos, trying to figure out how to help Darren through this. How to make him understand that nothing's changed, that he's still the same person who makes my heart skip and my body ache.

"What can I do?" I ask finally. "To help him?"

"Just be there," Jax says. "That's more than enough."

"And maybe help with nesting," Aidan adds. "Omegas in heat have a powerful urge to nest. Having the right materials, the right scents... it helps."

Nesting. I've read about it, of course, but I've never actually seen it. The idea of Darren creating a safe space, of potentially letting me help... it appeals to me on a level I don't quite understand.

The rest of the drive passes in relative quiet. I text Jessica to let her know I'm okay, since she's definitely seen the news by now, and try to prepare myself for what's waiting at the rental. An omega in heat.

My omega in heat.

No, not mine. Not officially. But the way my body responds to just the thought of him, the way every instinct screams to comfort and be at his side…

Fuck. I've got it bad.

The rental is a modest two-story house surrounded by trees, private and secluded. Perfect for riding out a heat without prying eyes. There's already another SUV in the driveway. Zayn and Dmitri must have beaten us here.

We pile out of the car, and immediately, I can smell it. Even as a beta, the pheromones are thick enough to make my head spin. Omega in heat, distressed, needy. My body responds instantly, arousal and the desire to nurture the man I love warring for dominance.

Holy shit. I’m falling in love with Darren.

And there's not even any time to process that revelation right now.

"Damn," Aidan mutters, adjusting himself discretely. "That's... intense."

"Control," Jax says sharply, though I notice his hands are clenched into fists. "He needs us in control."

Inside, we find Dmitri in the living room, standing guard. His face is like a stone mask, but I can see the tightness in his shoulders, the way his nostrils flare with each breath. He's just as affected by Darren's heat as the rest of the alphas.

"Where is he?" I ask immediately.

"Upstairs," Dmitri says, his accent thicker than usual. "Zayn is with him. He's..." A pause. "Distressed."

I'm moving before I consciously decide to, heading for the stairs. Darren needs me. Everything else can wait. All my fears of not belonging, of wondering how I would handle this moment if and when it came, fly out the window now that it's finally here.

I follow the scent, my body knowing where to go even though I've never been here before. The master bedroom door is cracked open, and I can hear voices inside. Zayn's low murmur, and then Darren's reply, rough and broken.

"I can't fucking believe this happened. In front of everyone. In front of her."

My heart clenches at the shame in his voice. I knock softly, pushing the door open. "Darren?"

Both men freeze. Darren is sitting on the edge of the bed, head in his hands. He's changed out of his gear into sweatpants and a T-shirt that's already soaked with sweat. Zayn stands nearby, close enough to offer support but not touching.

"Lexie," Darren says, and the vulnerability in his voice breaks my heart. "You shouldn't... I don't want you to see me like this."

"Like what?" I ask, stepping into the room. The scent is overwhelming here, making my skin prickle with awareness. "Human? Vulnerable?"

He laughs, but it's bitter. "Weak. Out of control. Everything I swore I wouldn't be. Especially not in front of you."

"Darren..." I move closer, past Zayn. "Can I sit?"

Darren nods minutely, and I settle beside him on the bed, careful not to touch. Not yet.

"Do you think less of me?" I ask quietly. "For being a beta?"

His head snaps up, eyes wide with shock. "What? No! Of course not."

"Then why would I think less of you for being an omega?" I challenge.

"It's different," he insists. "You saw what happened out there. I lost control. Became a liability. Proved everyone right who said an omega can't⁠—"

"Stop," I interrupt firmly. "Just stop. You didn't lose control, your body reacted to the chemical chaos it's been put through, first with your designation suddenly coming to the surface, then with the suppressants. That's biology, not weakness. And as for being a liability..." I think of Aidan's bloodied knuckles, of the fierce protectiveness in all their eyes. "You're pack. They protected you because that's what pack does. That's not liability, that's family."

He stares at me, a vulnerable and desperate light in his eyes. "You really don't... it doesn't change how you see me?"

"Can I tell you the truth?" I ask, and when he nods, I take a deep breath. "When I first found out you were an omega, I was wary. Not because of you, but because of me. I've been left four times for omegas. Always the safe beta choice until something better came along. Someone who could give them what I couldn't."

"Lexie..." His hand finds mine, squeezing gently. He's burning up.

"But you've never made me feel that way," I continue, meeting his eyes. "Never made me feel like I'm not enough. When I'm with you, I feel safer and more special than I ever have with any alpha or beta. You make me feel like I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be."

"You are," he says fiercely. "God, Lexie, you're everything. The way you're here now even though I'm a fucking mess... I don't deserve you."

"That's where you're wrong," I say, squeezing his hand back. "We deserve each other. And I want to make sure you feel as safe and special with me as I do with you."

His expression shifts, the shame cracking to reveal the need underneath. "I do," he admits quietly. "Even like this. Especially like this."

"Good," I say simply. "Now, Aidan mentioned you might need help with nesting?"

Darren's cheeks flush, but not from the heat. "I... yeah. The urge is pretty strong. But I don't want to assume..."

"Assume what?"

"That you'd want to help," he says, vulnerability clear in his voice. "Nesting is intimate. It might be weird. And I have no fucking clue what I'm doing."

My heart swells with emotion. "Well, that would make two of us."

"Only if you want to," he says quickly, but I can hear the hope in his voice. The relief that I'm not rejecting him. As if I ever could do that. "No pressure. I know this is all new and⁠—"

"Yes," I interrupt. "Yes, I want to help. Tell me what you need."

The smile that spreads across his face is like sunshine breaking through storm clouds. "Really?"

"Really," I confirm. "Though you might have to guide me. Beta here, remember? Nesting wasn't exactly covered in health class."

He laughs, a real laugh this time, and stands, pulling me with him. "First, we need supplies. Blankets, pillows, clothes that smell like pack..."

"I'll help gather things," Zayn offers, and I'd almost forgotten he was there, letting Darren and I have this moment. "The others can contribute too."

"Thanks," Darren says, and there's a wealth of meaning in that single word.

We spend the next hour collecting nesting supplies from around the rental. It's fascinating watching Darren work, seeing him evaluate each item with intense focus. Some blankets are rejected immediately, Darren citing the wrong texture, while others are hoarded like treasure.

The pack contributes without being asked. Jax offers a soft henley that makes Darren's eyes dilate. Dmitri provides a blanket that smells like pine and safety even to me. Aidan hands over his own pillow, his cheeks reddening when Darren clutches it like a lifeline. Even Zayn contributes, tossing his prized leather jacket onto the pile.

"What about you?" Darren asks me as we survey our collection. "Can I, uh… have something that smells like you?"

My cheeks flush at the realization that he wants my scent in the nest, too, not just my help.

I'm wearing his jersey still, but underneath... I pull off the jersey, revealing the tank top beneath, and hand it over, leaving me in just my bra. It's warm from my body, scented with my perfume and the adrenaline from earlier.

Darren brings it to his nose, inhaling deeply, and the sound he makes goes straight to my core. "Perfect," he murmurs, his gaze heating up as it travels over me. "You're perfect."

I realize the alphas are staring, too. At both of us.

We work together to build the nest on the bed, a quiet intention behind our work. The energy in the pack has shifted now, and even the air feels electric. The alphas are giving us space, keeping their distance until they're invited in. Darren directs, but he asks for my input too, wanting to know what feels right to me. We’re building a safe space that's ours rather than just an omega’s.

"Here," he says, guiding me to arrange pillows along one side. "Like a wall. Protection."

I can tell he's fully given himself over to the instincts he's been trying so hard to fight, but even though he's afraid it will make him weak, it couldn't be further from the truth.

I follow his instructions, understanding instinctively what he needs. The nest takes shape, a cocoon of softness and safety, scented with pack. With all of us. When we're done, Darren sits back to survey our work, and the satisfaction on his face makes my chest clench.

"It's good," he says softly. "Really good."

"Yeah?" I ask, suddenly uncertain. "Even with beta hands helping?"

He turns to me, cupping my face in his hands. "Especially with beta hands helping. Your hands. Lexie, I..." He pauses, searching for words. "Thank you. For this. For being here. For not running when things got messy."

"I'm not going anywhere," I promise, meaning it with every fiber of my being. "Mess and all."

He kisses me then, soft and grateful, and I taste the promise of tomorrow on his lips. When we break apart, he's smiling for the first time since the arena.

"Will you stay?" he asks. "In the nest? You don't have to do anything you don't want to, just... be here?"

"Try and stop me," I say, and his laugh is everything.

We curl up in the nest together, surrounded by the scents and textures of pack, of home. Darren's heat is still there, simmering under his skin, but for now, he seems content just to hold me. To be held.

"I love you," he whispers against my hair, so quiet I almost miss it.

My heart stops, then restarts at double speed as he echoes the words I so recently came to terms with myself. "Darren..."

"You don't have to say it back," he says quickly. "I know it's fast, and complicated, and⁠—"

"I love you too," I interrupt, because it's true. Messy and complicated and absolutely true.

"Even though you've seen this side of me?" he asks warily.

"Especially now," I confirm, and his smile could power the city.

We settle deeper into the nest, my body curved against his, and for the first time since the arena, I feel him truly relax.

"Should I go get the others?" I offer when I catch his heat scent intensifying again.

"In a minute," he murmurs against my neck, his face buried in my hair. "Just want to enjoy this for a bit."

His words soothe the last of my lingering insecurities. I always assumed if I ever joined a pack with an omega, I'd end up on the outside looking in when a heat was happening, but that couldn't be further from the truth.

Darren wants me here. And there's nowhere else I'd rather be.

Chapter

Thirty-Eight

DARREN

The heat crawls under my skin like fire ants, making every nerve in my body scream a need I can't quite name.

No, that's a fucking lie. I know exactly what I need, I just can't bring myself to say it out loud. Not yet.

Lexie's warmth against me helps, her beta scent a soothing balm against the chaos raging through my system. But just smelling isn't enough. I need more, starting with being inside her. But I know as soon as I give in to that need, all the others are going to come to the surface.

My body knows what it wants, what it's been denied for months while I pumped myself full of suppressants and pretended I could still be the beta I used to be.

A knock at the door makes me tense. "Yeah?" My voice comes out rougher than intended, heat making everything raw.

The door cracks open and Aidan peers in, arms full of pillows. "Hey, uh, brought more supplies. Zayn went to the store for other stuff. Thought you might want options."

He sets the pillows down near the nest, careful not to get too close. His vanilla scent hits me like one of Dmitri's body checks during practice, and I have to bite back a moan.

Fuck. When did Aidan start smelling so good? Has he always smelled like this, like warm cookies and safety that makes my omega brain want to bare my throat?

"Thanks," I manage, trying to sound normal. Like I'm not imagining what those freckled shoulders would look like without a shirt. Like I'm not wondering if he tastes as sweet as he smells.

Aidan's eyes flick between Lexie and me, and I see the moment he registers the shift in my scent. His pupils dilate slightly, nostrils flaring, but he takes a deliberate step back. Always so fucking considerate, our rookie goalie. Even when every alpha instinct must be screaming at him to claim the omega going into heat right in front of him.

"I'll just... yeah." He backs toward the door like I might attack him for reading his thoughts. "Jax wants to talk. When you're ready. About... you know. How this is gonna go."

The door closes behind him, and I groan, dropping my head into my hands. "Fuck."

"What's wrong?" Lexie asks, her hand gentle on my back.

"I need to have the most awkward conversation of my life with our packmates about whether or not I want them to fuck me through my heat," I say bluntly. "While my body is literally screaming for exactly that. This is fucking humiliating."

"It's not humiliating," she says firmly. "It's biology. And they care about you, Darren. They want to make sure you're comfortable."

Comfortable. Right. Nothing about this is comfortable. Not the way my skin feels like it's going to burn off, not the way every alpha scent in this house is making my mouth water.

"I don't even know what I want," I admit, the words tearing out of me. "I mean, I know what my body wants. But my head..."

"Your head is still fighting it," Lexie finishes gently. "Still holding onto who you think you have to be."

I look at her, really look at her. This beautiful, patient woman who's stood by me through all of this insanity. Who helped me build a nest like it was the most natural thing in the world. Who's looking at me now like I'm still worth the trouble even though I'm literally falling apart at the seams.

"I love you," I say, because it bears repeating. "You know that, right?"

"I know," she says, smiling. "I love you too. All of you. Even the parts you're still figuring out."

A door slams downstairs, followed by Zayn's voice. "Delivery service! I come bearing gifts of hydration and comfort!"

He's so fucking dramatic. But right now, a little normal drama is exactly what I need.

"We should go down there, if you're ready," Lexie says. "Have that conversation you're dreading. Get it over with."

She's right. Hiding up here isn't going to make this any easier. I stand on shaky legs, the movement making my head spin. The heat is getting worse, building like pressure in a boiler. Better to figure this shit out while I still have some brain cells functioning.

The trip downstairs feels like navigating a minefield. Every step brings new scents, leather and bourbon and pine and vanilla, all mixing together into a blend of pack and perfection that makes my omega instincts purr. By the time we reach the living room, I'm gripping Lexie's hand like a lifeline.

They're all there. Waiting. Four alphas trying very hard not to look like predators who've scented prey. Zayn's unpacking bags on the coffee table, covering it with water bottles, energy bars, those little packets of electrolyte powder. And... socks?

"Fuzzy socks," he announces, holding up a pair of ridiculously soft-looking purple things. "Seemed like a good idea at the time. Comfort items, right?" He tosses a pair to Lexie, then one to me. "Got everyone a pair. Team bonding and all that bullshit."

I catch them reflexively, and the absurdity of the gesture makes me laugh. Zayn Copeland, Mr. Too-Cool-For-School, buying us all fuzzy socks breaks through some of my anxiety. A laugh bubbles up, slightly hysterical but genuine.

"Thanks," I say, meaning it. "That's weirdly thoughtful."

"I have my moments," he says, but I catch the pleased look that flashes across his face.

"So," Jax says, ever the captain, "we should talk."

Right. The Talk. I sink onto the couch, Lexie beside me, and try to ignore the way every alpha in the room tracks my movement. They're trying so hard to be respectful, to give me space, but I can feel their hunger, like they're physically holding themselves back.

"What do you need to know?" I ask, proud when my voice comes out steady.

"What you want," Jax says simply. "What you don't want. Your boundaries. This is your heat, Darren. You're in control here."

In control. That's fucking rich. I haven't felt in control of anything since that puck scrambled my brains and turned me into this. But looking at my pack, I realize maybe that's not entirely true. They're here, asking what I need, ready to respect whatever I decide.

"I..." I start, then stop, trying to organize the chaos in my head. "I want you here. All of you. But I'm not... I can't..."

"Take your time," Dmitri says, his voice gentle despite the intensity of his scent screaming how much he wants to claim and command.

"I'm not ready for everyone in the nest," I finally manage. "It's too much. Too new. But I don't want us to be alone either. Just me and Lexie, I mean."

She squeezes my hand, understanding as always.

"So what would feel right?" Aidan asks, and fuck, the hope in his voice makes my breath hitch.

"One or two of you," I say, the words coming easier now that I've started. "To start. To see how…"

Words fail me again. Fuck, it's already hard to think about anything more than how intense these feelings are. The need, the heat, the hunger.

"How you feel about it," Zayn finishes, nodding. "Makes sense. Baby steps."

"We've actually talked about this," Jax admits, and my head snaps up to stare at him. "When it became clear your suppressants wouldn't last forever. We wanted to be prepared, to handle it however you needed."

"You talked about my heat? Without me?" I'm not sure if I'm offended or touched.

"We talked about how to support you," Dmitri corrects. "How to make sure you and Lexie were safe and comfortable. What we would do if you wanted all of us, none of us, or anything in between."

"And?" I prompt, curious despite myself. "What did you all come to?"

"And we agreed that whatever you decided, we'd respect it," Jax says firmly. "No hurt feelings, no pressure. This is about what you need, not what we want."

The knot of anxiety in my chest loosens slightly. They're not going to fight over me like I'm some prize to be won. They're not going to push or make demands. They're just... here. Ready to help however I need them to.

"Okay," I say, taking a deep breath. "Okay." I pause, really thinking about it. Who feels right in this moment? "Aidan and Jax. To start."

Disappointment flicks across Zayn's face, but he masks it immediately, and nods. "Good choices. The puppy's gentle and Jax knows how to take charge when needed."

"Who're you calling a puppy?" Aidan grumbles.

"Okay, murder puppy," Zayn offers, earning a fierce glare from Aidan and a chuckle from Dmitri.

"We'll be right outside if you need anything," Dmitri adds, and I can hear what it costs him to say it. To step back when every instinct must be screaming at him to do the exact opposite.

"Thank you," I say, meaning it more than they probably realize. "For understanding. For not making this harder than it already is."

"We're pack," Jax says simply. "We take care of each other."

The words settle the lingering anxiety in me, some last bit of resistance I've been holding onto. Maybe I've been building walls for nothing. Maybe my pack has always been ready to support me exactly as I am, omega biology and all. I just had to let them.

"We should go back up," Lexie says gently. "Before the heat gets worse."

Before I lose what little control I have left. Before I start begging for things I'm not sure I'm ready for.

"Yeah," I agree, standing on legs that feel like jelly. "Let's go."

The trip back upstairs is both too long and too short. Aidan and Jax follow at a respectful distance, but I can feel their presence like a touch. The nest looks even more inviting now, with its perfectly arranged soft blankets and familiar scents, and I practically dive into it, pulling Lexie with me.

"How do you want to do this?" Jax asks from the doorway, and fuck, the control in his voice makes me shiver.

"I don't know," I admit, already starting to pant as another wave of heat rolls through me. "I don't know how this works."

"There's no script," Aidan says, moving closer but still maintaining distance. "We follow your lead."

My lead. Right. Except I have no fucking clue what I'm doing. All I know is that my skin is on fire and Lexie smells like home and the two alphas in the room are making my mouth water in ways I don't fully understand.

"Just be here," I manage. "Watch, maybe? Until I figure out what I need?"

They exchange a look I can't interpret, then move to settle in chairs near the bed. Close enough to respond if needed, far enough to give us space. It should be awkward, having an audience like this, but somehow it just feels right. Safe. Like all the pieces are finally where they belong.

I turn to Lexie, who's watching me with those warm brown eyes full of understanding. "Hi," I say stupidly.

"Hi yourself," she replies, smiling. "You okay?"

"Getting there," I admit, then lean in to kiss her because I need to be grounded.

She responds immediately, her hands coming up to frame my face as our lips meet. It's gentle at first, almost hesitant, like she's afraid I might break. But I'm already broken, shattered into pieces by this heat that's rewriting everything I thought I knew about myself. So I deepen the kiss, licking into her mouth with a desperation that makes her gasp.

"Darren," she breathes against my lips, and the sound goes straight to my cock.

"Need you," I admit, the words torn from somewhere deep. "Please, Lex. I need⁠—"

"I know," she soothes, her hands already working at my shirt. "I'm here."

Clothes disappear with fumbling urgency. My hands shake as I help her out of her bra, revealing perfect breasts that make my mouth water. Suddenly, all I care about is the way she gasps when I take a nipple into my mouth, the way her back arches to press closer.

"So good," I mumble against her skin, drunk on the taste of her. "You're so fucking perfect, Lexie."

Her hands tangle in my hair, holding me close as I worship her breasts with lips and tongue and just a hint of teeth. Every sound she makes goes straight to my core, where that empty ache is building to unbearable levels.

"Let me take care of you, too," Lexie says, gently pushing me back against the nest. "Let me make you feel good."

Lexie's fingers trail down my chest, over my stomach, finally reaching where I need her most. The first touch to my cock makes me cry out, hips bucking up desperately.

"Fuck," I groan, my head falling back as her hand wraps around me. She knows exactly how to touch me, exactly how much pressure to use. It's like she's memorized every fucking inch of me in the short time we've been together.

"That's it," she murmurs, her voice low and sultry in a way that makes my balls tighten.

I'm aware of Jax and Aidan watching from their chairs, can feel the heat of their gazes amplifying the fire burning in my core. It should make me uncomfortable. Instead, it makes me harder, makes that empty ache inside me pulse with need.

"Use your mouth," I hear myself say, the words coming out rougher than intended. "Please, Lex. Need to feel your mouth on me."

She doesn't hesitate, just shifts down my body with a grace that makes my heart pound. When her lips wrap around the head of my cock, I have to bite back a shout. The wet heat of her mouth is almost too much after the intensity of the heat building in my system.

"Damn" Aidan breathes from his chair, and I force my eyes open to look at him. He's gripping the armrests so hard his knuckles are white, his green eyes dark with want as he watches Lexie work me over.

Jax is more controlled, but I can see it in the way his gray eyes track every movement of Lexie's head as she takes me deeper. The captain's always been good at keeping his shit together, but even he has limits.

"So fucking beautiful," I manage to say, my hand tangling in Lexie's hair. Not to control, just to touch, to ground myself in her realness while my body feels like it's coming apart at the seams.

She hums around me, the vibration making my hips jerk up involuntarily. She takes it in stride, relaxing her throat to take me deeper, and fuck, how did I get so lucky?

The heat is building again, not just arousal but that deep, insatiable need that apparently comes with being an omega. It feels like I'll explode if I don't get what I need soon. But what I need... fuck, I'm not even sure I can put it into words.

"I need..." I start, then stop, frustrated by my inability to articulate what my body is screaming for.

Lexie pulls off with a wet pop, her lips swollen and glistening. "What do you need, Darren? Tell me."

"I don't know," I admit, hating how lost I sound. "I need... more. Need to be inside you, but I also need..." My eyes drift to Jax and Aidan, and the words stick in my throat.

"Them?" she asks, no judgment in her voice. "You need them too?"

I nod, unable to form words past the lump in my throat. This is it. This is where she realizes I'm not the alpha-adjacent beta she thought she was getting. This is where she sees me for what I really am, an omega who needs his alphas, who craves their touch and their knots and their⁠—

"Then we should invite them over," she says simply, like it's the most natural thing in the world. "If that's what you want."

I stare at her, unable to process her easy acceptance. "You're not... it doesn't bother you?"

"Why would it bother me?" She tilts her head, as if she's genuinely curious. "They're your pack. Our pack. And watching you with them..." A pretty blush spreads across her cheeks. "Let's just say I'm not opposed to the idea."

Holy fuck. She's into it. My perfect, beautiful beta girlfriend is turned on by the idea of watching me with my packmates. If I wasn't already in love with her, this would seal the deal.

"Come here," I say to Jax and Aidan, my voice steadier than I expected. "Both of you."

They move immediately, like they've been waiting for permission. The bed dips as they join us, and suddenly I'm surrounded by scents and warmth. Jax settles on my left, Aidan on my right, with Lexie still between my legs.

"How do you want this to go?" Jax asks, ever the strategist. Even in bed, he needs a game plan.

"I don't know," I admit. "I've never... with guys, I mean. I don't know how this works."

"Instinct," Aidan says softly, and when I look at him, there's understanding in those green eyes. "Just follow your instincts. They know what you need even if your brain doesn't."

Instinct. Right. My instincts are currently screaming at me to present, to bare my throat, to let these alphas claim me in every way possible. But there's one need that's stronger than all the others right now.

"I need to fuck Lexie," I say. "Need to be inside her while..." I trail off, but my meaning is clear.

"While we take care of you," Jax finishes, his voice dropping to that commanding tone that makes my omega brain want to roll over. "We can do that."

"But first," Aidan says, and then he's leaning in, his intention clear in his eyes. "Can I?"

He's asking to kiss me. This massive alpha who could probably bench press even me without breaking a sweat is asking permission to kiss me.

"Yeah," I breathe. "Yeah, you can."

His lips meet mine, and it's nothing like kissing Lexie. Where she's soft and yielding, Aidan is firm, demanding. His tongue sweeps into my mouth like he's trying to claim territory, and fuck if my omega instincts don't love it. I hear myself make a sound I've never made before, somewhere between a whimper and a moan, and Aidan swallows it down like it's the best thing he's ever tasted.

"Holy shit," Lexie breathes, and when I break the kiss to look at her, her pupils are wide with arousal. "Fuck, that's hot."

"Yeah?" I ask, still trying to catch my breath.

"Very yeah," she confirms, shifting position so she's on her hands and knees. "In fact, if you don't get inside me in the next thirty seconds, I might combust."

I don't need to be told twice. The heat is riding me hard now, making everything feel urgent and necessary. I position myself behind her, taking a moment to appreciate the view. She's perfect like this, presented and ready, waiting for me to claim her.

"So fucking beautiful," I mutter, running my hands over her ass, down her thighs. She's already wet, and the sight of her pussy glistening for me makes my mouth water.

"Darren," she whines—like an omega’s whine, but huskier—pushing back against me. "Please."

I line myself up and push in slowly, savoring the way her body opens for me. She's tight and hot and perfect, and for a moment I just hold still, overwhelmed by sensation. This is what I needed, this connection, this claiming. But even as I bottom out inside her, I know I need them, too.

"Move," Lexie demands, clenching around me in a way that makes me see stars. "Fuck, Darren, please move."

I start slow, pulling almost all the way out before sliding back in. The angle is perfect, hitting that spot inside her that makes her gasp and clench around me. But it's not just her reactions I'm aware of. I can feel Jax and Aidan watching, can smell their arousal mixing with mine and Lexie's in the air.

"Touch him," Lexie says suddenly, and it takes me a moment to realize she's talking to them. "He needs you to touch him."

Aidan moves first, his hand sliding down my back in a touch that's both soothing and electric. "Is this okay?" he asks, his palm resting at the small of my back.

"Yeah," I manage, still maintaining my rhythm inside Lexie. "More than okay."

His hand slides lower, over the curve of my ass, and I tense despite myself. This is new territory, literally and figuratively. I've never let anyone touch me there, never even considered it when I thought I was a beta. But now, with heat coursing through my system and Aidan's gentle exploration, it feels right. Necessary, even.

"Relax," he murmurs, his other hand joining the first to spread me slightly. "I'll go slow."

The first brush of his finger against my hole makes me jerk, driving deeper into Lexie who moans in response. It's foreign and strange and intensely intimate, but not unpleasant. Especially not when Aidan takes his time, circling gently, letting me get used to the sensation.

"How does it feel?" Lexie asks, turning her head to look at me over her shoulder.

"Weird," I admit, then gasp as Aidan presses slightly harder. "But good. Really fucking good."

"Just wait," Jax says, and I'd almost forgotten he was there, watching everything with those intense gray eyes. "It gets better."

Aidan must have lube somewhere because suddenly his finger is slick, sliding against me with less friction. When he presses in, just the tip of one finger, I have to stop moving inside Lexie because the sensation is so overwhelming.

"Fuck," I breathe, dropping my forehead to rest against Lexie's back. "That's..."

"Intense?" Aidan suggests, holding perfectly still. "Want me to stop?"

"No," I say immediately, surprising myself with the vehemence. "No, don't stop. Just give me a second."

He waits, patient as always, until I nod for him to continue. He works that single finger in slowly, carefully, and I'm struck by how gentle he's being. This is the same guy who nearly beat someone to death for me earlier tonight, and now he's treating me like I'm made of glass.

"I can take more," I tell him, starting to move inside Lexie again. The dual sensation is incredible, the tightness of her around my cock, the strange fullness of Aidan's finger inside me.

He adds a second finger, and this time the stretch burns a little. But it's a good burn, the kind that promises better things to come. He scissors his fingers, opening me up, and when he brushes against a spot inside me, I nearly come on the spot.

"Fuck," I gasp, my hips jerking erratically. "What was that?"

"That," Aidan says with satisfaction, "was your prostate. And that's just with fingers. Wait until you feel it with a cock."

The mental image, Aidan behind me and inside me while I'm inside Lexie, makes my head spin. Is that what's about to happen? Am I really going to let my packmate fuck me while I fuck our girlfriend?

"Yes," Lexie says, and I realize I must have said that out loud. "Yes, Darren. Want to see it. Want to feel it."

"Add another," I tell Aidan, decision made. If we're doing this, we're doing it right.

The third finger is almost too much, the stretch bordering on painful. But Aidan's careful, working me open with patience I didn't know he possessed. By the time he's got three fingers sliding in and out easily, I'm a panting mess, barely able to maintain any kind of rhythm with Lexie.

"I think you're ready," he says, and there's a question in it.

Am I ready? Am I ready to cross this line, to fully embrace what being an omega means? To let one of my alphas claim me while I claim our beta?

"Yeah," I say, surprised by how sure I sound. "Yeah, I'm ready."

Aidan pulls his fingers out slowly, and the emptiness is almost painful. I hear the sound of his jeans unzipping, then feel the blunt pressure of his cock against my entrance. He's big, bigger than his fingers prepared me for, and for a moment I wonder if this is a mistake.

"Breathe," Jax coaches from beside us. "Relax and breathe. Let him in."

I follow his advice, forcing my muscles to relax as Aidan pushes forward. The stretch is intense, burning in a way that walks the line between pleasure and pain. But he's patient, working in inch by inch, until finally I feel his hips pressed against my ass. Everything but his knot is inside me, but it's gonna take a hell of a lot more prep before I can handle that.

"Fuck," I breathe, overwhelmed by the sensation of being filled. "That's... fuck."

"You're doing so good, Darren," Lexie says, reaching back to touch my face. "Relax for us."

Us. Not just her, not just Aidan, but all of us together. The thought burns me up, competing with the heat that's been driving me crazy all night.

"Move," I tell Aidan. "Please. Need you to move."

He starts slow, pulling out halfway before sliding back in. The drag of his cock against my inner walls is unlike anything I've ever felt, lighting up places I didn't know I had. When he angles just right, hitting that spot he found with his fingers, I fucking scream.

"There," I gasp. "Right fucking there."

He adjusts his angle, making sure to hit that spot with every thrust. The pleasure is almost too much, building on top of the sensation of being inside Lexie. I'm pressed between them, filled and filling, and it's perfect. This is what my body's been craving, what the heat has been driving me toward.

"Harder," I demand, pushing back to meet Aidan's thrusts. "Fuck me harder."

He complies immediately, his hips snapping forward with more force. The sound of skin against skin fills the room, mixing with our moans and gasps. I can barely think, can barely breathe, can only feel as the sensation builds and builds.

"I'm close," Lexie gasps beneath me. "So close. Touch me, someone touch me."

Jax moves immediately, his hand sliding beneath her to find her clit. The effect is immediate and she clenches around me, crying out as her orgasm hits. The rhythmic squeeze of her inner walls is too much, pushing me over the edge.

"Fuck, I'm coming," I warn, though it's probably unnecessary given how my rhythm has gone to shit.

"Me too," Aidan pants behind me, his thrusts becoming erratic. I can feel his knot bumping against my hole with each thrust, but he doesn't try to force it in and as keyed up and turned on as I am, I'm not ready for that. Not yet. "Fuck, Darren, you feel so good."

We come almost simultaneously, my release triggering his or maybe the other way around. I empty myself into Lexie while Aidan fills me, and the combined sensation is so intense I might black out for a second.

When I come back to myself, we're a tangle of sweaty limbs on the bed. Aidan's pulled out carefully, leaving me sore yet aching for more, and Lexie's shifted so she's curled against my side. The heat is still there, simmering under my skin, but it's manageable for the moment.

"How was that?" Aidan asks, and there's genuine concern in his voice.

"Fucking incredible," I admit, still trying to catch my breath. "I can't believe I waited this long to try it."

"Well, you were kind of in denial about the whole omega thing," Lexie points out, pressing a kiss to my shoulder.

"Fair point," I concede. The afterglow is making me loose-limbed and honest. "But fuck, if I'd known it felt like that..."

"We've got all the time in the world to make up for it," Jax says, and when I look at him, there's heat in those gray eyes that makes my spent cock twitch with interest. "And you're still going to need a knot to get you through this heat."

"Now?" I ask, not sure if I'm ready for another round yet.

"Whenever you're ready," he assures me. "No rush. We've got days."

Days. Right. This heat is going to last days, and I've got four alphas and one incredible beta to help me through it. The thought should be overwhelming, but instead it's comforting.

We rest for a while, Lexie and Aidan curled around me like human blankets. Their scents mix with mine and the lingering smell of sex, creating something that makes my omega brain purr with satisfaction.

But eventually, the heat starts building again. It's subtle at first, just a warmth under my skin, but it quickly escalates to that burning need. I shift restlessly, and both Lexie and Aidan stir.

"Again?" Lexie asks, sounding adorably sleepy.

"Yeah," I admit. "Sorry, I know you're probably tired⁠—"

"Never too tired for you," she interrupts, stretching like a cat. "But maybe we should let someone else have a turn?"

Her eyes drift to Jax, who's been so patient, watching and waiting and letting Aidan go first. The captain's always been good at putting others before himself, but I can see the strain in his shoulders.

"Jax," I say, and his attention snaps to me immediately. "Your turn?"

"If you're sure," he says, but he's already moving, shedding his clothes with efficient movements.

Lexie and Aidan shift to give us space, curling up together to watch. There's something incredibly hot about that. My girlfriend and my packmate, still flushed from sex, settling in to watch me get fucked by our captain.

"How do you want me?" I ask, feeling suddenly shy. Which is ridiculous, considering what just happened, but Jax has always had that effect on me. He's the leader, the one we all look up to, and now he's about to be inside me.

"On your back," he says, his voice dropping to that commanding tone that makes my knees weak. "I want to see your face."

I comply immediately, rolling onto my back and spreading my legs. I'm still loose from Aidan, still slick with lube, but Jax checks anyway, sliding two fingers in to make sure I'm ready.

"Perfect," he murmurs, positioning himself between my thighs. "You're perfect, Darren."

The praise makes me flush, but before I can respond, he's pushing in. He's even bigger than Aidan, thicker, and as prepped as I am, the stretch is intense. But he's fully in control, every movement careful, everything I'd expect from our captain.

"Breathe," he reminds me, holding still once he's fully seated up to the knot. "Tell me when you're ready."

It takes a moment to adjust, to relax around the intrusion. But when I do, when my body accepts him, it's like something clicks into place. This is right. This is what I've been missing.

"Move," I tell him. "Please, Jax."

He starts slow, long, deep strokes that drag against every sensitive spot inside me. It's different from Aidan's enthusiastic pounding. It's more deliberate, more measured, but no less intense. Maybe more so, because I can see his face, can watch the pleasure and concentration war in his expression.

"You feel incredible," he tells me, adjusting his angle slightly. "So hot and tight. Perfect omega."

The designation should sting, but it doesn't. Not anymore. Not when it's said with such reverence, such appreciation. I am an omega, and that's not a weakness. Not when it lets me experience this, lets me connect with my pack in ways I never imagined.

"Harder," I demand, wrapping my legs around his waist to pull him deeper. "I can take it."

He complies, increasing his pace and force. The sound of our bodies coming together fills the room, punctuated by my increasingly desperate moans. He finds my prostate with ease, hitting it with every thrust until I'm moaning his name.

"Touch yourself," he commands. "Want to see you come on my cock."

I obey immediately, wrapping my hand around my cock and stroking in time with his thrusts. The stimulation is almost too much, pleasure building so fast it's almost painful.

"Close," I gasp. "Fuck, Jax, I'm close."

"Then come," he orders, and the roughness in his voice pushes me over the edge.

I come with a shout, painting my chest and stomach with white streaks. My ass clenches around him, and I feel more than hear his groan as his thrusts grow faster, his knot bumping up against me.

Even before the last waves of my orgasm have faded, I find my hips bucking into him for more. For his knot. It was all too new earlier, too overwhelming, but now… I feel so empty. Like I'll burst into flames if he doesn't put it in.

"Please," I moan, my hands digging into the sheets. The knowledge that Lexie and Aidan are now watching us intently, their mingled scents spiking with arousal, only fuels my desperation. "Your knot, Jax. I need your fucking knot."

Recognition darkens his eyes and he follows through on the next thrust. I feel his knot stretching me open and for a moment, the burn is so intense I think it won't possibly fit, but then it pops in and I come all over again at the sensation of it locking against my prostate.

Jax follows me over, filling me with wave upon wave of his release. He growls low, his face buried in my throat as he inhales my scent and his intensifies around me like a protective shroud. When he thrusts, his knot tugs at my rim just enough it's almost torture, but not quite enough to push it over the edge where pleasure becomes pain.

As he pulses his last inside me, his powerful body relaxes on top of me and the desperate little whimper across the nest makes me painfully aware Lexie is finding her own release on Aidan's hand. I breathe in deep, scenting her arousal mingled with ours, and collapse on my back, every muscle in my body completely spent.

We stay connected for a moment, both panting, both overwhelmed. Jax's knot is still locked inside me, and every slight movement sends a jolt of pleasure through me.

"Fuck," I breathe, staring at the ceiling.

"Yeah," he agrees, sounding nearly as wrecked as I feel.

Lexie and Aidan move closer, creating a pile of warm bodies on the bed. I'm surrounded by pack, by the people who accept me exactly as I am, omega designation and all. The heat is still there, will probably return with a vengeance in a few hours, but for now, I'm sated.

"Thank you," I murmur, not sure who I'm talking to. All of them, maybe. "For this. For not making it weird."

"Why would we make it weird?" Aidan asks, sounding genuinely puzzled. "You're pack. This is what pack does."

He's right. This is what pack does—takes care of each other, supports each other, loves each other in whatever way is needed. And as I drift off to sleep, surrounded by the scents and warmth of my pack, I decide maybe being an omega isn't so bad after all.

Chapter

Thirty-Nine

ZAYN

The morning birdsong filters through the windows like a fucking taunt, reminding me I've been awake for the past three hours listening to the sounds coming from upstairs.

Not that I'm complaining. Much. But when you're an alpha with a hard-on that could cut diamonds and your omega and beta packmates are going through a heat a floor above you, sleep isn't exactly on the menu.

Dmitri's been sitting in that chair by the window since midnight, pretending to read some Russian novel that I'm pretty sure he finished an hour ago. The big bastard's got more self-control than me, but even he's showing cracks. The way his knuckles are white around the book spine, how his jaw ticks every time a particularly loud moan drifts down.

Yeah, he's hanging on by a thread too.

"They've been at it all night," I mutter, adjusting myself for the hundredth time. My leather pants—because yes, I wore leather pants to bed like a fucking idiot—are a torture device at this point.

Dmitri grunts, which is his version of extensive commentary. His pale eyes flick to me, then back to his book. "Is their turn."

Right. Their turn. Jax and Aidan got their night with Darren and Lexie while we played guard dogs downstairs. Fair's fair, even if my dick disagrees with the arrangement.

My phone buzzes on the coffee table. Jax.

Your turn. He's asking for you both.

I'm on my feet before I finish reading, and Dmitri's already closing his book with a snap that says everything about his state of mind.

"Finally," I breathe, heading for the stairs. "Thought my balls were going to explode."

"Dramatic," Dmitri rumbles behind me, but I catch the way he adjusts himself as we climb.

The scent hits us before we even reach the landing. Omega in heat, satisfied beta, and the lingering musk of our alpha packmates. My mouth waters like I'm some pent up virgin.

Get it together, Copeland.

The bedroom door is cracked open, and the sounds... fuck. Wet, desperate, perfect sounds that make my cock throb painfully against the confines of my pants.

I push the door wider and freeze.

Darren's between Lexie's spread thighs, his face buried in her pussy like it's his job. And from the way she's writhing, fingers tangled in his hair, he's employee of the fucking month. Her back arches off the bed, those perfect tits bouncing with each desperate breath, and I have to bite back a groan.

"Fuck," Dmitri mutters behind me, and that's about as verbose as he gets when he's this turned on.

Lexie's eyes flutter open, hazy with pleasure, and land on us. Instead of being embarrassed or stopping, she gives us this slow, wicked smile that goes straight to my dick.

"About time," she gasps, then cries out as Darren does something with his tongue that makes her whole body shake. "Oh god, right there, don't stop⁠—"

Darren pulls back just enough to look over his shoulder at us. His lips are slick with her arousal, eyes glazed with heat, and when he licks his lips, I nearly come in my pants.

"Get in here," he demands, voice rough and desperate. "Need you both. Now."

We don't need to be told twice. I'm stripping before I even reach the bed, leather pants hitting the floor with my shirt. Dmitri's more methodical, folding his clothes because he's a fucking weirdo even when he's about to get his dick wet.

The nest smells like sex and pack and home. Jax and Aidan cleared out, probably showering and recovering from tending to these two, but their scents linger, mixing with ours in a combo that makes my alpha brain purr.

"Don't stop on our account," I tell Darren, climbing onto the bed. "Finish what you started."

He groans and dives back in, eating Lexie out with renewed enthusiasm. She keens, heels digging into the mattress, and I can't help but watch. The way Darren's shoulders flex, how Lexie's thighs tremble, the wet sounds that fill the room, it's better than any porn I've ever watched.

"She tastes good, doesn't she?" I ask, running my hand down Darren's spine. He's burning up, skin slick with sweat, and when I reach his ass he pushes back into my touch. It's new, but it feels right. "Bet she tastes even better with Jax's come mixed in."

Darren moans against her pussy, and Lexie's eyes roll back.

"Zayn," she gasps, reaching for me. "Kiss me. Please."

My cock throbs in response to her words. I lean over Darren's form to capture her mouth, swallowing her desperate sounds. She tastes like satisfaction and need, her tongue meeting mine with an enthusiasm that makes my cock leak.

"Close," she pants against my lips. "So close, I'm going to⁠—"

She comes with a scream that probably wakes the neighbors all the way across the woods, her whole body convulsing as Darren works her through it. I keep kissing her, drinking down her pleasure, while Dmitri moves to Darren's other side.

When she finally stops shaking, Darren pulls back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He looks wrecked already, hair a mess, cock hard and leaking, that desperate omega heat radiating off him.

"Need you," he says, looking between Dmitri and me. "Both of you. However you want, just… please."

"On your hands and knees," I order, already reaching for the lube on the nightstand. There's plenty, thank fuck. "Lexie, you up for more?"

She laughs, breathless and beautiful. "After that? I could go all day."

"Good." I position myself behind Darren, running my hands over his ass. He's still loose from last night, still slick, and when I press two fingers in he takes them easily. "Because I want you to suck his cock while I fuck him. Think you can handle that?"

"Yes," she says immediately, already shifting positions. "Fuck yes."

Dmitri moves to the head of the bed, his massive cock jutting out like a fucking weapon. Darren's eyes lock on it with the kind of hunger that makes my own dick throb.

"Want that in your mouth?" I ask, working a third finger into him. He's so hot inside, clenching around me desperately. "Want Dmitri to fuck your throat while I fuck your ass?"

"Please," Darren moans, and fuck if that's not the hottest sound I've ever heard. "Need it. Need all of you."

Lexie slides under him, her lips wrapping around his cock without preamble. Darren cries out, hips jerking, caught between pushing into her mouth and back onto my fingers.

"That's it," I encourage, pulling my fingers out and lining up. "Going to take such good care of you."

I push in slowly, savoring the tight heat of him. He's perfect, so desperate and willing and ours. When I bottom out, my knot already starting to swell, he makes this broken sound that goes straight to my balls.

"Dmitri," he gasps, reaching for our silent winger. "Please, I need⁠—"

Dmitri cups his face with surprising gentleness, thumb brushing over Darren's lower lip. "Open," he commands, and Darren obeys immediately.

Watching Dmitri feed his cock into Darren's mouth while I'm buried in the omega's ass is a euphoric experience. The way Darren's throat works to take him, how his whole body shudders with pleasure… fuck, I'm not going to last long.

I start moving, slow at first, finding a rhythm. Lexie matches it, her head bobbing on Darren's cock, and soon we're all moving together like some kind of filthy symphony. The wet sounds, the moans, the slap of skin on skin, it's perfect.

"So good," I grunt, gripping Darren's hips harder. "Taking us so well. Such a good omega for us."

He moans around Dmitri's cock, the vibration making the other alpha grunt. It's the most noise he's made all morning.

I pick up the pace, angling to hit his prostate with every thrust. The way he clenches around me, how his thighs shake, tells me I'm nailing it. Lexie pulls off his cock long enough to lick at his balls, and Darren nearly chokes on Dmitri.

"Careful," Dmitri rumbles, easing back. "Breathe."

But Darren just follows him, desperate for more. His hands come up to grip Dmitri's thighs, pulling him deeper, and holy shit. Our omega's got a bit of a size kink, judging from the way he's swallowing that monster cock. Filed away for later.

"Look at you," I say, my rhythm getting erratic. "Made for us."

The words slip out before I can stop them, and I realize the odds of Darren taking them as a jab are high. I was kind of a dick when he first presented. For some reason, I thought pushing him to accept his omega status was helping him. Or maybe I just wanted to convince myself.

When the only thing those words spark in his eyes is arousal, I breathe a sigh of relief. A short one.

My knot's swelling, catching on his rim every time I drive into him. He feels it too, pushing back harder, trying to take it. But I hold back. Not yet. Want to make this last.

Lexie's doing something with her tongue that has Darren whimpering around Dmitri's cock. The sight of her beneath him, eagerly sucking him off while I fuck him, is going to be burned into my brain forever.

"Close," Dmitri warns, his control finally cracking. "Darren⁠—"

Darren just takes him deeper, swallowing around him, and Dmitri comes down his throat with a growl that shakes the windows. Darren swallows it all, greedy for it, and the sight pushes me over the edge.

"Fuck, I'm—" I slam forward, my knot popping past his rim, locking us together as I come harder than I have in years.

Darren screams around Dmitri's cock, his own release hitting him like a freight train. Lexie moans, swallowing everything he gives her, and we're all just a mess of pleasure and connection.

We're a fucking pack, alright.

When the initial wave passes, we carefully rearrange ourselves. My knot's got us locked together for a while, so I maneuver us onto our sides. Lexie curls up against Darren's chest, pressing soft kisses to his throat, while Dmitri stretches out behind me, one big hand possessive on my hip.

"Holy shit," Darren pants, still trembling with aftershocks. "That⁠—"

"Was perfect," Lexie finishes, smiling up at him. "You were perfect."

He makes this soft, vulnerable sound and buries his face in her hair. Within minutes, his breathing evens out, exhausted from the heat, from taking all of us. Dmitri's not far behind, his breathing going deep and steady near me.

But Lexie's still awake, running her hand down over Darren's chest, and I can't help but watch her. This beautiful, brave beta who walked into our lives and somehow made everything click into place. Made us all accept each other, and ourselves, in a way I know we never would have without her. She completes us, the missing part none of us even knew existed until Darren brought her into our lives.

"Hey," I say softly, not wanting to wake the others. "You good?"

She looks up at me, those brown eyes warm and satisfied. "More than good. You?"

"Yeah." I shift slightly, making Darren mumble in his sleep as my knot tugs. "Can I tell you something?"

"Always."

I reach over Darren to brush a strand of hair from her face. It's more tender than I usually allow myself to be, but something about this moment, locked inside our omega, surrounded by pack, makes me feel raw.

"This wouldn't have happened without you," I tell her. "Not just the sex. All of it. Darren accepting himself, the pack coming together like this. You did that."

She blinks, surprise flickering across her features. "I didn't⁠—"

"You did," I insist. "We were a mess before you. Darren fighting his biology, the rest of us dancing around each other, pretending we didn't want more. And me handling it all in the worst possible way. You walked in and just... made it okay. Made us okay."

"Zayn..." Her voice catches slightly.

"I'm shit at feelings," I continue, because apparently my fucking emotions are spilling out along with the truth. "But you need to know. You're not just some beta we're fucking. You're the center of our pack. The thing that makes us work. Our mate." The words stick in my throat and I realize I've never actually said them to anyone. Not like this. "We love you. I love you."

She stretches up to kiss me, soft and sweet, and I taste tears. Happy ones, I think.

"I love you too," she whispers against my lips. "All of you."

"Even when I'm being an asshole?"

She laughs quietly. "Especially then." She settles back against Darren, but keeps her hand on my cheek. "Thank you. For saying that. For letting me in."

"Thank you for not running when shit got complicated."

"Never," she says firmly. "You're stuck with me now. All of you."

"Good," I say, meaning it more than I've meant anything in my life. "That's... good."

Especially since at this point, if she did get sick of us and leave, I'd end up stalking her to the ends of the earth to convince her to give me another chance. And I know I'd have four fellow stalkers doing the same fucking thing.

Chapter

Forty

LEXIE

The second day of Darren's heat settles over the house like a thick blanket, heavy but somehow more comfortable than yesterday's frantic energy. I stretch in the nest, surrounded by the mingled scents of pack and sex and satisfaction. My body aches in all the best ways, muscles I didn't know I had protesting from the marathon of the past thirty-six hours.

Darren lies beside me, his breathing finally even and calm instead of the desperate pants that marked most of yesterday. The flush of heat still colors his skin, but it's fading now, like watching a sunset in reverse. His hand finds mine under the blankets, fingers interlacing.

"How are you feeling?" I ask softly, not wanting to disturb the peaceful atmosphere that's descended over the bedroom.

"Like I got hit by a truck," he admits with a rough chuckle. "But a really good truck. The kind that leaves you satisfied instead of dead."

"That's quite the metaphor."

“My brain's still scrambled from how many times I came,” he says, turning to face me properly. His blue eyes are clearer now, less glazed with heat-induced desperation. "But I'm good. Better than good, actually."

The alphas are scattered around the room in various states of undress and exhaustion. Jax has dozed off in the armchair, his head tilted back at what looks like an uncomfortable angle. Zayn's sprawled on the floor with a pillow, looking utterly spent. Dmitri sits by the window with another one of his classic novels, though I've caught him watching us more than reading. And Aidan...

Aidan's pacing.

He's trying to be subtle about it, moving from the dresser to the door and back again, but there's a restless energy that's impossible to miss. His green eyes keep darting to the nest, to Darren and me tangled together, then away like he's been caught doing something he shouldn't.

"Aidan," Darren calls out, voice still rough from overuse. "You're going to wear a hole in the floor."

"Sorry," Aidan says immediately, freezing mid-step. "I'm just... I can't seem to..." He runs a hand through his already disheveled hair. "Fuck, I don't know what's wrong with me."

But I do. I can see it in the way his bulge is hard and prominent in his shorts, the way his pupils are blown wide despite the afternoon light streaming through the windows. While the rest of the alphas found their release multiple times throughout Darren's heat, Aidan's been holding back. Always making sure everyone else was satisfied first, always putting others' needs before his own.

"Come here," Darren says, patting the space beside him in the nest. It's an invitation that would have been unthinkable two days ago. Darren voluntarily inviting an alpha into his space during heat.

But everything's different now. We're different now. The walls that existed around and between us have come down, leaving only the protective ones that surround us all as a pack.

Aidan approaches cautiously, like Darren might change his mind. "You sure? Your heat's winding down, you probably want space⁠—"

"I want my pack," Darren interrupts firmly. "All of you. In here. Now."

The command in his voice is surprising, but the alphas respond immediately. Jax jerks awake in his chair, Zayn rolls to his feet with more grace than someone who's been horizontal for an hour should possess, and Dmitri marks his page before setting his book aside.

"Darren," Jax starts, concern evident in his voice. "You don't have to⁠—"

"I know I don't have to," Darren says. "I want to. My heat's almost over, but I want..." He pauses, vulnerability flickering across his face. "I want us all together. Properly. In the nest."

My heart swells at his words, at this omega who fought so hard against his designation now embracing not just what he is, but who he wants to be with. The alphas exchange glances, a silent communication passing between them before they start moving toward the bed.

The nest expands to accommodate them, blankets and pillows rearranging as five large bodies find their places. Aidan ends up on my other side, his skin fever-hot where it brushes against mine. Jax settles behind Darren, one arm draped protectively over his waist. Zayn claims the foot of the bed because of course he does, while Dmitri stretches out behind Aidan, creating a wall of muscle and warmth.

"Better?" I ask Darren, who's practically glowing with contentment.

"Perfect," he murmurs, then his eyes sharpen as he notices Aidan's persistent... situation. "Though someone's still wound up."

Aidan flushes, trying to shift to hide his obvious arousal. "It's fine. I'm fine. This is about you⁠—"

"This is about being a pack," Darren corrects. "And pack takes care of each other." His gaze travels over Aidan's tense form, then to me. "All of us."

The intensity of his look makes me shiver. There's suggestion there, and my body responds with embarrassing enthusiasm despite the thorough workout it's had.

"What are you thinking?" I ask, though I have a pretty good idea.

Darren's smile is wicked. "I'm thinking our rookie needs attention. And I'm thinking you've been training for something specific."

Oh. Oh.

My pussy clenches at the implication, already wet despite how many times I've come in the last day and a half. And before that, while I was staying at the mansion. And on our solo dates.

The toys, the gradual stretching, Zayn's patient coaching—it's all been leading to this moment. To taking an alpha's knot for real.

"I..." I look at Aidan, whose eyes have gone impossibly wide. "I want to try."

"Lexie," Aidan breathes, his whole body going rigid. "You don't have to. I can take care of myself…"

I turn to face him properly. “I want you, Aidan. I want to feel what it's like to take your knot.”

He makes a sound that's almost pained, his cock visibly twitching in his shorts. "Fuck, the mouth on you."

"You haven't seen anything yet," I promise, then look around at the others. "Is this... okay? I know Darren's heat isn't completely over⁠—"

"My heat's winding down," Darren assures me. "And watching Dmitri knot me while you take Aidan's knot? Fuck, that's better than any heat fever dream I could come up with."

Dmitri rumbles his agreement. The visual of what Darren's suggesting, of being knotted while watching him take Dmitri, has me questioning just how many times a girl can come before she blacks out.

I think I'm going to find out, and I'm strangely okay with that.

"Well then," Zayn says with his trademark smirk, "looks like the rookie's getting lucky."

"Shut up," Aidan mutters, but there's no real heat in it. His attention is entirely focused on me, green eyes dark with want and something that looks like awe. "Are you really sure?"

Instead of answering with words, I pull him down for a kiss. It starts gentle, reassuring, but quickly deepens as his control starts to slip. His tongue sweeps into my mouth, claiming and exploring, and I can taste his desperation, his need.

"Okay," he gasps when we break apart. "Okay. But we go slow. So fucking slow. And if it's too much⁠—"

"I'll tell you," I promise. "Trust me?"

"Always," he says immediately, then looks around at the others. "I'm gonna need help. Making sure she's ready."

"We've got you," Jax assures him, already reaching for the lube.

What follows is the most thorough, careful preparation of my life. Aidan starts with his fingers, one then two then three, stretching me gradually while the others offer advice and encouragement. Darren stays close, pressing kisses to my shoulder, my neck, wherever he can reach.

Damn, they make a good team. I guess that figures.

"You're doing so good," he murmurs as Aidan works a fourth finger in, the stretch intense but not painful. "Taking it so well. I'm so fucking proud of you."

"Listen to the expert," Zayn quips. "Man's taken more knots in the last two days than⁠—"

“Shut up, Zayn, I’m not a fucking knot expert,” Darren groans, then turns back to me with a sheepish grin. “Guess he's not wrong, though.”

I laugh, the sound breaking into a moan as Aidan's fingers find that perfect spot inside me. "Good. Then you can coach me through it."

"I can do that," Darren agrees, his hand finding mine again. "First rule? Breathe. When you tense up, it's harder. Stay relaxed, let your body do what it knows how to do."

"My body doesn't know how to take a knot," I point out. "That's why we've been training."

"Your body knows more than you think," he insists. "Trust it. Trust us."

Dmitri moves then, positioning himself behind Darren. The sight of him pressing inside Darren, of Darren's face going slack with pleasure, makes me clench around Aidan's fingers.

“Fuck, you’re so wet. So ready,” Aidan mutters to me. “I think... I think we can try.”

My heart pounds as he withdraws his fingers, leaving me empty and aching. This is it. The moment I've been building toward, training for. Aidan positions himself between my spread thighs, the head of his cock pressing against my entrance.

"Remember," Darren says, his voice slightly breathless as Dmitri starts to move inside him. "Breathe. Relax. Let him in."

Aidan pushes forward slowly, so slowly I want to scream. The stretch is immediate and intense, my body working to accommodate his size. He's bigger than any of the toys we've used, thicker, and for a moment I wonder if this was a mistake.

"That's it," Darren encourages, squeezing my hand. "You're doing perfect. Just breathe through it."

I focus on my breathing, on staying relaxed as Aidan works himself deeper. The others are watching, I can feel their eyes on us, and it turns me on so fucking much.

"So fucking tight," Aidan grits out, sweat beading on his forehead from the effort of going slow. "Lexie, baby, you feel incredible."

When he finally bottoms out, all but the knot, we both need a moment to adjust. I've never felt so full, stretched to my limits but not quite past them. It's intense and overwhelming and perfect.

"How is it?" Darren asks, his own breath hitching as Dmitri hits his prostate. I can tell from the glazed look in his eyes.

"Full," I manage. "So full. But good. Really good."

"Wait until he moves," Zayn says from his position at the foot of the bed. He's stroking himself lazily, watching us with dark eyes. "That's when it gets really fun."

Aidan starts to move, shallow thrusts at first, letting me adjust to the sensation. Each movement lights up nerve endings I didn't know I had, pleasure building slowly but steadily. Beside us, Dmitri's found his rhythm with Darren, their bodies moving in tandem.

"That's it," Jax says, his hand running soothingly down my spine. "You're taking him so well. Such a good girl for us."

The praise makes me clench around Aidan, drawing a groan from him. His pace increases gradually, still careful but with more purpose now. I can feel his knot beginning to swell, bumping against my entrance with each thrust.

"I'm close," I gasp, the pressure building to impossible levels. "I don't know if I can⁠—"

"You can," Darren assures me, his own voice wrecked as Dmitri pounds into him. "When you come, you'll relax. It'll be easier to take his knot. Trust me."

He's right. When my orgasm hits, my whole body goes to jelly, and suddenly Aidan's pressing deeper, his knot stretching me impossibly wide. There's a moment of burning pain and pressure, making me cry out, but even that feels euphoric in its own way.

"I've got you," Aidan pants, holding himself still. "Fuck, baby, just a little more. You're almost there. You've almost got all of me in that pretty pussy."

His words make me cry out as another tingling shudder rocks down my spine. Who knew the rookie was so good at filthy praise?

One final push and his knot slips past the resistance, locking us together. The sensation is indescribable, fullness beyond anything I've experienced, pressure against spots that make my vision go white. I'm coming again before the first orgasm even ends, my body gripping and releasing rhythmically around him.

"Holy shit," I hear myself say, though I'm not entirely sure I'm still connected to my body. Everything is sensation, pleasure so intense it shorts out my brain.

Aidan follows me over, his release triggering another wave of pleasure as I feel him pulse inside me. We're locked together, his knot ensuring not a drop of his seed escapes, and the primal satisfaction of that makes me shudder.

"That's the hottest thing I've ever seen," Zayn says, voice rough. I crack an eye open to see he's already come, evidence painted across his toned stomach.

Beside us, Darren's taking Dmitri's knot with ease, his face a mask of blissed-out pleasure. The sight of him so comfortable with it now, so accepting of what his body needs, makes my heart swell with pride. And it's also one of the hottest things I've ever seen.

"How was it?" Darren asks when he can speak again, turning his head to look at me with those warm blue eyes.

"Mind-blowing," I admit, still trembling with aftershocks. "I can't believe you took all four of them. I can barely handle one."

"Practice makes perfect," he says with a grin. "And it wasn't all at once, but you'll get there."

I laugh, the movement making Aidan's knot tug inside me, sending another wave of pleasure through my oversensitized body. "Definitely not today. Maybe not even next month."

"We've got time," Jax says, pressing a kiss to my temple. "All the time in the world now that you're both ours."

"Though I call next round," Zayn announces, already recovering his usual swagger. "When you're ready, of course. No pressure. But definitely me."

"Get in line," Dmitri rumbles, his knot still locked inside Darren. "Lady’s choice."

"Maybe we should draw straws," Aidan suggests, nuzzling against my neck. "Make it fair."

"Or," I interrupt their possessive planning with a smirk, "we just see what happens naturally. No schedules, no pressure. Just us."

"Just us," Darren echoes, reaching over to thread his fingers through mine again. "I like the sound of that."

We stay locked together for a while longer, Aidan's knot keeping us joined while Dmitri's does the same for him and Darren. The others arrange themselves around us, creating a tangle of limbs and warmth that should feel claustrophobic but instead feels like home.

"That was one hell of a way to end a heat," Darren murmurs eventually, when their knots have softened enough to separate us. He sounds exhausted but deeply satisfied, the last traces of heat finally fading from his scent.

"Best heat ever," Aidan agrees, carefully withdrawing from me. The emptiness is almost shocking after being so full, but Zayn's there immediately with a warm cloth, tending to me with surprising gentleness.

I curl into Darren's side, our skin still damp with sweat but neither of us caring. The alphas arrange themselves around us, Jax behind Darren, Dmitri behind me, Aidan and Zayn bookending us all.

"Thank you," Darren whispers, just for me. "For being here. For accepting all of this. For being you."

"Thank you for letting me in," I whisper back. "For trusting me with your heat. With your pack."

"Our pack," he corrects, pressing a kiss to my forehead. "Definitely our pack."

I look around at these five incredible men who've somehow become my world. Each so different, but together creating something perfect.

My pack. My loves. My home.

"I love you," I say, not to any one of them but to all of them. "All of you. So fucking much."

The chorus of "love you too" that comes back makes my eyes burn with happy tears. This isn't how I thought my life would go when I signed up for that dating app. I never imagined I'd find not just one person but five who would accept me, challenge me, cherish me.

But here we are, tangled together in a nest that smells like sex and love and pack, and I wouldn't change a single thing.

I've finally found where I belong.

Chapter

Forty-One

DMITRI

The SUV idles in the arena parking lot like a ticking bomb. Through the tinted windows, I watch morning light reflect off the glass doors we're about to walk through. Doors that lead to Coach's office. To consequences we can't avoid any longer.

My hands rest loose on my thighs, but inside, every muscle coils like a fucking spring. The plan is established. Now we just have to follow it. The decision Jax, Zayn, Aidan and I made while Darren slept off his heat. If they try to bench him, we all walk. Simple. Clean.

Darren doesn't know. Can't know. He'd try to stop us, throw himself on his sword to save our careers. The stubborn omega still hasn't learned that pack means we rise or fall together.

But we'll just have to show him.

"We doing this or what?" Zayn asks from the driver's seat, fingers drumming against the steering wheel. The leather of his jacket creaks with each movement. He's a bundle of live wires.

"Give me a second," Darren mutters, staring at the arena like it might bite. The suppressants are back in his system, dulling his scent, but I still catch traces of woodsmoke anxiety bleeding through. "Just... processing."

Lexie's hand finds his, small fingers threading through his larger ones. "We're all here," she says simply. "Whatever happens."

She doesn't know the plan either. Couldn't risk her having to lie to Darren, to carry that burden. Better she finds out with everyone else.

"The longer we wait, the worse it gets," Jax says from the passenger seat. I hear the steel underneath his captain's voice. He's ready for war. We all are.

"I know." Darren takes a breath that shakes only slightly. "Okay. Let's get this shit over with."

We climb out in formation, five hockey players and one beta woman who belongs with us more than anyone else ever could. The morning air bites cold, carrying the smell of ice and industrial cleaner from the loading dock. Back to our home away from home. Maybe for the last time.

Aidan falls into step beside me, shoulders squared despite the bruises still coloring his knuckles. "You think he'll actually do it? Bench Darren?" he whispers, low enough so only I can hear.

"Maybe," I say quietly. "League pressure. Media storm. It's easier to sacrifice one than fight the system."

"Fuck the system," he mutters, and I feel a surge of pride. Our golden boy goalie, ready to burn it all down for pack. Good.

The security guard at the employee entrance does a double-take when he sees us. His eyes linger on Darren, on Lexie, on the way we move as a unit around them both. Instinct.

"Morning, boys," he says carefully. "Ms. Goodwin. Coach is expecting you."

Of course he is. He's probably been pacing his office since Vancouver, trying to figure out how to handle this clusterfuck. How to make it disappear.

He doesn't understand yet. Nothing disappears. You face it or it faces you.

The walk to Coach's office feels longer than usual. The corridors are empty when we wind through them. It's too early for most staff, too late for night security. Just us and the awareness of what's coming.

"Stop looking like you're heading to your execution," Lexie says, bumping Darren's shoulder. "You didn't do anything wrong."

"I lied," he says flatly. "Hid my designation. Put the team at risk⁠—"

"Bullshit," Zayn cuts in. "It's not in the bylaws you have to disclose status after a change. Not your fault they just assumed an omega couldn't play."

Darren's jaw tightens, but he doesn't argue. Can't argue with Zayn when he's right.

Mitchell's door looms ahead, solid wood with his nameplate gleaming. Twenty years of coaching. Three championships. About to potentially lose his entire starting line.

He doesn't know that yet either.

Jax knocks, the sound like gunshots in the quiet hallway.

"Come in."

Mitchell sits behind his desk, and fuck me if he doesn't look like he's aged five years since Vancouver. Gray stubble shadows his jaw. His usually crisp shirt wrinkles at the elbows. Empty coffee cups form a fortress around his computer.

His eyes track us as we file in. Darren first, then Lexie, then the rest of us arranging ourselves like a wall between them and the door.

"Sit," he says, gesturing at chairs that couldn't possibly hold us all.

"We'll stand," Jax replies. Not defiance. Fact.

Mitchell's jaw works like he's chewing words before spitting them out. "Do you have any fucking idea what I've been dealing with? The calls? The emails? Every tabloid from here to Moscow running stories about—" He cuts himself off, eyes landing on Darren. "About your situation."

"It's my responsibility," Darren says before anyone else can speak. "I made the choice to hide it. To keep playing. The team shouldn't⁠—"

"That's bullshit," Zayn snaps, and I see Mitchell's eyebrows rise at the vehemence in his tone. "It was our choice, too. We all knew as soon as you did."

"Copeland's right," I add, keeping my voice level. "Pack decision. Pack consequences."

Mitchell's laugh sounds like breaking glass. "Pack? This isn't about your living arrangements, Vinogradov. This is about the integrity of the league. About rules and regulations⁠—"

"What rules?" Aidan interrupts, surprising everyone with his sudden fierceness. "Show me the rule that says omegas can't play. Show me where it's written that Darren did anything wrong besides keep doing his job."

The room falls silent. Mitchell's face cycles through red to purple to something approaching gray.

"The rules," he grits out, "are about disclosure. About safety. About⁠—"

"About covering the league's ass," Jax says quietly, his voice no less sharp for not shouting. His voice at its most dangerous, just shy of a bark. "We all know what this is really about, Coach. It's not about safety or integrity. It's about image. About sponsors getting nervous and fans clutching their pearls because an omega dared to excel at an alpha's game."

Mitchell's hand slams on the desk, making Lexie flinch. I shift slightly, putting myself between her and any potential threat.

"You want to talk about image?" Mitchell snaps. "How about McKinney nearly killing a man on ice? How about the entire country watching one of my players go into heat during a game?"

"If you force Darren out," Jax says, cutting through the tirade, "we all walk."

The words land like a bomb in the small office. Mitchell freezes mid-gesture. Darren whips around to stare at Jax. Even Lexie's breath catches.

"What?" Mitchell's voice comes out strangled.

"You heard me." Jax stands straighter, every inch the captain. "Darren is the best defenseman in this league. If you bench him because of his designation, we all walk. Today."

"That's—" Darren starts, but I put a hand on his shoulder.

“Decided,” I tell him. “Before we came here. Pack stands together. Always.”

"You can't be fucking serious," Mitchell breathes. "What about your contracts?"

"They'll be tied up in legal battles for years," Zayn says cheerfully. "Imagine those headlines. 'Entire starting line quits rather than play for discriminatory league.' The sponsors will love that."

"This is ridiculous," Darren protests, trying to shake off my hand. "You can't throw away your careers for⁠—"

"For pack?" Aidan asks. "Yeah, we can. And we will."

Mitchell looks between us like we've all grown second heads. His mouth opens and closes, no words emerging. Finally, he sputters, "What about Vancouver? McKinney assaulted⁠—"

"An alpha who lost control and charged at an omega in heat," Lexie interrupts, and every head swivels to her. She stands straight despite being dwarfed by hockey players, chin raised. "I may not be an expert in hockey, but isn't it a bit backwards to penalize the player who was attacked rather than the one who couldn't control himself?"

The corner of Jax's mouth ticks up. "The lady makes an excellent point."

"Morris went feral," I add. "Every camera caught it. Everyone saw what happened with their own eyes. Aidan defended our packmate."

Mitchell slumps in his chair like someone cut his strings. He looks older suddenly, exhausted. "The league isn't going to like this."

"Tough shit," Zayn says. "It's about time the league changed."

"You're serious." It's not a question. Mitchell's eyes move across our faces, searching for cracks. "You'll all walk if I bench Malloy."

"In a heartbeat," I confirm.

"Without hesitation," Aidan adds.

"Already got my resignation letter typed up," Zayn lies cheerfully.

Jax just nods, and somehow that carries more meaning than all our words combined.

Mitchell drags both hands down his face. When he looks up again, there’s a hint of resignation there. Respect, too.

"Fuck," he mutters. "Twenty years of coaching and I've never..." He shakes his head. "The board's going to crucify me."

"Or," Lexie suggests, "they're going to realize they have a chance to make history. The first openly omega player in the NHL. The first pack to stand together against discrimination. The first franchise to say talent matters more than designation."

"You've got a marketer's brain," Mitchell tells her dryly.

"I run a business," she replies. "I know opportunity when I see it."

Another long silence. I can hear the building's ventilation system, the distant sound of someone running equipment in the rink. The normal sounds of a normal day that's anything but.

"I need time," Mitchell finally says. "To talk to the board. To figure out how to spin this."

"Darren plays or we don't," Jax states. Not a question.

"I'll do what I can," Mitchell says with a sigh. "I'll contact the league, let them knot your terms. But the rest is out of my hands."

"Thank you," Darren says, looking completely shellshocked. I can't help but be afraid he's upset we didn't tell him, but we weren't going to let him sacrifice everything he's worked for just so we could keep playing.

We file out in reverse order. Lexie first, then Darren, then the rest of us. Nobody speaks until we're back in the hallway with the door closed behind us.

"What the fuck just happened?" Darren demands, spinning to face us. "You were going to quit? All of you?"

"Yes," Jax says simply.

"That's insane. You can't just⁠—"

“Pack,” I interrupt. “Pack means pack. You fall, we fall. You rise, we rise. Simple.”

"It's not simple! Your careers⁠—"

"Mean shit without you," Zayn finishes. "So stop being so stubborn and just shut up and accept it."

Darren looks between us, mouth opening and closing. Finally, his gaze lands on Lexie. "Did you know?"

"No," she says, a glimmer in her eyes. "But I'm not surprised."

"I..." Darren's voice cracks. "I don't know what to say."

"Don't say anything yet," Aidan says with a chuckle. "We still don't know if we have jobs yet."

"You're all insane," Darren mutters, but his eyes are bright. "Completely fucking insane."

"Yes," I agree. "But we are your kind of insane."

"Yeah," Darren says with a resigned sigh. "I guess you are."

I smile. Coming from our very unconventional omega, that's high praise, indeed.

Chapter

Forty-Two

LEXIE

The rhythmic click-clack of my knitting needles fills the studio space, each stitch feeling like another minuscule act of defiance. My fingers work the yarn in Grizzlies colors, of course, while my mind recaps everything that's happened in the past week. The league's gone radio silent. The team's on probation. And we're all just... waiting.

Fuck waiting.

I shift on my stool, surveying the banner spread across my cutting table. Twenty feet of hand-knitted protest that's taken me four days of barely sleeping to complete. The letters stand bold against the background.

PLAY LIKE AN OMEGA.

Each letter is perfectly formed, each stitch a middle finger to everyone who thinks Darren doesn't belong on the ice.

My phone buzzes with another news alert. I ignore it. They're all the same anyway, just speculation about whether the league will cave, whether Darren will ever play again, whether the pack's ultimatum was just posturing. As if my boys would bluff about something like this.

The studio door chimes and Jessica breezes in carrying two coffees and what smells like stress-baked goods from Aidan. He's been supplying our entire social circle with muffins since Vancouver. Pretty sure the first basket broke Luke's brain, but to be fair, I'm not sure how I would react if my idol was sending me home baked goods either.

"Holy shit," she breathes, setting everything down to get a better look at the banner. "Lex, this is incredible."

"It's almost done." I secure the final stitch, then stand to stretch my aching back. "Just need to reinforce the edges so it doesn't sag when we hold it up."

"We?" Jessica's eyebrows climb toward her hairline.

"At the next game." I take one of the coffees, grateful for the caffeine hit. "Whether it's the Grizzlies playing or whatever scab team they throw together, we're going to be there. Front row. Making sure everyone knows exactly where we stand."

Jessica's grin turns wicked. "Count me in. And I'll bring reinforcements."

"Yeah?"

"Oh yeah." She pulls out her phone, scrolling through what looks like group chats. "You have no idea how many people are pissed about this. Half the wives and girlfriends in the league are ready to riot. That's what happens when you piss off a bunch of omegas. Dan's wife… you know, from the team chat? She's already organizing a protest outside league headquarters."

My throat tightens. I knew there was support online, but this...

"Look at this," Jessica continues, shoving her phone in my face. "The hashtag #LetDarrenPlay has been trending for three days. And check out the fan art."

I scroll through image after image. Darren depicted as a warrior. The whole pack drawn like superheroes protecting him. One particularly beautiful piece shows him mid-check on the ice with the omega symbol on his jersey like a badge of honor instead of something to hide.

"And this." Jessica swipes to another screen. "A petition to officially allow omegas in the league. It's got over two hundred thousand signatures already."

"Fuck." I sink onto my stool, overwhelmed. "The guys need to see this."

"They haven't?"

"They've been avoiding social media. Jax's orders. Said it would just mess with their heads while they wait for the league's decision."

Jessica snorts. "Since when does Zayn follow orders about anything?"

"Since Jax threatened to hide his hair products if anyone so much as opened a news feed.”

That gets a laugh. "Smart man." She helps herself to one of Aidan's muffins—blueberry lemon, from the smell. "So, subject change. Have you given any more thought to the move?"

Heat floods my cheeks. Right. That.

"The moving truck's booked for next week," I admit, focusing very hard on my coffee. "Tuesday, actually."

Jessica squeals—actually fucking squeals—and launches herself at me. I barely manage to save my coffee from becoming a casualty of her enthusiasm.

"Oh my god, it's really happening! You're moving in with your pack!"

"It's not that big a deal," I mutter, but we both know I'm lying. It's huge. Massive. Terrifying and exciting and about a dozen other emotions I can't even name.

"Not a big deal?" Jessica pulls back to stare at me. "Six months ago you were convinced you'd die alone surrounded by sweaters. Now you're moving in with five professional hockey players who worship the ground you walk on. That's the biggest deal!"

"When you put it like that..."

"I'm so fucking happy for you." Her eyes are suspiciously bright. "You deserve this, Lex. All of it. The pack, the house, the ridiculous amount of orgasms I'm sure you're having⁠—"

"Jessica!"

"What? I've seen how they look at you. Like you're their personal goddess. And that house has excellent soundproofing, which I'm sure you'll appreciate."

I bury my burning face in my hands. "I hate you."

"You love me." She steals another bite of muffin. "Have you figured out which room you're taking? Or are you just gonna rotate through all their beds like some kind of sexual timeshare?"

"We're converting one of the rooms into my space," I explain, still talking to my hands because looking at my sister right now might kill me. "Somewhere I can work on designs, have my own area when I need it. But yeah, the sleeping arrangements are... flexible."

"I'll bet they are."

My phone buzzes before I can throw something at her. Dmitri's name lights up the screen.

DMITRI: Can I pick you up? Need to discuss something at the house.

My stomach drops. This is it. They've heard from the league.

LEXIE: Something important?

DMITRI: Yes.

I sigh. Coming from Dmitri, it's practically a novel, but I've gotten to know all their little quirks and learned that Dmitri will send a one-word text immediately followed by gathering me into his arms and kissing me like he hasn't seen me for a whole year.

"What's wrong?" Jessica reads my expression too well.

"Dmitri wants to pick me up. Says they need to discuss something at the house."

"The verdict from the league?"

"Maybe." I'm already gathering my things, hands shaking slightly. "Can you⁠—"

"I'll lock up," she assures me. "Go. And text me the second you know anything."

I'm out the door before she finishes talking, standing on the sidewalk like an idiot because I didn't think to ask how long Dmitri would be. But I should have known better. His black SUV rounds the corner less than two minutes later.

Dmitri's out and opening my door before I can reach for the handle. He looks... nervous? Which is terrifying because Dmitri doesn't do nervous. Dmitri does stoic and occasionally murderous.

His expression lightens when he spots me, and a genuine smile graces that handsome face. He pulls me into his arms and off the ground, kissing me breathless. "Now there is a sight for sore eyes."

I smile up at him, dazed. "You're quite a sight yourself, handsome. Let's get going."

He opens the door for me, helping me into the car before getting in on the driver's side.

"Is it bad?" I ask as he pulls into traffic. "Just tell me if it's bad."

"Don't know," he admits, and fuck, even his accent is thicker with stress. "The letter came an hour ago. From the league. Jax called everyone together, and I was closest to you."

Warmth unfurls in my chest. "You waited for me?"

His massive hand finds mine across the console. "Of course we waited. You're pack."

"I'm not technically pack yet," I point out. "Not until I move in."

"Technicality," he dismisses. "You have been ours since that first dinner. Just took time to make official."

God, this man. Six feet five inches of muscle who could snap someone in half without breaking a sweat, and he turns me into emotional mush with a few words.

"I can't wait to be living there," I admit. "Waking up with all of you every day. Well, when you're not traveling."

"Me too," he says, seeming to be visibly restraining himself from going faster. He never speeds with me in the car, even though I can tell it physically pains him sometimes. "Don't like you being alone. It's not safe."

I have to laugh. "I've lived alone for years, Dmitri. I think I can handle it for a few more days."

"Still don't like it.” His jaw sets in that stubborn way I'm learning means argument is pointless. "We should have moved you in after Vancouver."

"You guys have been at my place every night," I point out. "Sometimes more than one of you. I'm hardly ever actually alone."

A grin cracks his serious expression. "It's not the same. At the house, we can protect you properly. Make sure you eat enough. Make sure you sleep."

"Make sure I'm thoroughly fucked?" I offer.

He chokes on air. I can't believe I actually rendered Dmitri speechless.

"What? We both know that's part of the appeal. All of you, one house, thick walls..."

"Woman," he growls, but his ears are pink. "Save that talk for when I'm not driving, unless you want me to pull over and knot you on the side of the road."

"You say that like it's a bad thing," I tease, squeezing his hand. "But Tuesday can't come fast enough."

"Agreed," he says fervently. Then, quieter. "It will be good. Having you home."

Home. The word settles in my chest like a promise.

The pack house comes into view, and my nerves kick back into high gear. Through the windows, I can see movement, all of them waiting inside.

We head inside to find organized chaos. Zayn's pacing a hole in the living room carpet. Aidan's stress-baking has reached critical mass, and the kitchen counter practically groans under the weight of enough pastries to feed an army. Jax stands by the window, spine rigid.

And Darren sits on the couch, holding an envelope like it might explode.

They all turn when we enter, and I'm immediately engulfed. Zayn reaches me first, pulling me against him hard enough to steal my breath.

"Thank fuck you're here," he mutters into my hair.

By the time I've been passed around to everyone, and kissed utterly breathless, I'm settled on the couch between Darren and Dmitri. The letter sits on the coffee table like a live grenade.

"So," I say when the silence stretches too long. "We doing this?"

Darren picks up the envelope with hands that barely shake. The return address is official, intimidating. League headquarters. The seal unbroken.

Here we go. The moment of truth.

Chapter

Forty-Three

DARREN

The letter feels like it weighs a thousand pounds in my hands. The official league seal stares up at me, practically glaring. My throat's so tight I can barely swallow, and it's got nothing to do with the suppressants I'm back on.

This piece of paper holds the power to destroy everything. Not just my career, either. I already made peace with that possibility the moment Morris outed me on the ice, but the fact that my pack could suffer because of me… The idiots who just told Coach Mitchell they'd walk away from everything they've worked for if I can't play.

I look around at them, these five people who've decided I'm worth burning their futures for. The alphas and Lexie, our beautiful beta who shouldn't even be mixed up in this mess but chose to stand with us anyway.

"I need you all to know something before I open this."

"Darren—" Jax starts, but I hold up my hand.

"No, let me say this." I set the letter down, still unopened, because I need them to understand. "What you did in Mitchell's office, what you were willing to do... I've never had anyone stand up for me like that. Never. And I'm grateful, more grateful than you'll ever know. But I can't let you do it."

Zayn's eyes narrow. "The fuck you can't."

"Whatever this letter says," I continue, ignoring him, "I want you to keep playing. Even if I can't be out there with you. You've worked too hard, sacrificed too much⁠—"

"We've sacrificed?" Aidan interrupts, and there's an edge to his voice I rarely hear. "You've been pumping yourself full of suppressants for months, hiding who you are, fighting your own biology every single day just to stay on the ice."

"That's different," I insist. "That was my choice. My risk to take."

"And this is ours," Dmitri says simply. "Pack chooses its fate together."

"You don't understand." The frustration bleeds into my voice. "I can live with losing hockey. It would suck, but I could survive it. What I can't live with is being the reason you all lose it too."

They exchange one of those looks. The kind that says they're having a whole conversation without me, which is really fucking annoying when I'm trying to save their careers here.

"You still don't get it," Jax says, shaking his head. "We meant what we said. If you're not on the ice with us, we're not going out there. Period."

"That's—"

"Non-negotiable," Zayn cuts in. "So you can either accept that we're in this together, as a team and as a fucking pack, or we can sit here arguing about it until the letter spontaneously combusts. Your choice."

Lexie's hand finds mine, a gesture so natural I wonder often how I ever lived without it. "They're right," she says softly. "This is what pack means. You stand together or you don't stand at all. You taught me that."

I look down at our joined hands, at the way her smaller fingers fit perfectly with mine. Three months ago, I didn't even know she existed. Now I can't imagine facing any of this without her. Without any of them.

"You're all crazy," I mutter.

"Water finds its level," Zayn chimes in, earning a half-hearted glare from yours truly.

"Fine." I pick up the letter again, my pulse hammering so hard I'm surprised they can't all hear it. "But when this says I'm banned for life and you're all blacklisted for supporting me⁠—"

"Then we'll start our own league," Aidan says cheerfully. "The 'Fuck Your Designation Hockey League.' It'll be great."

Despite everything, I laugh. Leave it to our murder puppy goalie to find the bright side of potential career destruction.

"Here goes nothing," I mutter, sliding my finger under the seal.

The paper unfolds with a crisp sound that grates on my already wound nerves. Even Jax stops pacing. I force my eyes to focus on the typed words, trying to make out the formal language through the panic clouding my brain.

"Darren," Jax prompts after what feels like hours. "What does it say?"

I read it again, sure I must be misunderstanding. But no, the words are clear. Holy shit.

"Don't leave us in suspense," Zayn demands. "Are we employed or starting a revolution?"

"They're..." I have to clear my throat because the words don't want to come out. Like saying them might make them disappear. "They're going to let me play. Next game."

The room explodes.

Aidan lets out a whoop that probably shatters windows three houses over. Dmitri's grin is so wide it looks like it might crack his face. The biggest smile I've ever seen from him. Zayn fist pumps the air, and even our calm and collected leader's shoulders drop about six inches in relief.

And Lexie, my brilliant, beautiful Lexie, launches herself at me.

I catch her on instinct, holding her tight as she wraps her arms around my neck. Her kiss tastes like victory and relief. When we finally break apart, we're both breathing hard and grinning like idiots.

"I knew it," she says, her eyes bright. "I knew they couldn't keep you off the ice."

"Wait." Zayn's voice cuts through the celebration like a bucket of cold water. "What do you mean 'next game'? Why specifically next game?"

The grin slides off my face. Right. The catch. Because there's always a fucking catch.

I hand him the letter, not trusting myself to explain without my voice betraying how much this pisses me off. His eyes scan the page, his expression darkening with each line.

"Probation period?" He looks up, incredulous. "They're putting you on fucking probation?"

"What?" Aidan snatches the letter, reading over Zayn's shoulder. "This is bullshit. You've been playing as an omega this whole time and they just didn't know it. They already know how you play."

"It's not about his playing," Dmitri grumbles, crossing his massive arms. "It's about how the fans react."

"That's exactly what it is," Lexie agrees, but there's an edge in her voice that makes me look at her more closely. She's got that expression she gets when she's planning something. "Which is actually perfect."

"Perfect?" I stare at her. "How is me being on probation like some rookie who can't keep his gloves on perfect?"

"Because." She pulls out her phone, scrolling through before turning the screen toward us. "Look at this."

It's a social media feed, and at first I don't understand what I'm looking at. Then I see the hashtag.

#LetDarrenPlay.

Post after post, thousands of them. Fan art of me in my jersey with the omega symbol stretched across my chest like it's something I want to display rather than something I've spent week after week hiding. Photos from games with captions about how my designation doesn't change my stats. A petition with⁠—

"Two hundred thousand signatures?" My voice cracks like I'm going through puberty again.

"Two hundred and thirty-seven thousand as of an hour ago," Lexie corrects, looking pleased with herself. "Jessica showed me earlier. The support is already there, Darren. This probation period? They might have meant it as a punishment, but we're going to turn it into an opportunity."

"An opportunity for what?" Though I'm starting to suspect I know where she's going with this.

"To show them they made the right choice. To prove that the only thing that matters on the ice is how you play, not what your designation is." She's practically bouncing now, reminding me of Aidan when he gets excited. "And I have a surprise that might help."

"What kind of surprise?" I ask with a laugh. This woman is full of them. And here I used to not like surprises.

I guess they just needed to come in Lexie flavor.

The grin that spreads across her face is pure mischief. "Not telling. You'll just have to wait and see at the game."

"Lexie—"

"Nope." She mimes zipping her lips. "My lips are sealed. But trust me, it's going to be perfect!"

"I don't like surprises," I mutter, but I'm fighting a smile. Hard to be annoyed when she looks so damn proud.

God, I love this woman.

"You'll like this one," she promises, then softer, "Trust me?"

And just like that, the fight goes out of me. Because I do trust her. Completely. This woman who walked into my life through a dating app mishap that turned out to be my luckiest break and somehow became the center of everything.

"Always," I tell her, meaning it.

"Good." She kisses me again, quick and sweet. "Because we're going to show everyone that The Brick belongs on that ice, omega or not."

"Our omega," Zayn corrects, and there's fierceness in his voice. "They come after one of us, they get all of us."

The others make sounds of agreement, and I have to look away because my eyes are doing something suspicious. Probably the suppressants. Definitely not emotions or anything.

"Speaking of pack," I say, once I'm sure my voice won't betray me. "There's something else I want to talk about. While we're all here."

The atmosphere shifts, everyone picking up on the change in my tone. Lexie settles beside me on the couch, close enough that our thighs touch. The others arrange themselves around us.

"What's on your mind?" Jax asks, growing serious.

I take a breath, trying to organize thoughts that have been spinning in my head since Vancouver. Since before that, really, if I'm being honest.

"I want us to make it official," I say finally. "All of us. As a pack."

"We are a pack," Aidan points out, looking confused.

"No, I mean..." Fuck, why is this so hard to say? "I want you to mark me. And I want us to mark Lexie. Properly. Binding us all together."

The silence that follows is deafening. I can hear my own heartbeat, rabbit-quick and too loud. Lexie's hand has gone still in mine, and I can't bring myself to look at her. What if it's too soon? What if she's not ready for anything so permanent? What if⁠—

"Darren," she says, and her voice sounds strange. Shocked, maybe. Or worse, scared.

I force myself to meet her eyes, bracing for rejection. "If you're ready," I add quickly. "No pressure. I know it's a big step and we've only been together a few months and maybe you need more time to⁠—"

She presses her finger to my lips, cutting off my rambling. Her eyes are wide, but the wonder in them is genuine.

"Are you seriously asking me to let you mark me?" she asks. "To officially join your pack? Permanently?"

I nod, not trusting my voice. I'm pretty sure everyone in the room can smell my anxiety despite the suppressants. I've never been this nervous before a game, or anything else. Then again, the stakes have never been as high as losing her.

She stares at me for another endless moment. Then, just when I'm about to take it all back, pretend I never said anything, her face breaks into the most beautiful smile I've ever seen.

But she doesn't say anything. Just sits there smiling while my heart tries to explode.

"Lexie?" I manage. "Is that a yes or…?”

Chapter

Forty-Four

LEXIE

"Lexie?" Darren asks warily. "Is that a yes or…?”

The smile on my face feels frozen in place, like my brain short-circuited and left my facial muscles stuck on "holy fucking shit" mode. Darren's looking at me with those blue eyes full of hope and terror, and I realize I've been sitting here gaping like an idiot for way too long.

"Yes," I finally manage, my voice coming out breathier than intended. "Gods, yes. I want that. I want you to mark me. All of you."

The relief that washes over Darren's face is almost comical. He looks like someone just told him Christmas came early and brought a Stanley Cup with it. "Really? You're sure?"

"I've never been more sure of anything in my life." The words tumble out, surprising me with their truth. Because somewhere between the rest of the pack standing me up at dinner and now, that last wall of fear crumbled. The part of me that kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, for them to realize I'm just a beta who can't give them what an omega or an alpha can... it's gone.

They proved it during Darren's heat. Every moment, every touch, every time they made sure I was included, cherished, necessary. Not just tolerated or accommodated, but genuinely wanted. Needed, even.

"Lexie," Aidan breathes, and when I look around the room, all five of them are staring at me with expressions that make my heart do stupid little acrobatics in my ribcage. Like I just handed them the world wrapped in a bow.

"We should do this properly," Jax says, his voice rougher than usual. "In the den. The new furniture was delivered this morning, actually. Perfect timing."

"New furniture?" I ask, letting them pull me to my feet. My legs feel wobbly, like the magnitude of what we're about to do just hit me. Permanent. Binding. No take-backs.

"We've been planning some changes," Zayn explains, leading the way down the hall. "Wanted it to be a surprise for when you moved in, but this feels right. The house needed updates anyway, but with the pack dynamics shifting..."

"We wanted a space that could accommodate all of us," Dmitri finishes. "Properly."

The den door swings open, and I gasp.

The room's been completely transformed. Where there used to be a standard living room setup, there's now a circular pit sunken into the floor. A custom mattress fills the space perfectly, covered in what looks like the softest sheets I've ever seen. Pillows and blankets ring the edges in a riot of textures and colors, creating walls of softness. It's like a giant, luxurious nest built for six.

"Holy shit," I breathe, taking it all in. "This is all so…"

"Excessive?" Jax suggests, but there's pride in his voice. "It turned out better than we hoped. Though of course, you and Darren will want to put your own spin on it when it's time."

"For now, it's perfect for this," Darren says, and before I can process what's happening, he's scooped me up in his arms.

"Perfect for wha—?" I squeal in surprise as he carries me to the edge of the pit.

"For this!" He grins, that wicked smile that makes my heart patter, and jumps.

We land in a tangle of limbs on the impossibly soft mattress, my surprised laughter mixing with his. The landing doesn't hurt at all. It's like falling into a cloud. A very expensive, perfectly designed cloud that smells like fresh linen.

"You're ridiculous," I tell him, but I'm smiling so hard my cheeks hurt.

"You knew what you were getting into," he counters, pulling me against him. His expression grows more serious, though the joy doesn't leave his eyes. "Fair warning, though. I'm not in heat anymore, so we're gonna need to spread things out a little. Two marks now, two marks later. Don't want to overwhelm anyone."

"That sounds like a good idea," I manage breathily. "Pace ourselves."

The others have joined us in the pit, arranging themselves around us with that unconscious pack synchronization they do so fucking well. The space that seemed enormous suddenly feels intimate with six bodies filling it.

"How do we..." I start, then trail off, realizing I have no idea how marking ceremonies work. Is there a protocol? Do we need candles? Should someone say words?

"However feels right," Jax says, reading my uncertainty. "There's no script for this."

Zayn's already pulling his shirt off, because of course he is. "Less talking, more marking. We've waited long enough."

"Romantic as always," Darren mutters, but he's pulling me into his lap, hands gentle but sure. "You okay? We can slow down if⁠—"

"If you ask me one more time if I'm sure, I'm going to bite you myself," I threaten.

"That would be kind of hot," Aidan says with a grin that's pure sunshine and sin.

The energy in the pit shifts, playful banter giving way to hunger. I can feel it in the way their scents intensify, in the way hands start moving with purpose instead of casual touch.

Darren's mouth finds mine, the kiss different from our usual. There's intention behind it, promise. His hands slide under my shirt, and I help him pull it off, not caring that we have an audience. They've seen me naked plenty of times, but this feels different. Not just mating or connection but… gravity. The force that's been pulling us together from the beginning finally getting what it's due.

"Beautiful," Dmitri murmurs, and the reverence in his voice makes me shiver.

"Who's first?" I ask, looking around at them. The choice feels important somehow, even though I know I'll wear all their marks eventually.

"Jax and Dmitri," Darren decides, his hands steady on my waist. "Then Zayn and Aidan later. That work for everyone?"

The alphas nod, and I see the logic. The two most controlled first. Strategic even in passion. That's my pack.

"And you?" I ask Darren. "Who's marking you first?"

His cheeks flush slightly. "Aidan and Zayn now. Jax and Dmitri later."

"Saving the best for last?" Jax teases, but there's heat in his gray eyes.

"You wish," Zayn scoffs, but it's all camaraderie.

What follows is a careful choreography of horny packmates. Clothes disappear with ease, hands moving with purpose. The pit's design makes everything easier, no awkward angles or precarious positions. Just soft surfaces and plenty of room to move.

Jax positions himself behind me while Dmitri moves to my front, and I have a moment of disorientation. This is really happening. In a few minutes, I'll be marked. Claimed. Theirs in a way that can't be undone.

"Breathe, beautiful," Jax murmurs against my ear.

His cock presses against my ass, and I realize what they're planning. Both of them. At once. The thought should terrify me, but instead, heat pools low in my belly.

"Have you done this before?" I ask, proud when my voice only shakes a little.

"We've never marked anyone before," Dmitri reminds me with a knowing smile, his large hands gentle on my thighs. "But we'll go slow. Careful. Stop if it's too much."

I nod, trusting them completely. These men who've shown me nothing but care, who've made sure I felt included and cherished even when my past always told me I should be on the outside looking in.

Beside us, Darren's getting similar treatment from Aidan and Zayn. I reach for his hand, needing the connection, and he grips it tight.

"Ready?" Jax asks, and I feel the press of his cock against my ass, slick with lube.

"Ready," I confirm, then gasp as he pushes in slowly.

The stretch burns, but it's a familiar burn now. We've done this before, though never with the intention of marking. Never with this permanence hanging over us.

Dmitri waits until Jax is fully seated before moving, giving me time to adjust. When he finally lines himself up with my pussy, I'm wet and ready, body responding to their touches like it was made for this.

"Together," Jax says, and they move in perfect synchronization.

The sensation of being filled from both sides is overwhelming. Not just the physical stretch, though that's intense, but the emotion of it. That wasn't something I was expecting.

They find a rhythm, careful and controlled, building the pleasure slowly. I'm aware of movement beside us, of Darren taking Aidan's cock with soft groans and whispered encouragement, but my focus narrows to the two men claiming me.

"Perfect," Dmitri growls, his accent thick. "Made for us. Our Lexie."

The possessive note in his voice makes me clench around them both, drawing groans from both alphas. Jax's hand slides around to find my clit, rubbing in circles that have me seeing stars.

"Close," I gasp, the pleasure building to impossible heights. "So close."

"Wait," Jax commands, his alpha voice vibrating through me. "Want you to come when we mark you."

The thought of it, of orgasming while they sink their teeth into me, pushes me right to the edge. I'm trembling, holding on by a thread, when I feel them both shift position slightly.

"Now," Jax says, and two sets of teeth sink into my neck right as Dmitri's knot finally sinks into my ass, filling me beyond what I imagined was possible, and oh…

Oh, fuck, it feels good.

The pain is sharp but brief, immediately washed away by the most intense orgasm of my life. I scream, body convulsing between them as they mark me, claim me, make me theirs in a way that can't be undone. Their knots are full inside me, locking us together, making the aftershocks even more intense.

The room spins. Colors seem brighter. And underneath it all, like a current of electricity, I feel something new. Connection. Pack bonds humming to life, faint but undeniable.

"Fuck," I pant when I can form words again.

"Yeah," Jax agrees, sounding just as wrecked. His knot pulses inside me, and I clench reflexively, drawing another groan from him.

Dmitri presses kisses to my shoulder, my neck, anywhere he can reach. “Beautiful,” he murmurs. “Taking us so well.”

I turn my head to check on Darren, and the sight steals what's left of my breath. He's on his hands and knees, Aidan buried inside him, both their faces slack with pleasure. The marks on Darren's neck are fresh, two sets of teeth marks that will scar beautifully.

Our eyes meet, and he reaches for me again. I take his hand, squeezing tight as Aidan's knot locks inside him. We're both claimed now, both marked. The first of our pack bonds singing between us.

“You okay?” I ask him, panting.

"Flying," he admits with a breathless laugh. "You?"

"Same." I shift slightly, making the knots tug inside me. "Though I might need a nap before round two."

"Lightweight," Zayn teases from where he's watching, still lazily stroking himself, but there's fondness in it.

We stay locked together for a while, Jax's knot keeping us joined while the marks on my neck throb with a pleasant ache. Darren and I don't let go of each other's hands, even as Zayn takes his turn to knot and mark Darren once Aidan's knot goes down.

Zayn's marks stand out beautifully on the other side of Darren's throat already, and I come again just from watching, two knots still buried deep inside me.

When the knots finally soften enough to separate, we rearrange ourselves in the pit. I curl against Darren's side, comparing marks. His are already starting to heal, the accelerated healing of an omega kicking in. Mine will take longer, but I don't mind. I want to see them in the mirror, want to trace them with my fingers and remember this moment forever.

"Ready for round two?" Aidan asks eventually, his green eyes bright with anticipation.

"Give a girl a minute to recover," I huff playfully, but I'm already feeling the heat building again. Not omega heat, but something else. Pack bonds demanding to be completed, maybe. Or just good old-fashioned desire for the two alphas who haven't claimed me yet.

"Take all the time you need," Zayn assures me, but his dark eyes tell a different story. He wants this as badly as I do.

We rest for a while, the six of us tangled together in a pile of satisfied limbs. Hands wander lazily, not quite arousing but not entirely innocent either. The marks on my neck throb in time with my heartbeat, a constant reminder of what we've done, what we're still doing.

"Okay," I say finally, sitting up. "I'm ready."

"Thank fuck," Zayn mutters, already moving. "Thought my dick was going to fall off from waiting."

"Such a romantic," I tease, but I'm already reaching for him.

This time is different. Where Jax and Dmitri were controlled, careful, Zayn and Aidan are enthusiasm personified. They handle me like I'm precious but not fragile, their touches reverent but demanding.

"How do you want us?" Aidan asks, pressing kisses along my collarbone.

I consider for a moment, then grin. "I want to ride Zayn while you take me from behind."

"Fuck," Zayn breathes. "You're going to kill me."

"What a way to go," Aidan counters as I straddle the winger.

Zayn slides into my pussy easily, my body still wet and ready from before. The angle is perfect, hitting spots that make me gasp. Aidan takes his time preparing my ass, making sure I'm ready for him despite Dmitri's earlier attention.

"Still good?" he checks as he lines himself up.

"Very good," I assure him. "Now stop being so thoughtful and fuck me."

He laughs, the sound bright and joyful, then pushes in with one smooth thrust.

The sensation of being filled again, but from a different angle, with different rhythms, is incredible. Where Jax and Dmitri moved in perfect sync, Zayn and Aidan create a push-pull that has me gasping. One thrusts in as the other pulls out, keeping me constantly stimulated, constantly on edge.

"Fuck, you feel amazing," Zayn groans, his hands gripping my hips hard enough to bite. "Good girl, sharing both your holes with your alphas."

Oh, fuck.

I lean down to kiss him hard, the change in angle making both men thrust harder. Aidan's hands slide around to cup my breasts, pinching my nipples in a way that sends sparks straight to my core.

Beside us, Darren's taking his second round of marks with equal enthusiasm. Jax has him on his back, legs wrapped around the captain's waist, while Dmitri waits his turn with uncharacteristic impatience.

"Together," I gasp, reaching for Darren's hand again. "Want to come together."

He nods, beyond words as Jax pounds into him. Our fingers intertwine, that physical connection amplifying everything else.

"Close," Aidan warns behind me. "So fucking close."

"Mark me," I demand. "Both of you. Now."

They don't need to be told twice. Two sets of teeth sink into my shoulders right as their knots sink in, and the pain-pleasure of it sends me screaming over the edge. My orgasm triggers theirs, Zayn's knot swelling fully inside me as he comes, Aidan's following close behind.

The pack bonds that were faint before blaze to life. I can feel them all, not thoughts exactly, but impressions. Flavors. Like ingredients to a cake that all blend together perfectly to create something delicious and harmonious.

"Holy shit," I pant, slumping forward onto Zayn's chest. "I feel you… all of you."

"Because you're our scent match," Jax says from where he's locked inside Darren. "All of us. Now you can feel it as much as we do."

I file that information away to process later, when my brain isn't melted from orgasms and marking bonds. For now, I just let myself feel it. The connection to these five incredible men who chose me, claimed me, made me theirs in every way that matters.

Now, there's only Darren and Dmitri's bond left to seal. Once Jax's knot goes down, Dmitri takes his place, seating himself inside the omega. I watch as their tongues tangle, like my own private show, and can't help touching myself as I watch them fuck.

Aidan reaches around, replacing my hand with his and I'm more than happy to let him take over as he makes me come at the exact moment Dmitri marks Darren's shoulder.

It could just be my imagination, but… I feel it. The bond between them.

No. No, this is real. It's not just in my head. Jax is right. I feel it. The bond between us, running through us like a river, connecting us all.

We stay tangled together as knots soften and bodies cool. I've never felt so thoroughly claimed, so completely owned, and yet so utterly free.

"There's one more thing," Darren says eventually, his voice rough from screaming.

I turn to look at him, confused. "What do you mean?"

He shifts, reaching for my hand with intent this time. "I want my mark on you too. Not on your neck, there's not really any room left. But here..." He brings my wrist to his mouth, pressing a kiss to the pulse point. "If you'll let me."

My breath catches. I've heard of this, omegas marking betas in special places. It's rare, intimate in a different way than alpha marks.

"Yes," I whisper. "Please."

His eyes meet mine, full of love and possession and promise. Then his teeth sink into my wrist, right where my pulse beats strongest.

The sensation is different from the alpha marks. Gentler but somehow more intense. And when the next wave hits—unexpected, overwhelming, triggered by nothing but his bite and the knots still locked inside me—I feel the pack bonds shift and settle.

I always thought I wasn't supposed to feel pack bonds this strongly as a beta. But that was a lie, just like all the times I was told being a beta wasn't enough. I feel them all, bright and clear and undeniable.

My alphas. My omega. My pack.

Mine.

Chapter

Forty-Five

LEXIE

The last cardboard box sits on my apartment floor like a punctuation mark at the end of a very long sentence. I trace my fingers along its taped edges, wondering how an entire life can be condensed into corrugated containers and bubble wrap.

Years of independence, four failed relationships, and one thriving business, all packed up and ready to merge with five hockey players who have somehow convinced me that the girl who never belonged anywhere always belonged with them.

"That the last one?" Dmitri's voice rumbles from the doorway, his massive frame blocking most of the morning light. He's wearing a gray henley that stretches across his chest in ways that should be illegal before noon.

"Yeah." I stand, brushing dust from my jeans. "Just my crafting supplies. The fragile stuff."

He nods, moving into the room with that particular grace he somehow possesses despite being a giant wall of muscle. "I'll take this while you lock up."

I nod, grateful for the chance to say goodbye to this place that was my home for so long. Now, my home isn't four walls and a collection of furniture. It's a pack.

The house looks strange without my things. Bigger. My footsteps echo on the hardwood floors. The kitchen where I taught myself to cook after Mark left, because ordering takeout for one felt too pathetic. The living room window where I used to sit with my morning coffee, watching the world wake up and telling myself I was content with solitude.

I wasn't lying to myself, exactly. I was content. But contentment and happiness aren't the same thing, and I didn't realize the difference until five ridiculously attractive hockey players crashed into my life and showed me what I was missing.

"You good?" Aidan appears beside me, because apparently I've been standing in my empty living room having an existential crisis for longer than I thought. He's got a smudge of dust on his nose and his Grizzlies T-shirt is damp with sweat from hauling boxes.

"Just saying goodbye," I tell him, reaching up to wipe the dust away. His skin is warm under my thumb.

"Having second thoughts?" There's vulnerability in his green eyes that makes my heart squeeze. For all his confidence on the ice, Aidan still sometimes looks at me like I might disappear.

"No." The word comes out firm, certain. "No second thoughts. Just... acknowledging the moment, you know?"

He relaxes, that sunshine smile breaking across his face. "Good. Because Zayn already reorganized his entire closet to make room for your clothes when you stay in his room, and you know how he feels about his wardrobe organization system."

I laugh, the sound bouncing off the empty walls. "He didn't have to do that. I have a whole room, and the nesting space."

"Yeah, well." Aidan shrugs, but his grin turns mischievous. "He may have gotten into a competition with Jax about who could make more space for you. There was a spreadsheet involved. Color coded."

"Oh my god." I press my hand to my mouth, caught between horror and delight. "Please tell me you're joking."

"Dmitri has photos." He takes my hand, tugging me toward the door. "Come on. Let's get out of here before you start overthinking."

He knows me too well already. I let him lead me out, pausing only to drop my keys in the letterbox like I arranged with the agent. The click of metal on metal sounds final. No going back now. Not that I want to.

Outside, the moving truck idles at the curb, already mostly empty. Jax supervises the last of the unloading, directing Zayn and Darren with the kind of efficiency that makes him such an effective captain. My guys are all in various states of dishevelment, hair mussed and clothes dusty from the morning's work.

My guys. The thought still sometimes catches me off guard, how easily I've started thinking of them as mine. How naturally they've woven themselves into the fabric of my life.

The unloading process goes just as smoothly, with a lot more goofing around, as if the guys are all relieved to have me officially in the mansion. As if I'd change my mind when I'm wearing their marks. But if there's one thing I've learned, it's that alphas are all instinct, and I really don't mind. Not when those instincts are always geared toward making sure I feel safe and cherished.

"Where does this one go?" Aidan holds up a box labeled "WINTER CLOTHES" in my handwriting.

"Guest room closet," I call out. "Top shelf, if there's room."

He hefts the box easily, muscles flexing under his fitted T-shirt.

"I know exactly where this one goes," Zayn says in a mischievous tone that always means trouble.

Before I can process the words, he's setting the box in his hands down and stalking toward me with intent in those dark eyes. I yelp as he scoops me into his arms and sets me on the counter. My back hits the kitchen cabinet as he cages me in, hands braced on either side of my hips.

"Zayn," I breathe, but it's not a protest. Can't be, not when he's looking at me like I'm something precious and edible all at once.

"Been wanting to do this all morning," he murmurs against my lips. "Watching you in those jeans, bending over boxes, driving me fucking crazy."

His mouth finds mine before I can respond, the kiss deep and claiming. I taste coffee and cinnamon on his tongue, feel the controlled hunger in the way his hands grip my waist. My fingers find his hair, messing up the carefully styled strands, and he groans into my mouth.

"Get a room," Darren calls out, but there's amusement in his voice. "Oh wait, you have five now."

Zayn pulls back just enough to smirk. "Jealous, Brick?"

"Of you mauling our girl in the kitchen? Nah." Darren sets down his box, wiping sweat from his forehead. "I'll have my turn later."

The casual possessiveness in his voice makes heat pool low in my belly. Our girl. Like I've always belonged to them.

"Speaking of mauling," Aidan appears in the doorway, mock outrage on his face. "Are you seriously hogging our good luck charm before the game? We have a system, Copeland."

"Snooze you lose, rookie." Zayn presses a kiss to his mark on my throat, the sensitive skin still tender from two nights ago. The contact sends sparks through my nervous system, the pack bond humming with satisfaction.

"There's plenty of me to go around," I manage, though my voice comes out breathier than intended. "And we have hours before the game."

"About that." Jax enters with Dmitri close behind, and suddenly my spacious kitchen feels very small with five large hockey players filling it. "You ready for tonight?"

This isn't just any game. This is Darren's return to the ice as an openly omega player. The league's test run. The night that could change everything.

"I'm ready." I slide off the counter, smoothing down my shirt. "Are you?"

They exchange glances, that wordless communication thing they do that used to make me feel like an outsider but now just feels like home.

"We're ready," Darren says, but there's tension in his shoulders that belies the confidence in his voice. "Team's been solid in practice. Media training was... well, it was bullshit, but we got through it."

"And my surprise?" I can't help the grin that spreads across my face. "Still want to know what it is?"

"You're really not going to tell us?" Aidan looks like a kicked puppy. "Not even a hint?"

"Nope." I pop the 'p' sound, enjoying their frustration perhaps a bit too much. "But I should mention, I won't need the VIP box seat tonight. You can give it to someone else."

The silence that follows is deafening. Five pairs of eyes stare at me with varying degrees of alarm.

"What do you mean you won't need the seat?" Jax's captain voice is in full effect. "Where else would you be?"

"Don't worry, I'll be there." I pat his chest soothingly. "Wouldn't miss it for the world. It's just part of the surprise."

"Lexie." Dmitri's voice carries that rumbling concern that means he's about to go into protective mode. "Is it safe? This surprise?"

"Completely safe," I assure him. "You'll just have to trust me."

They don't look entirely convinced, but before anyone can argue further, my phone buzzes with a text. Jessica, letting me know the last batch of jerseys is ready for pickup. Perfect timing.

"I actually need to run to the studio for a bit," I say, grabbing my purse. "Last minute surprise prep."

"Want company?" Darren offers, but I shake my head.

"You guys finish getting the truck back. I'll be home in time for pre-game dinner."

Home. The word slips out so easily now. Not my apartment, not their house. Home.

"Fine," Zayn says, but he pulls me in for another kiss, this one softer but no less intense. "But we don't like it."

"You'll forgive me when you see what I've planned," I promise.

One by one, they each steal a kiss, as if they can't let me leave without that contact. By the time I make it to my car, my lips are tingling and my head is spinning in the best way.

The drive to my studio gives me time to mentally review everything. The fan chat exploded when I posted about the banner. What started as a plan to hold up a twenty-foot "PLAY LIKE AN OMEGA" sign has morphed into something so much bigger.

Hundreds of fans have been messaging, wanting to show support. When I mentioned making custom jerseys with Darren's number and "OMEGA" on the nameplate, the requests poured in faster than I could handle. The official team store sold out of his jersey within hours of the announcement that he'd be playing, so I've been coordinating with my new assistant, three local print shops, and a handful of seamstresses to fill orders.

It's been chaos, but the good kind. The kind that means something is changing.

My studio buzzes with activity when I arrive. Tanya, my new assistant, has boxes of jerseys stacked along one wall, each labeled with order numbers.

"Last batch just arrived," she says, not looking up from her laptop. "That makes six hundred and forty-seven custom jerseys, not counting the ones for tonight's flash mob."

"Flash mob is a strong term," I protest, but she's not wrong. What started as me and Jessica planning to unveil a banner has turned into a coordinated effort involving over two hundred fans.

"You've started a movement, boss." Tanya finally looks up, grinning. "Own it."

A movement. The words sit heavy and thrilling in my chest. I think about Darren's face when he sees the arena filled with fans wearing his number, proud omegas and supportive allies alike declaring that designation doesn't determine worth.

"The banner's ready?" I ask, moving to check the carefully folded fabric.

"Reinforced edges, just like you asked."

I run my fingers over the stitches, each one placed with intention. This banner represents hours of work, but more than that, it represents hope. Change. A future where players like Darren don't have to hide who they are.

"You sure you don't want to tell them?" Tanya asks. "Your guys are going to flip when they see this."

My guys. Even my assistant has picked up on it, how naturally they've become a unit in my mind.

"That's kind of the point," I admit. "They've been carrying so much pressure about tonight. I want them to see that they're not alone. That there's an army of support behind them."

My phone buzzes with texts from the group chat. Zayn sending pictures of my things being unpacked, Aidan complaining about Zayn hogging my extra boxes to store in his closet, Dmitri sending a single emoji that somehow conveys both exasperation and fondness.

"Go," Tanya says, making shooing motions. "I've got this handled. The volunteers know where to meet, the jerseys are sorted for distribution, and the banner's ready for transport. You need to be with your pack before the game."

My pack. The words still give me a little thrill.

That's never going to get old.

Chapter

Forty-Six

DARREN

The locker room smells like alphas and pre-game hype, which is nothing out of the ordinary. Only tonight, there's an extra layer to it. Tonight, the whole fucking world is watching to see if an omega can really play in the NHL or if Vancouver was just a fluke.

My hands are steady as I lace up my skates, muscle memory taking over while my mind spirals. The suppressants are doing their job, keeping my scent muted, keeping the omega instincts at bay. But they can't suppress the knowledge that this game decides everything.

"You good, Brick?" Jax asks, cutting through my spiral.

I look up to find all four of my alpha packmates watching me. They're already suited up, looking like the warriors they are, ready to go to battle. For me. At my side.

"Yeah," I say, and I'm surprised to find I mean it. "Just ready to get out there and show these fuckers what an omega can do."

Zayn grins. "That's our boy."

The banter settles me. This is just another game. I've played hundreds of them. The only difference is that this time, everyone knows what I am. No more hiding, no more pretending. Just me, my stick, and the ice.

The pressure is off and on at once.

"Anyone seen Lexie?" I ask as we line up in the tunnel. The roar of the crowd is already deafening, and we haven't even stepped out yet.

"She said she'd be here," Aidan offers, bouncing on his skates with his usual pre-game energy. "Just not in the VIP box."

Right. The surprise. I've been trying not to think about it, but now that we're minutes from taking the ice, I can't help scanning the stands visible from the tunnel. Where is she? What could she possibly have planned that required giving up her usual seat where she's comfortable and sequestered from the rest of the fans?

"Relax," Zayn says, bumping my shoulder. "Our girl will show."

"I know," I mutter, still searching the crowd. "Just curious."

"Malloy!" Coach Mitchell's voice booms down the tunnel. "Stop rubbernecking and get ready. You've got a game to play."

He's right. I force myself to focus, to push thoughts of Lexie and her mystery surprise to the back of my mind. I need to play my ass off tonight. The whole world is watching, waiting to see if I'll crack under the pressure, if the omega will fold when things get tough.

They're about to learn that The Brick doesn't fold for anyone.

The tunnel lights dim, and the announcer's voice echoes through the arena. My heart pounds as they call our names, one by one. When they get to mine, I expect boos. Maybe some cheers from our die-hard fans, but mostly negativity from people who think omegas don't belong on the ice.

What I don't expect is the explosion of sound that greets my name.

I step onto the ice and freeze.

The entire arena is a sea of orange and black jerseys.

No… not just generic Grizzlies jerseys.

My jersey. 47. Malloy. Over and over, as far as I can see.

"What the fuck?" I breathe, turning in a slow circle to take it all in.

The crowd is on their feet, cheering and screaming and waving signs I can't quite make out from ice level. The noise is incredible, overwhelming, like nothing I've ever experienced in my career.

"Holy shit," Aidan says beside me, and he's pointing up at the stands. "Look."

I follow his gesture and my breath catches.

A massive banner is being raised along the upper deck. Orange fabric with bold black letters that seem to scream a single phrase across the arena.

PLAY LIKE AN OMEGA.

The Jumbotron flickers to life, and there she is. Lexie, holding one end of the banner with her sister Jessica on the other side. Luke's there too, and what looks like hundreds of other fans, all wearing my jersey, all cheering like maniacs. The camera zooms in on Lexie's face, and she's glowing. Radiant. Proud.

My throat tightens dangerously.

"Guess we know what that surprise was," Jax says with a chuckle, skating up beside me. But even his usual composure cracks a little as he takes in the scene. "She really went all out."

"You picked one hell of a woman, Darren," Dmitri rumbles, and there's unmistakable pride in his voice.

I can't take my eyes off the screen as it pans across the crowd. There are omegas with signs that say "We Belong Here Too" and "Designation Doesn't Define Talent." Alphas wearing shirts that say "Real Alphas Support Omega Athletes." Betas with "Pack Stands Together" painted on their faces.

"Yeah," I manage, my voice rough. "I sure as fuck did."

The ref skates over, probably to tell us to get our asses in position, but even he looks a little stunned by the display. "Hell of a showing, Malloy," he says quietly. "Now let's play some hockey."

Right. Hockey. I can do that.

I take my position, stick on the ice, muscles coiled and ready. The energy from the crowd pulses through me like electricity. They're here for me. For us. To show the league that the world is ready for change.

I'm not going to let them down.

The puck drops and everything else fades away.

This is where I belong. This is what I was born to do. The ice beneath my skates, the stick in my hands, the chaos of powerful, athletically honed bodies in motion. This is what I fucking do.

The first period is a blur of perfect passes and bone-jarring checks. Every time I touch the puck, the crowd explodes. Every hit I make, every play I break up, they're on their feet. It should be distracting, but instead, it feeds me. This is my territory. My ice. And everyone in this arena knows it.

We're playing like men possessed.

No, that's not right. We're playing like a pack.

There's none of our usual power struggles, no jockeying for position or glory. Jax feeds Zayn a pass that would normally be too risky, trusting him completely. Zayn actually passes to Aidan instead of taking a low-percentage shot. Dmitri and I move like we share a brain, covering each other's zones without having to communicate.

And Aidan in net? He's a fucking wall. Nothing gets past him.

The other team tries to get in my head. Their center makes a comment about omegas belonging in the kitchen, not on the ice. Five minutes later, I lay him out with a hit so clean and devastating that his own teammates wince.

"How's the ice feel from down there?" I ask as I skate past. "Bet it's real comfy for someone who plays like a junior leaguer."

Zayn barks out a laugh as he steals the puck from their scrambling defense. "The Brick's back."

"Never went anywhere," I grumble half-heartedly, getting into position.

The game is close. They're good, I'll give them that. But we're better. We're not just five individual players tonight. We're a five-headed beast tearing up the ice.

Second period, I intercept a pass at our blue line and see an opening. Instead of the safe play, dumping it in and chasing, I take off. The crowd rises as I split their defense, deking around one guy, then another. Their goalie comes out to challenge, and time slows.

Lexie's image in my mind gives me that final push.

I snap the puck five-hole, threading it between the goalie's pads like it's on a magnetic line.

Goal.

The arena fucking erupts.

My teammates mob me, and I can barely hear their shouts over the crowd. But I see Lexie on the Jumbotron again, jumping up and down, screaming her head off. Jessica's hugging her, and Luke looks like he might cry.

"That's how a fucking omega plays hockey!" Aidan shouts in my ear.

"Damn right," I growl back.

The rest of the game passes in flashes. Dmitri scores off my assist. Jax nets one on a power play. Zayn, not to be outdone, dangles through three guys for a highlight-reel goal. We're not just winning. We're dominating.

But the other team doesn't quit. With five minutes left, the crowd's energy shifts, anxiety creeping in. This is where they expect the omega to crack, to wilt under pressure.

Instead, I dig deeper.

Every shift, I leave everything on the ice. Blocking shots with my body, winning battles in the corners through sheer will. My lungs burn and my muscles scream, but I keep going. Because this is bigger than me. This is for every omega who's been told they're not strong enough, not tough enough, not alpha enough to chase their dreams.

And for our sweet, perfect Lexie. A beta who thought no one would ever value her the way they would an omega.

It's time to show the world designation and fate aren't one and the same.

The final minute of the game. They've pulled their goalie, six attackers bearing down on us. The puck bounces dangerously in our zone. I see their winger loading up for a one-timer that Aidan might not be able to stop.

I don't think. I just move.

The puck hits me square in the chest, knocking the wind out of me. But I control it, spin, and fire it the length of the ice into their empty net.

Game over.

My teammates pile on me, a tangle of sweaty gear and pure joy. The crowd is beyond deafening now, forty thousand people losing their minds. Through the chaos, I hear Coach coming over.

"Hell of a game, Malloy," he says, offering his hand. "You play like that every night, I don't give a fuck what your designation is."

"Thanks," I manage, shaking his hand firmly.

Even the other team's players come over, offering congratulations and respect. It's not everyone, there are still some assholes who skate off without a word. But it's enough. It's a start.

As soon as the handshake line is done, I scan the crowd for Lexie. She's made her way down to the glass, right against the barrier, still holding part of that banner. Her face is streaked with tears, but she's smiling so bright it could power the whole arena.

I skate over, not caring about protocol or cameras or any of that shit. I need to get to my girl.

"Lexie!" I shout over the noise.

She presses against the glass, and I mirror her, putting my glove flat against where her hand rests. The barrier between us has never felt more solid, more frustrating.

"You were incredible!" she yells, though I mostly read her lips. "I'm so proud of you!"

"That was one hell of a surprise, gorgeous," I say with a grin, gesturing up toward the VIP box before I add, "Meet me?"

I know Coach is gonna want us to talk to the media after this, and I will. We need to capitalize on tonight's momentum if we're going to convince the league, but right now, the most important thing in the world is holding my mate.

Chapter

Forty-Seven

LEXIE

My legs shake as I walk the arena corridors, the adrenaline from our coordinated surprise finally catching up with me. Holy shit, we actually pulled it off. The jerseys, the banner, the synchronized chanting—everything went perfectly.

And the look on Darren's face when he saw the entire arena wearing his number? Worth every sleepless night spent knitting and coordinating.

The elevator ride to the VIP level feels endless. My reflection in the polished doors shows a woman I barely recognize, cheeks flushed, eyes bright, wearing Darren's jersey like armor. The marks on my neck peek out from the collar, and I resist the urge to touch them.

Mine.

They're mine, and I'm theirs, and the whole fucking world just saw that everyone has the right to follow their dreams regardless of designation.

The VIP box door is already open when I arrive, the space filled with the excited chatter of other guests celebrating the win. I'm practically shaking with the need to see my pack, to celebrate this monumental victory together.

That's when I freeze.

Because there, lounging in the premium seats like they own the fucking place, is Mark Werner and his new pack.

My ex. The beta who told his friend I was boring, pathetic for thinking I'd ever be enough for anyone. The man I found balls-deep in an omega after years of telling me he loved me.

And of course, she's here too. Tia. The petite blonde omega with the sugar-sweet voice. She's draped across Mark's lap, her possessive hand on his chest, surrounded by three hulking alphas who must be the rest of their pack.

Actually, now I recognize them. Took me a second without the matching sweaters and the cute golden retriever. Too bad they didn't bring him.

My first instinct is to turn around and leave. Find another way to meet my pack, avoid this confrontation entirely. But fuck that. This is my moment, my pack's triumph, and I'm not letting ghosts from my past ruin it.

I pretend not to see them, moving toward the bar to grab a water while I wait for the guys. Maybe if I ignore them hard enough, they'll return the favor.

"Oh my God, Mark, is that her?"

Tia's voice cuts through the celebration like nails on a chalkboard. Of course she noticed me immediately. Omegas and their superior senses.

I keep my back turned, focusing on the bartender who's taking forever to get my water. Maybe if I don't acknowledge them⁠—

"I guess they'll let anyone in the VIP box these days."

The scoff in her voice makes my shoulders tense. Every instinct screams at me to turn around and tell her exactly where she can shove her opinions, but I won't give her the satisfaction. I'm better than that. And I'm marked, claimed, and loved by five incredible men who just proved to the world that biology doesn't determine worth. I don't need to prove anything to her or Mark or anyone else.

"Lexie?"

Shit. Mark's voice, closer now. He must have gotten up.

I turn slowly, schooling my expression into polite disinterest. He's standing a few feet away, wearing that fake smile I once thought was charming. Now I can see right through it. How the fuck did I ever love this man?

There must have been mold in that damn house.

"Mark." I keep my voice flat, unimpressed. "What are the odds?"

"Pretty low," I say dryly, taking my water from the bartender with a nod of thanks.

"I'm surprised to see you here." His eyes flick to my jersey, to the new marks visible on my neck, and something flashes across his face. Surprise? Jealousy? "We sent you an invitation to the mating ceremony. You never showed."

I stare at him, genuinely stunned by his audacity. He's seriously asking why I didn't attend his mating ceremony? The ceremony celebrating his bond with the omega he cheated on me with?

The truth is, with everything happening with my pack, I'd completely forgotten about his stupid invitation. It had probably gone straight into the trash with the rest of the junk mail when I was cleaning out before the move.

To think, I once spent sleepless nights agonizing over whether I was going to go or not. But I guess that indecision led me to giving Beyond Bonds a shot, which led me to my pack. If there's one thing I can be grateful to Mark for, it's that.

Before I can formulate a response that doesn't include telling him to go fuck himself, Tia appears at his side. She latches onto his arm like I might try to steal him back, her perfectly manicured nails digging into his sleeve.

"I can't believe you're so pathetic."

I balk at her words, turning to face her fully. "Excuse me?"

She tosses her blonde hair, eyes glittering with malice. "Everyone's heard the rumors about you dating the entire team. And here you are, like a total stalker." Her gaze travels over my jersey, my appearance, and her lip curls. "We saw that stunt with your tacky little sign. It's clear where those rumors come from."

My mouth opens, but no words come out. I'm genuinely speechless. Stalking? She thinks I'm here stalking Mark?

Or…

It hits me like a slap in the face. She thinks I'm stalking the team. That the entire arena-wide show of support for Darren was some pathetic attempt to... what? Get the attention of the Grizzlies? As if I'd go through all of this just for attention?

I guess that's projection. It makes me want to laugh. Or scream. Or maybe both.

I tell myself she's not worth it. That responding will only feed into whatever twisted narrative she's created. But before I can walk away, I feel a presence behind me.

A large hand settles on my shoulder, warm and possessive, and Darren's deep voice rumbles through me.

"Sure is. Crystal clear. I'm the one who started them." His hand slides down to my waist, pulling me back against his solid chest. "And I'll give you one guess why."

I turn to look up at him, and my breath catches. He's changed out of his gear but still has that post-game glow, hair damp with sweat, eyes bright with victory and…

Possession. Protection.

More than anything else, love.

"The rumors are true," he continues, his gaze never leaving Mark and Tia. "She's mine."

"Ours," Zayn corrects, and I realize the rest of my pack has arrived, filing into the VIP box like an invading army. He looks directly at Tia, then back at me, his dark eyes taking in the marks on my neck with obvious satisfaction. "Were the marks on our girl's neck not clear enough for you?"

Tia's face goes through several shades of red before landing on purple. Her mouth opens and closes like a fish gasping for air, and I can practically see her brain short-circuiting as she processes what's happening.

"You... she... but she's just a beta!" The words explode out of her, making several people turn to stare.

"And?" Dmitri's voice is dangerously low, moving to stand at my other side. "Do you have a problem with that?"

"Who the hell are you, anyway?" Jax demands, cocking an eyebrow as he looms over the pair.

Mark sputters unintelligibly and Tia looks increasingly enraged that he isn't defending her properly, even as her eyes keep flicking over my pack like she can’t believe she isn’t the one on their arms.

"This can't be happening," she says, her voice rising an octave. She sounds like a child who just found out someone else has a better toy.

"She found something better than a cheating beta and his discount pack," Aidan adds cheerfully, but there's an edge to his smile that shows too many teeth. "Shocking, I know."

Tia makes a sound somewhere between a screech and a sob, then turns on her designer heel and flees the VIP box. Mark and the three alphas scramble after her, though two of them have the decency to mumble apologies as they pass.

Mark pauses at the door, looking back at me with an emotion vaguely resembling regret. But I don't care anymore. That chapter of my life is so thoroughly closed it might as well be in a different language.

"Please don't tell me that was actually your ex," Aidan says once they're gone, his nose wrinkled in disgust.

"Yep." I take a long drink of water, suddenly exhausted. "That's him. And the omega I found him with in our bed."

"Birds of a feather fuck together," Jax observes dryly. "Or something like that."

"Or something," I agree, and despite everything, I find myself laughing. Because really, what else can you do when your past tries to ambush you and gets absolutely destroyed by your present?

"Good fucking riddance," Zayn says, pulling me into his arms. "Though I'm insulted they thought they could come onto our turf and talk shit to our mate."

"Seriously," Darren agrees, pressing a kiss to my temple. "We're gonna have to get better security in this place."

One by one, they embrace me, surrounding me with their warmth and scent and my marks hum pleasantly. The encounter with Mark already feels like a distant memory, insignificant compared to the victory we're celebrating.

"Enough about those assholes," Zayn says in his usual gruff fashion.

"Seriously," Darren agrees, clinking his water glass with Zayn's.

"You're very good at keeping secrets," Jax observes, and there's pride in his voice. "That display tonight was incredible."

"I had help," I admit, finally relaxing into their touches. "A lot of help. The jerseys were my idea, but the fans organized most of it themselves. Jessica coordinated with the omega support groups, and they spread the word." I look up at Darren, making sure he understands. "You have so much support. More than you know. If the league had decided to be backwards about the whole omega thing, we probably could have started a whole new league."

"That won't be necessary."

We all turn at the new voice. Coach Mitchell stands in the doorway, looking tired but satisfied. He's still in his game-day suit, though his tie is loosened and he looks exhausted.

"Coach?" Darren's arm tightens around me.

Mitchell steps into the box, and I notice he's carrying an envelope. An official-looking envelope, with the league seal visible even from here.

"The league has come to a decision," he announces, and I feel all five of my men tense. "After tonight's display, after seeing the fan support and, more importantly, the level of play on the ice..." He pauses, and I want to shake him for the dramatic effect. "Darren Malloy will be allowed to remain in the league and on the team. Permanently. No more probation. No more conditions."

The words hang in the air for a moment before they sink in.

"Fuck yes!" Aidan shouts, fist pumping the air.

Dmitri's rare smile breaks across his face. Jax's shoulders drop with relief. Zayn whoops, pulling Darren into what looks like a crushing hug.

And Darren looks like every dream he’s ever had is coming true.

"You played like hell out there," Mitchell continues, but he's smiling now too. "All of you. Best game I've seen in years."

"We already knew Darren could play better than anyone," Zayn says, clapping the omega on his shoulder. "This was about the fan response."

"That's part of it," Mitchell admits, and his gaze finds mine. "You've got yourself quite a good luck charm there."

Darren laughs, the sound bright and free, and pulls me in for a kiss that makes my toes curl. When we break apart, we're both grinning like idiots.

"We certainly do."

The End.

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