Page 183 of Psycho Pack
As we move past the bouncer, I catch snippets of conversation from the line. Wealthy alphas complaining about the wait, bragging about their latest conquests, discussing business deals worth more money than I can comprehend. Their voices drip with entitled arrogance that makes my skin crawl.
These are the people who think they own the world.
Who think they own people like me.
The urge to show them exactly how wrong they are burns in my chest, but I swallow it down. Tonight isn't about revenge. It's about gathering intelligence. About finding leverage we can use to tear down the corrupt system that enables all of this.
Still, it's hard not to imagine how satisfying it would be to see their shocked faces as a "helpless" omega takes a few more fingers.
We walk as a pack to a dressing room. The walls are lined with mirrors, their reflective surfaces multiplying our images infinitely in a way that makes my head spin. This feels like a dream. A bad one.
I catch Wraith tensing beside me, his massive frame going rigid at the sight of his reflection repeated over and over even though most of his scars are covered by the black scarf.
My chest tightens.
I bump affectionately against his arm, the only thing I can risk doing with the cameras on us. They're not even hidden. Every corner has one, red blinking lights and all.
He rumbles softly in response.
Thane pulls out the case containing our masks, his movements precise and controlled. "Remember," he says quietly, "once these go on, we're different people. We have to be."
I nod, accepting my white rabbit mask from him. The delicate gold filigree catches the low light, making the crimson flame designs around the eyes seem to dance. As I secure it in place, I catch my reflection in one of the mirrors.
The mask transforms me.
I look like I actually belong in this den of wealthy monsters. My wild auburn hair frames the mask perfectly, and the midnight blue gown hugs my curves in a way that speaks of privilege rather than survival.
I actually look like the pampered omega I'm pretending to be.
Around me, my alphas don their own masks.
Plague dons his black mask first, the tiny gems catching the light like stars in an endless void. It suits him perfectly. Elegantand mysterious, with just a hint of danger. The way the gems shimmer reminds me of the night sky over Surhiira.
Thane's stark white mask covers his eyes and the bridge of his nose, somehow making him look even more striking than usual. It's simple but commanding, drawing attention while revealing nothing. Just like him.
Valek's iridescent snake mask catches the light as he adjusts it, the scales seeming to shift and move. "Now thisss is more like it," he purrs, drawing out the 's' sound deliberately.
"Really?" Plague asks dryly.
"What? I'm getting into character."
I turn to help Wraith with his jet black wolf mask, but he's already securing it in place, keeping his eyes locked on the floor instead of the mirrors. The smooth, angular features of his mask cover his scars and sharp teeth completely. It's fitting. He looks like a regal werewolf.
"You look amazing," I tell him softly.
His blue eyes meet mine through the mask's eye holes, and I can see some of the tension leaving his shoulders.
He signs back to me.So do you.
"If we're all done admiring ourselves," Thane says, though his voice is gentle, "we should get moving."
"Let's rock," says Whiskey. He seems to be having the most fun with all this, grinning beneath his demonic bull mask despite the tension settling over us like a storm cloud.
Maybe I was wrong.
We're not wolves in sheep's clothing.
We're wolves inwolves' clothing.