Page 8 of Pack’s Prize
My fingers were itching for a paintbrush for the first time in years. It was too much of a coincidence, was it not?
I had barely survived Louise. I wouldn’t survive an omega again.
“But that’s what makes her perfect for this, though,” Michael said, in the same way you explain to a small child that they may not eat chocolate before dinner. “She’sexactlythe kind of person my grandfather would have loved to see me–seeuswith.”
“You don’t think it will make the estate suspicious?” I asked. “You don’t think, after all these years, they would expect us to show up with, I don’t know, an artist’s model or something?”
“Amaleomega, maybe?” Michael added, a smile flickering on his lips. “After all, when was the last time you were with a woman? Portugal? Maybe Italy?”
I shook my head.That was you,I didn’t say. Michael had never known that I’d sworn off omegas–all women. The wound had been too fresh then, and I’d been careful not to mention it in the early days when we’d been traveling together and sharing a bed more often than not. Back then, the two of us had been companions and lovers, but notpack,not like now. Not like we had been since we’d met Elias, and our unusual trio had been complete.
Wehad beencomplete, past tense. Now…
This all seemed sodangerous.
“She’ll be perfect,” Michael said, insistent. “And listen, Ipromise, this will all go according to plan. The lawyers will be too busy drooling, wishing they were young enough to claim her themselves.”
My fists clenched, and it took me all my willpower to relax them, to smile at Michael’s lewd joke instead of punching him in the face like I wanted. “Fine,” I ground out, although it was anything but. “I’m going to bed,” I added, slinking away before either Michael or Elias could invite themselves into it with me.
It had been my damned protectiveness that had gotten me into trouble the last time.
Why did I feel like I was walking into the same mistake?
CHAPTERNINE
Ava
Ding.Ding.
The sound of an alert from my phone dragged me from a deep slumber.
Roman.
No–he had his own message alert tone on my phone: a cascading chime. All his packmates did, and this wasn’t any of them.
Then I remembered where I was. What had happened. Why I was alone. Why the notification on my phone wasn’t Roman’s or his packmates, but the generic, built-in bell tone.
Ding.
I pulled up my messages app–realizing as I did so thatyeah, it reallyhadbeen that long since anyone who wasn’t Roman’s pack had messaged me, I reallyhadisolated myself, based on the sorry state of my empty inbox–to see an unknown number. I opened the chat, rubbing my eyes. I hadn’t been outthatlate, but I’d still come home later than I was used to. The bad job I’d done removing my makeup didn’t help, either; my lashes felt sticky with mascara residue.
This is Michael. I’m looking forward to dinner.
We all are.
A flush swept over me, my bedsheets, tangled from a restless night’s sleep, suddenly stifling.
I had a date tonight.
A fake date, I corrected myself. But then again… The butterflies fluttering in my stomach at the thought of a dinner date turned warm and sticky at the bargain we’d made.
Even if the date was fake, what happened after would be real. Or at least, what I hoped would happen after.
The bubble popped up indicating that Michael was typing. Was he, too, in bed, in his pajamas? I somehow doubted it. He’d seemed the type to be born into a custom suit. And the way he’d looked in the one he’d been wearing last night… I hoped tonight’s restaurant had a dress code, just so I could see him in another suit like that, all broad shoulders and superfine wool across strong thighs. He wasn’t huge, for an alpha–no, that had been Elias, the blond, and I flopped over onto my stomach at the thought ofhim, tall tall tall and looking like he could lift me with one finger–but Michael was at least six foot two, if I had to guess, and I wanted to see what was under that suit, wanted to slip every button on his pristine shirt from it’s buttonhole, wanted to–
Ding.
I scrambled for my phone again.