Indigo

The hotel suite feels familiar, like a long lost memory, even though you had never been here before. Perhaps it's because growing up, this had been your life. Bouncing from one luxury hotel to the next, traveling the world with your parents and family without a care in the world, cost was never a question, and you were doted on. As a child, you thought that was just life, but now, looking back, you know it was just because you were being trussed up as a prize for the highest bidder. All those trips were political, all parties' bargaining chips, and here you are again. Readying yourself to enter the political fray, playing the game and making sure you are one step ahead of everyone else.

The penthouse occupies the entire top floor, complete with enough bedrooms that everyone has somewhere to disappear into. Even Callum has a space that is connected directly to yours. Where you had grown used to hearing the sea crashing outside and the creaks of the windows buffeted by the wind, it is silent here, the only sound is the quiet hum of the city dozens of floors below.

You stand in your temporary bedroom and stare at the garment bag Hilde had given to Callum to take to the car with your suitcase. She had refused to let you look at it before she packed it. "You'll only worry yourself into changing your mind," she said as she zipped it closed after only giving you a glimpse of the color so you could coordinate your makeup. She had even picked out the shoes and kept them hidden from you.

She hadn't been wrong, you worried the entire trip. The drive to the airport. The flight to London on the chartered plane. The ride from the airfield into the city. Each mile only made the gala, made Edith, more inevitable. You could only imagine what the dress looked like, which helped keep you occupied, if a bit fearful, of what she had hidden from you.

With a sigh, you unzip the garment bag that's hanging on the closet door to get a look at it. Dark charcoal fabric spills into view, parts of it catching the light with a slight shine, enough to just show the depth of the color but not actually reflect the light. It's floor length, the bottom pooling a bit in the bag as you reach in and pull it off the hanger.

It's gorgeous. The neckline is bateau, connecting to long flowing sleeves and a cinched bodice before it flows loosely into the skirt. You twist it around to see the back and swallow hard, there is no back. The sleeve caps wrap enough around your shoulders to hold themselves up, with the sides coming together at your lower back. A collection of small silver chains drape between the sides that will accent your back softly, midnight blue jewels lining them, so dark they look black unless under direct light.

It certainly wasn't what you expected. In all your speculation, you had expected something that left nothing to the imagination. Tight, small, and flashy had been what your brain settled on, thinking Hilde was afraid you'd panic at the lack of fabric. When in reality, this dress was extremely modest and understated, yet still eye catching in its own way. The most scandalous part was the back but once you get it on and check in the mirror it's still tasteful.

There was no jewelry to wear, leaving your neck bare and allowing the dress to speak for you. The shoes are black with burgundy red bottoms, a dark pop of color if someone were looking, but the way the dress swept the floor at just the right length, you doubted anyone would see. But they still made you feel elegant and pretty.

You look at yourself in the mirror for a little longer, twisting this way and that to get the final look. You kept your makeup light and soft, opting to look more natural than painted on. Your role that evening was to be present, to show that the pack still has you, owns you, and that everything is still normal. To hopefully stop the questions and constant pressure from your family, especially the twins who had scented an Omega in their manor during their unannounced visit. To keep things as they used to be, you even sprayed on your go to perfume that you hadn't used in weeks, doing your best not to wrinkle your nose at how chemical it smells now.

Grabbing the water bottle on the vanity you twist open the orange pill case and shake a single white tablet into your palm, it's a horse pill. You glare at it as it sits in your palm for a moment before finally tossing it into your mouth and chasing it with a long drink of water, finishing off the bottle. You have been on the medication for a few days now, the doctor wanting it to build up in your system before the gala, and starting the day before, you had begun taking a pill every eight hours.

It was awful, and you couldn't wait to be free of it. Your senses were muted to the point that, even standing shoulder to shoulder with the pack, you couldn't smell them anymore. Judging by the way Garrick had looked at you on the flight to London, he couldn't smell you either. You kept catching all of them looking for you throughout this trip, their eyes finding you every few minutes, just quick glances, almost as if they were checking you were still there since they couldn't scent you.

That was the goal, of course, to make you disappear and erase every trace of you being an Omega until you looked and smelled like an Unable again. But it still felt wrong, like someone had reached inside you and removed a piece of you. A piece of them.

When you step out into the sitting room, forgoing a clutch since you have nothing to carry, Callum looks up from where he had been waiting. He stops mid sip of his coffee and for a long second he simply stares at you making your stomach sink.

"What?" You ask, looking down at yourself.

Callum smiles as he sets his coffee mug down, "nothing."

"You were staring," you shoot back, looking down at the dress again, trying to see if you missed something.

"Hilde was right," he says simply, and you just stare at him, willing him to continue explaining. "The dress was a good choice," he continues as he rises from the couch and buttons up his suit jacket. "You look beautiful." The words are simple and honest with nothing else attached to them, no expectations or hidden meanings, just him telling you his truth, and because it's Callum, you actually believe him.

"Thank you," you say, feeling your shoulders relax a bit, even if you still feel a bit out of place. "I still feel off, though," you admit as you smooth out the bodice even though it is still perfectly in place.

"The suppressants?" He asks as he tucks his pistol into his chest holster and straightens his lapels.

"I hate them, they make me feel like I'm in some weird fog. Like I'm here but not," you admit. "Like I'm not really me."

"Well, you aren't," he agrees. "You're the old you, just for a little longer. Just need to get through tonight, then you can wash all that perfume off," he pauses as you give him a look, "I smelled it before you even walked out here."

"Is it bad?" You ask, instantly worrying you shouldn't have put it on.

"No, it's not bad, just not you," he answers.

"It used to be my favorite," you admit as you sigh again. "I'm already ready to be done with this, and it hasn't even started."

"So are all of us," Callum admits. "I always hate going to these things."

"Do you think it's going to go okay?" You ask, hoping for some reassurance against the feelings of impending doom you've been feeling.

"Oh no, not at all," he says with a smirk as your eyes widen. "It's going to be an absolute shitshow, I think Price wants to ruffle a few feathers and put people on edge."

"That is not helping my nerves at all," you answer.

"It wasn't supposed to," Callum replies, "just preparing you is all. Do I think it will go okay as far as no one realizing what is truly happening? Yes. Do I think people are going to leave angry, confused and probably ready to tear out some throats? Absolutely."

"Just a typical party then," you murmur as Callum's grin softens.

"And you being there is going to be a huge problem tonight," he tacks on.

"For my family?" You ask. You had questioned going, had thought it might not be the right move, but Riley had said you were a unit, and tonight they intended to make sure everyone understood that.

"Your family is definitely going to have a problem with it," he says, giving you a knowing look. "But I'm talking about a pack kind of problem."

"I don't know what that means," you begin, watching him scoop up his coffee mug as a door opens somewhere across the penthouse.

"You're about to," he says, chuckling to himself before disappearing into the kitchen.

Twisting around, you see Price is the first one to emerge, still fastening his cufflinks. His suit is the same exact color as yours, same fabric and sheen. It shouldn't matter, it was only a color, but seeing him in matching you, like you were a set, makes something in your chest flutter. The color isn't the only thing about the suit that catches your eye, it's how he fills out that suit. How it is cut to his precise size, the sleeves falling to just the right spot below his wrists, the buttons at his waist cinching him in naturally. And he somehow seems bigger now than before, as if the room moved around him and not the other way around.

"We're leaving in five," he states as he finishes with his cufflink before finally looking up at you. He pauses, steps faltering for only a heartbeat before he smooths his sleeve into place and continues across the room. He's studying you, not in a way that makes you uncomfortable, more calculating, as if figuring out what he needs to do with you and how he needs to handle himself and perhaps the others.

"Ready?" He finally says, his eyes trailing away from the bare line of your throat to meet yours.

"I think so," you reply quietly, wishing you had a clutch now to occupy your hands.

"There she is," comes Garrick's voice, pulling your attention away.

You hadn't even heard him open and close his door, and you are sure he did it on purpose, whether he wanted to see how Price reacted or simply steal a moment to himself, you aren't sure. Garrick was always watching, always planning, always putting pieces together in his mind. It reminds you of the twins in some ways, except his gaze never makes your skin crawl like theirs does.

"You look lovely," Garrick admires as he crosses the room to stand next to you without hesitation.

"Thank you," you reply simply, feeling a heat creep up your neck, as you smile. "You aren't so bad yourself." Not so bad was a huge understatement. The deep burgundy suit fits him perfectly, the black shirt underneath making the color bolder. He's freshly shaven, and his hair is neatly trimmed, making him look polished yet still himself.

"Well," he says, giving you an easy grin, "we all can't have Hilde styling us."

Movement down the hall catches your attention as Riley and MacTavish exit their respective rooms at almost the same time. Riley pockets his phone inside his jacket, without breaking stride, his head twisted over his shoulder to talk to MacTavish. He's in solid black from his face mask down to his shoes, like normal. When he turns to face the living area, his eyes find yours, and he lifts an eyebrow before his gaze darts between Price, Garrick and finally MacTavish, who has moved to walk next to him. He doesn't say a word, but you can see the ghost of a smile pass over his face. You hadn't seen his actual smile, his lower face always behind a black mask, but you can see the material shift and the way the corners of his eyes wrinkle. That is the only acknowledgment he gives before he steps off toward the kitchen, presumably to find Callum.

"Garrick," MacTavish says, frustration in his voice as he tugs the knot from his tie, "fix this damn thing."

He finally pulls it free and all but flings it at Garrick before he finally looks up and sees you, and you hear him mutter something under his breath. If you were to guess, it was a curse word, but you can't make it out. Garrick catches the tie with one hand, giving it a shake to straighten it before shaping it around his hand. Silence settles in the room as Garrick takes his time arranging the tie into a knot, smirking like a cat. You know what he is doing, but you don't begrudge him for it because it also gives you a chance to look at MacTavish, really look at him, because he's staring brazenly back at you.

Dark blue was MacTavish’s color, there was no doubt about it. It fits his skin tone perfectly and deepens the blue of his eyes to the point they look like the jewels on your back. You can see a scar that runs down his jaw, then under his chin, it's almost the shape of a backward C, something you've never noticed before, probably because you were too scared to even look at him.

You watch his eyes trace the line of your dress, from the fitted top to where the skirt loosens around your hips before falling to the floor, then, almost guilty, his eyes return to yours. You swallow once and open your mouth to say something. What you don't know, but you need to say something. Do something.

"If you'd stop undoing the knots every time," Garrick says finally taking pity on the both of you as he tightens the tie, "we wouldn't have this conversation before every event." He loosens the tie so the loop is wide enough to fit over MacTavish's head and holds it out. "We can always get you clip ons. Like a child."

"Piss off," MacTavish answers, the spell between the two of you finally broken as he pulls the tie over his head and sets about tucking it under his collar.

"Car's ready," Riley says as he walks into the room again, pausing behind MacTavish to flatten his collar down in the back. "Callum cleared the elevator and path already."

Standing there together in the room, the five of you are completely coordinated, and you can't help but feel a sense of power with it. Everyone in a dark shade that blends perfectly with the background, like predators that lingered on the fringes ready to pounce and take out your prey, or enemy. Only Price's crisp white shirt stands out among the sea of dark, a subtle signal that would draw eyes to him when they looked at the five of you, to turn to him as the leader.

"Into the wolves' den we go," Garrick says, grinning, as he offers you his arm.

You swear you see Price open his mouth to interject to what Garrick has done but he shuts it just as quickly. Without a word, he steps forward and grabs the door for the two of you, and you all head down the elevator and to the car.

The ride over to the gala is mostly quiet. No one scrolls through their phone, there is no small talk. Even Garrick, who would fill any awkward silences with a joke or speaking of the weather, spends the drive looking at the city pass by. Everyone is preparing for their role to play. Price had already talked to you about it, stopping by your room a few days ago to go over how it would play out. It was a well rehearsed dance that they all did, slipping into the same roles every time they attended a public event.

Garrick was the social butterfly, charming anyone willing to give him attention and hopefully get them talking with how easy he was to get along with. Riley stayed in the back, watching from the fringes of the party or lingering in smokey rooms as men talked. He was intimidating without trying and had realized long ago that people revealed far more when they were trying to fill the awkward silence. MacTavish stayed with the older families, many of them unsure about the new, flashy Alphas of the rest of his pack. The MacTavish family was an old and well respected line so people underestimated how much information they were giving away, assuming he’d stick to old alliances like his family had always done. And Price coordinated it all. He talked with the most powerful people in the room with ease, quietly steering conversations where he wanted them to go while watching the rest of the pack. Where the MacTavish was the oldest line, the Price line was the most politically powerful.

Your role was simple, you were their new toy. The pretty little thing hanging from Price's arm all evening, there to be seen more than heard. If he wanted another drink, you'd get it, if someone wanted your company, you'd ask for permission from Price, if he were tired of you he would send you away with a dismissive hand. Nothing was off limits, least from the outside looking in.

It was all one large performance that was carefully designed to tell the room exactly what they wanted everyone to believe. You belonged to the 141, nothing had changed with their power, and you were nothing but something fun to occupy their time. Edith was still their Omega, while you were just a fun diversion they kept around for their own amusement until they grew bored of you and tossed you aside. It was a cruel part to play, which is why everyone would believe it, since that had been your existence for the past few years with your family.

Price had made a point of asking whether you were comfortable with it before presenting the plan to the rest of them. He promised he wouldn't ask you to do anything that crossed a line, and if you wanted out at any point, one word would end it. Even he didn't seem comfortable with his own plan, but it was the only hand they could play. You had agreed, trusting him and Callum, who would be quietly shadowing your every movement. Where you went, he'd always be within your eyesight, ready to swoop in and take you away, a comfort as well as safety.

"Faces on," Riley mutters as the car comes to a stop.

You take one more second to look at the four men around you as Callum climbs out of the front seat to get the back door. They were all watching you, one last moment of normalcy between all of you, before the game began. You give a small nod before the door opens and Price climbs out first, Riley follows him next, with MacTavish and Garrick bringing up the rear. You are the last out and you curse to yourself seeing that the granite steps are still wet from the rain earlier.

The four of them set off up the steps, not looking back at you once as they go. You straighten your shoulders and follow, carefully stepping in the razor thin heels and praying you don't slip. You can feel Callum's presence behind you, an arm’s length away to catch you if you fall, but you're determined not to. You will get into this damn party with all eyes on you without making a fool of yourself. Your dignity was already shattered with the part you had to play, you weren't going to roll it in the mud by falling.

"Leas," Price calls, and you feel like you have been slapped. The fucking nickname, that goddamn ugly nickname.

"Here," you answer as you get to his side, having managed to get up the stairs with only a minor slip, as MacTavish moves away to talk with someone. You see Garrick snatch a few hors d'oeuvres off a passing plate before he's off smiling at some older woman. Riley has already disappeared, for someone of his bulk it should be impossible to be so stealthy, yet he always managed to melt away like smoke.

“Oh, is this new?” A man asks, but you don’t dare lift your eyes from where they are staring about six feet away at the floor. It was one thing to look an Alpha you knew in the eye, strangers were a whole other thing.

“Relatively,” Price answers as his hand settles at your waist, his fingers on your bare skin like white hot knives. “Had to break her in before bringing her out,” he smiles lazily, letting the implication fill the space without having to say it outright. 

“This is the…Unable from America, isn’t it?” A woman asks, and this time you do dare to look up, it’s the Alpha’s Omega you assume. She’s not much older than you, but the way she carries herself, you know she is old money and was bred for this life.

“It is,” Price answers, his thumb gently stroking your side once, a soft gesture going unnoticed by anyone around you. “There are four of us. Didn’t want to wear out our brand new Omega too quickly,” his smile widens enough just to make the Alpha laugh. “Unables are easier to…wrangle.”

You could feel the heat rush to your face in equal parts shame and anger. You knew it was an act, you knew what tonight was going to be and had agreed to it, but that still didn’t stop the words from feeling like shrapnel against your soul. Price feels the tension ripple through you and his fingers tighten momentarily, his knuckles brushing your spine to ease you as if to silently say I’m here.

“I always used a Beta for that,” the man muses, “perhaps there’s something in using an Unable. No risk of…unwanted consequences.”

“Everyone has their poison,” Price answers before gesturing with his free hand to go sit down in a free alcove that overlooks the main floor.

You follow dutifully, eyes scanning the room for anything to focus on besides the conversation at hand. Your anger would do no good here, it would ruin everything the pack had built, so instead you let your gaze wander. 

Crystal chandeliers are scattered throughout the large ballroom, sending light everywhere you can see. A string quartet, all dressed in soft rose gold, plays on a stage on the floor below you, their music complementing the large fountain in the center of the room. The walls are draped in matching silk and overflowing with flowers, their fragrance strong enough that you wonder if it would have been enough to overpower your own scent. You know it wouldn’t, but the thought lingers as the jasmine overpowers your senses. To your right, you catch Callum’s eye. He’s leaning casually against a pillar with a drink in his hand, looking every bit the guest as he takes in the sights.

“Where is your Omega?” The Alpha asks as he snaps his fingers for his Omega to go fetch both men a drink. “I thought she would be with you tonight.”

“She’s here,” Price answers as he sits down in a large high back chair, guiding you to sit on the arm beside him, like a decorative ornament. “I didn’t want to bore her with work talk,” he grins, “Garrick will find her soon enough, he’s been chomping at the bit all evening.”

“Always the young ones,” the other Alpha laughs, “no patience whatsoever.”

The chair's arm is narrow, and you have to shift a few times to find even a relatively comfortable position on the carved wood. The only way you can keep your balance is to lean a bit against Price, brushing his shoulder with your own. His hand remains loosely at your waist as you adjust, and he keeps it there, his broad palm holding you steady so you never worry about actually slipping. It’s comforting, and you lean against him a little more, thinking you may as well lay it on thick that you are a dutiful possession.

“I heard the Hastings’ contract finally went through,” the other Alpha muses as his Omega returns with drinks. “Bit of a surprise really.”

You look at her briefly as she sits across from you and hide your wince at the look of disgust she has on her face. No Omega liked to see other women being coveted by an Alpha, even if it wasn’t their Alpha. It was a degradation of their role as a whole if an Alpha didn’t dedicate themselves to an Omega, and they didn’t care if the women in question had no power to stop it. It was always a woman’s fault in this society.

“Is it?” Price hums as he swirls his glass, the large single ice cube clinking.

“I thought the Kemps would have won the bid,” the man answers with a small chuckle.

“So did they,” Price answers simply before sipping on his drink, his eyes cutting to yours as you watch his face. If you didn’t know any better, he was getting flustered by the way you moved your hand to rest lightly on his shoulder, fingertips barely brushing his neck. 

“Why didn’t you throw your hat in?” The man asks. “Four of you...could always use another Omega. Hell, I had three of my own at one point,” he laughs as his Omega jiggles her foot in impatience. “Back when I was a younger man.”

“You assume I wanted the contract?” Price inquires causing the man to balk a bit.

“Didn’t you? The Hasting's are an old line,” he starts, “strong blood.”

“No need,” Price shrugs, “I just wanted to know who was willing to pay for it, a better reward than a secondhand Omega.”

“Christ, Price,” the man laughs as he digs around in his jacket pocket for a cigar. “You make everything into a chess match. Four steps and three games ahead.”

“It usually is,” Price answers as he rests his glass on the other arm of his chair. “You’ve been around long enough to know how it goes.”

You pull your eyes from the floor below, where people have begun to dance to look at Price again, a bit in awe of him. In this whole conversation, Price hasn’t asked a single direct question, hasn’t offered an opinion one way or the other, just used some well placed words, and this older Alpha was rambling on without hesitation.

Shifting a bit as the wood of the chair starts digging into your thigh, Price’s hand instinctively tightens against you again, his nails lightly scraping your skin to send shivers down your spine. And you know he senses your reaction, you can feel how he adjusts himself, his breath catching for just a moment, before he continues talking. You were affecting him as much as he was affecting you with his possessive touches, but he wasn’t going to let anyone else know. It was a small slip, and you want him to do it again. Want another soft moment, so you adjust once more, only for his hand to find your hip and firmly squeeze for you to hold still.

You glance at his face, and his eyes are locked on the man talking, but you see how his jaw ticks, you are winning this battle. You uncross your legs only to cross them again the other way, which turns you to face Price more, almost to where your legs are draped across his lap if you only twisted a few more inches.

“…the council won’t meet again until October,” the other man says, and you realize you have been so engrossed with watching Price that you have missed half of what they were talking about.

“Which gives everyone time to try and change their minds,” Price replies before his attention snaps to someone who walks into the alcove. Another Alpha. You hadn’t scented them, how could you with these damn suppressants, and fuck you feel your stomach free fall when you see who it is.

“Oh, Thorne,” the other man says as he gestures for an open seat for him to take. “I thought you wouldn’t be here tonight. Isn’t your Omega due any day?”

“She’s had plenty of children,” Thorne answers dismissively, but he only has eyes for you, narrowed eyes full of hatred. “Won’t be a great loss if I miss another one. I wanted to escort my sister to her first big event, only proper to make sure she’s settling in.”

You want to run, to hide, to disappear. Anything. You hadn’t been this close to Thorne in years, always actively avoiding his presence when you could. Growing up with him had been a nightmare, even before you were an Unable he tortured you. He enjoyed locking you in dark rooms to scare you, pushing you down on the playground, pulling your hair and shoving you down the stairs. When you were an Unable it only got worse. There had been a few times you were certain that if he knew he could get away with it, he would have killed you, just for the fun of it.

“Price,” Thorne says stiffly as he sits down.

“Thorne,” Price answers back evenly.

You need to leave. You can feel your chest tightening with panic, and you fidget your fingers on the back of Price’s neck, lightly tangling into his hair no matter how hard to you try to fight it. You miss all the conversation as the three Alphas talk back and forth, but Price catches on to your discomfort, the hand on your hip relaxing a fraction before he downs the rest of his whiskey.

“Leas,” he says firmly, but you don’t react. He gives you a second, and when you still don’t move, his hand comes up to grab your chin, fingers cold from holding his glass, making you flinch before you can stop yourself.

“Go fetch me another drink,” he orders. “And make sure it’s Glenfiddich. I’m not drinking whatever they poured me before,” he continues as he stares into your eyes.

You know what he is doing. He is giving you an excuse to leave, a chance to walk, to breathe for a moment, and to pull yourself back together before anyone else notices the panic creeping in. To everyone else, he’s simply grown tired of his toy, or perhaps has important things to discuss without her there, so he sent you off on an errand. Only you catch the softness hidden beneath his sharp tone and the way his fingers don’t hold your chin hard, more like a soft caress.

“Go on,” he says, letting his hand fall from your waist.

As you stand, he catches the edge of your sleeve between his fingers, smoothing out the fabric. “Don’t be long,” he adds as you look at him before twisting to leave, doing your best not to look in Thorne’s direction.

“If you don’t mind,” Thorne says, already rising from his chair. “I’d like a word with Leas.”

The atmosphere shifts before you can blink, tension filling the small space enough that a few servers pick up their pace to get away from the area. No, no, no, no. You do not want to be alone with Thorne, you don’t even want to be in the same zip code as him if you could help it.

“I do,” Price answers calmly, but the ice in his voice is enough to make Thorne hesitate.

“I’ll only be a moment,” Thorne says, giving a saccharine smile. “I wanted to check how…”

Price cuts him off. “I said no.”

It was simple to the point, and you know that Thorne is seething at the reprimand, but he wouldn’t dare start a fight, not here. Not when he didn’t have the advantage or the ability to undermine.

“I sent her to get me a drink, we have things to discuss. You can speak to her afterward,” Price answers as he sits forward in his seat to put his empty glass on the small table. “If there is time.”

You don’t linger and don’t dare to look back as you head for one of the grand staircases. Despite wanting to run, you keep your composure as you walk, hiding the fact that your knees are shaking and that you can feel sweat on your back from the panic. Taking the marble steps one at a time, you look around the room vacantly, not really taking in the sights, but in an effort to look normal. Somewhere across the ballroom, you catch a familiar face, and your stomach does a flip. Riley stands just off to one side of the bar, hands tucked loosely in his pockets, his eyes on you, watching your every step, but he doesn’t react to your presence beyond that.

Of course he knew you were coming. Had he been watching the whole exchange on the balcony above? Perhaps he had been tailing Thorne and was staying close to step in if needed, but far enough away that it wasn’t obvious.

“A whiskey, please,” you say to the bartender as you get there. “Ah, Glen,” you pause, shit what was the name of it, Glenfitch?

“Glenfiddich,” Riley supplies for you as he comes to stand next to you, even in your heels he towers over you.

“Yes, that,” you sigh, resisting the urge to wipe at your forehead, sure there is sweat there.

“Make it two, and a strong Pink Gin for her,” Riley orders as he looks you over.

“I’ll have to go to the back,” the bartender says apologetically. “We don’t carry the Glenfiddich on the floor.”

“Appreciate it,” Riley dismisses before he turns his attention to you, “I take it Thorne found you.”

“Yeah,” you breathe out, turning to lean on the bar a bit as you look up at Riley.

“You shook the whole way down those stairs,” he observes, and you huff as you look at your hands that are still trembling a bit.

Another bartender slides the Pink Gin over, and Riley picks it up, pressing it into your hand. “Drink,” he says and you hesitate for a moment before taking a sip.

It burns and you have to keep yourself from gasping at how strong it is, he had certainly ordered you a stiff drink. You take another smaller sip before lowering the glass back down and setting it on the bar. It continues to burn all the way down, settling heavily in your stomach.

“We weren’t expecting him tonight,” Riley admits, his attention never leaving the ballroom. “He wanted us unprepared, he wanted you alone.”

“Sounds like something he’d do,” you murmur. “He said he came with Edith.”

“She conveniently forgot to mention she’d have an escort,” Riley answers as he nudges your drink toward you to finish it. “It’ll take the edge off,” he says.

Neither of you say anything for a few moments, letting the silence fill between you as you sip on your drink. It wasn’t the same silence with Price, where every pause felt calculated, another move in his endless chess match. With Riley, it was simply silence, comfortable and expected in its own way. He wasn’t a man of many words, he preferred to say what he was thinking through action you have learned.

“Don’t wander off too far,” he warns as the bartender returns with the bottle of Glenfiddich and two tumblers with ice. “Too many people here I don’t recognize.”

You look around a bit confused, everyone is conversing, dancing and eating. No one looks like an outsider or someone new. Then again, Riley always hung around the fringes, perhaps he saw others were trying to stay hidden.

“I thought I was getting a breather,” you say with a small laugh as you pick up the glass of whiskey and look up at the balcony where Price is.

“You are,” Riley answers as he picks up his own glass, “just not alone.” And with that, he turns away. You follow him with your eyes for a moment before another couple passes between you, and by the time they clear your view, he’s gone.

“Two drinks?” A woman’s voice catches your ear, and you feel your shoulders, which had only just loosened, tighten back up again. This whole gala was just a game of cat and mouse, and you were the mouse with about a thousand cats.

Slowly, you turn around and see her. Edith stands a few feet away, a champagne flute gripped elegantly between her fingers. Her bright silver gown catches every light in the ballroom, shimmering each time she breathes. Her smile is pleasant enough that anyone watching would assume she’d wandered over to greet her sister, but you know better.

“I didn’t realize you drank gin,” she tacks on as she steps closer, the slit in her dress showing an expanse of leg that you know half the men in the room are looking at.

“You don’t know what I drink,” you reply simply before downing the last of your drink and setting the glass on the bar. You move to leave, to head back up to Price, even though that meant coming face to face with Thorne again. You weren’t sure which was worse, but at least upstairs you had Price by your side.

“No,” she smiles,” I suppose I don’t know you very well anymore,” she sips on her champagne as she gets closer, blocking your way. You could step around her, but you know people are watching, there was always someone watching, so you didn’t want to make a scene.

“I’m still your same older sister,” you reply, eyeing the large diamond necklace that hangs at her throat.

“Are you?” She asks as she in turn looks you up and down. You feel a sliver of self consciousness at the assessment but you don’t let it show. “Because I thought sisters were supposed to support one another.”

You can’t help it, you laugh at that, a sharp sarcastic laugh that makes her raise an eyebrow. “You never supported me,” you shoot back, “never tried. You were always glad to let me be trampled on by the rest of the family. Why should I help you?”

“Because they are mine, not yours,” Edith seethes, her eyes cutting across the floor, and you follow her gaze to where MacTavish is sitting casually with a group of people. His eyes are only for those he is talking to, but you swear you know he’s watching from the corner of his eye.

“I never said they weren’t,” you answer. “No one did. I am just there to…service them,” you finish, hating the way it sounds, the implication. You hadn’t even kissed them, let alone anything else that you were pretending to have done, what everyone thought you were doing.

“Perhaps I was wrong,” Edith replies, twisting her champagne glass between her fingers, “I always thought you were the perfect chaste sister, always sticking to the rules. Where oh where did you learn your tricks to keep four Alphas happy?” She inquires, tilting her head to the side in mock curiosity. “Unless that’s what they like? An unskilled fuck toy to abuse,” she laughs, “getting their fill of you until you’re of no worth to anyone, then they'll toss you like the trash you are.”

You swallow, taking a sharp inhale through your nose as you look at her. You know she’s just trying to rile you up, trying to wound you, because that’s the only card she has to play. She has absolutely no power in the situation, she’s at the mercy of her contracted Alphas, just waiting for them to call on her.

“Well,” you finally breathe out, doing your best not to grip the whiskey glass in your hand too hard and shatter it. “I guess I am just a fast learner, because the last I knew, they had no interest in calling you. I can barely get a moment alone in their manor.” Which wasn’t a lie, these days you were always with one of them, aside from MacTavish, but it wasn’t the way Edith was thinking. Not that you care, let her be jealous. 

It hits home, you know it does, the way her eyes narrow and she slams her empty glass down on the bar. You have just confirmed all her suspicions, even though she has the wrong impression, and it makes her wild with jealousy and fear. Fear that her Alphas will never want her, that they would choose you, the broken thing, over her.

“Whores never last long. You are playing the short game,” she snaps. “Garrick has already sought me out this evening, could barely keep his eyes to himself,” she says as if proud to be gawked at. The thought of Garrick looking at her, enjoying her presence, makes you want to scratch your skin off from the disgust that courses through you. “Enjoy the last bits of your use,” she finishes, a smug look on her face.

“I mean,” you gesture to her dress, “you sure he wasn’t just being polite and looking at you when you talked? Your dress barely leaves anything to the imagination. Half the men here have already eye fucked you and want more. Not that it wouldn’t be anything new for you from what I heard from the twins at your time at the clubs…being passed around like a whore.” You pause and smirk, “just like me.” 

“You know nothing,” she barely whispers, a bit of fear in her voice that you could expose her for that, per the contract she was to be a virgin as most freshly presented Omegas were. Even if you were to publicly accuse her of misdeeds it wouldn’t go anywhere. The number of Omegas who went to their Alphas as ‘virgins’ yet knew how to do everything and anything in the bedroom was astounding. Another poorly kept secret in your society.

Suddenly, she lashes out and grabs the whiskey glass from you, “I will take this to Price.” You know she doesn’t want to fight anymore, afraid if she pushes you too far you may run to one of the Alphas and tell them.

“Fine,” you snap, “just know I’m the one going home with him…with all of them…tonight,” you call after her as she pivots and walks away.

You watch her go, slipping through the crowd to the stairs, carrying herself like the elegant woman she was. You know Price is going to be surprised at her arrival, and maybe a small part of you wonders if he’ll worry that it isn’t you bringing him his drink. He’ll know you’re safe enough, that Callum wouldn’t let anything happen to you or the rest of the pack, for that matter. Even though it was Callum’s job to keep you safe, you are sure all five of them are watching over you.

Needing a few more minutes to unwind and relax, you move across the floor, weaving in and out between people who barely look at you. It was the usual role you played, the only people who made eye contact with you were the staff working the floor. You nod at a few of them as you grab bites of food to eat on passing trays, needing something on your stomach after the gin. Everything is delicious, and you eat a little bit too much, but it doesn’t stop you. You are dreading going back up to Price and Throne, and now your sister. You can see her dress from where you are, shimmering like a beacon where she stands next to Price. Her hand rests on the back of the chair by his head, as if letting everyone know she’s his, and his hand comes up to brush against the inside of her arm you groan.

You need another drink, but definitely not gin. You twist, looking around to see the bar is packed with people, but you know there is a champagne wall around somewhere, there always was. Champagne was like water at these events, and they kept the supply constant. Walking along the edges of the party you pass by Garrick, who is talking with a group of men, and he doesn’t hide his gaze as his eyes follow you to the side door that leads outside.

It’s cooler, though more humid, as you step outside. The theming outside is the same as inside, except the lights are string lights hanging overhead instead of the chandeliers, giving off dimmer light and creating large patches of shadow. Plenty of spaces to stay out of sight, whether to get a breather or to talk alone. From what you can see, no one is out here, but you don’t care about any of that, your eyes are set on the champagne wall. It’s an overgrown fake hedge with a small bell to ring for your drink. Servers are positioned behind it, already holding filled glasses, and you catch a hint of cigarette smoke as you walk over.

You ring the bell once, twisting around to look at the grounds of the manor where the gala is being held. It takes a moment for the hand to appear with your drink, and you reach for it, fingers grabbing the glass, but the gloved hand doesn’t let go right away. It takes you a second to register, but it’s too late. The hand tugs hard on yours, sloshing the champagne all over your arm and dress as your hand is dragged through the wall. You let out a panicked squeak as you let go of the glass, and you hear it shatter on the ground as the hand that had tugged you through grabs your forearm. Hard. It feels like they are trying to break your bones with their grip as they yank you even harder into the hedge so your face and body are smashed against the foliage and fence. It scratches your skin, and you twist to try to get your arm back, but the person holds fast.

“Stop what you are doing and go back to where you came from,” comes a gruff voice, that almost seems like it’s right in your ear. It must be whoever it was is just a few inches away between the lattice fencing. You try to look and see who it is in some sort of gap, but you only get an eyeful of leaves that scratch at you, so you shut them again.

“I don’t,” you mutter, still fighting to yank your arm back. “Let go!” You demand, your arm almost burning from the pain. It feels like time is taking forever, going so slow as you try and fail to fend off this person.

“Do it, or next time we’ll send you home to them in pieces,” the man says, and you freeze, the threat washing over you. Who the hell was this?

The man lets go, and you stumble backward at the sudden release from trying to tug your arm away. You look at the hedge wide-eyed before looking around the area. No one was around, not even on the fringes, to witness or help. This man could have done anything to you out here, he had you alone and overpowered so easily. The thought sends a spike of fear through you, icing your blood as you backtrack to get to the door, what if he came back to finish the job? Or someone else did? Suddenly the solace of a dark quiet space was terrifying to you, and you almost run to the door, stepping on the hem of your dress as you grab the door handle. But someone is already opening the door, and you aren’t sure which is scarier, the man behind the hedge or the look of rage on the Alpha before you.

Price is standing there, and he wrenches the door open, his eyes looking over you once before scanning the whole area. How the hell did he get to you so quickly? You look up at him as you cradle your still painful arm, stepping closer to him for safety even though he looks like he’s ready to tear the world in half.

“What happened?” He asks, his hand coming to your lower back to pull you closer to his side so you are tucked against him, pressing you tight against his body. “Where is Callum?”

“I, I’m not sure,” you mumble, leaning against him for support, not caring that your body naturally curls against him, as if that was where you belonged, your other hand gripping the back of his suit jacket to cling to him. “I came out to get a drink and…it just happened so quickly.”

“Where?” Price asks you gently as he looks down at you to where your head is pressed to his chest.

You gesture to the hedge with your injured arm and wince at the twinge of pain. You can see the area that is mussed from where you had been yanked against it, the mess on the ground from the ruffled petals falling off their flowers and the hole where your shoulder had almost gone through. Price pivots to look over his shoulder, as if sensing someone, and you follow his gaze. Riley is already standing in the doorway, blocking the view out onto the patio for everyone inside. 

“Go with him,” Price says as he gently pries you from his side and ushers you toward Riley. You don’t argue even though you already miss his warmth.

“How did you get here so quickly?” You ask quietly, watching Price walk toward the hedge.

Riley doesn’t answer you right away, he’s watching Price and the area, all while shifting his body so he has you between his back and the wall to shield you from the open expanse of the gardens. Fear prickles down your back as you realize that there could still be a threat out here and that Riley is protecting you with his own body just in case.

Quick as a flash, Price grabs a handful of the foliage and rips it clear off the lattice, throwing it to the ground without hesitation. Light from the small bar spills through the holes in the lattice and you see a few terrified staff looking back at him.

“Who was here?” Price demands of them, and all of them look at one another. Someone mumbles that they had taken a ten minute break, that no one had been by in a while, so they snuck off for a smoke. They had only just gotten back and found the broken glass.

“Price felt it,” Riley answers you quietly as Garrick walks out onto the patio.

“What?” You ask, reluctantly pulling your eyes away from Price to look up at Riley.

“He felt your fear,” Riley explains, never looking at you as he continues to watch the area.

“Felt it? How?” You ask, shocked, before wincing lightly as Garrick takes the arm you’ve been cradling against your chest to look at it. He’s gentle as he lifts it to the light, and you can see a hand shaped welt raised on the skin there. He doesn’t hide the fury in his face as he looks it over before his phone sounds in his pocket.

“Later,” Riley answers swiftly, cutting his eyes to you as a warning, and you don’t push.

“MacTavish and Callum are already scouting the side entrances,” Garrick says, barely glancing at his phone before shoving it back in his pocket. He hasn’t let go of your arm, his grip is soft though you can see the anger simmering behind his eyes. “Callum was accosted by security working the event and lost eyes on her for a minute.”

“Convenient,” Price nearly growls as he still glares daggers at the staff as they try to placate him with any excuse they can come up with. “I’ll be having words with him.”

“No,” you assert and pull your arm away from Garrick and step around Riley to face Price fully. “He was on me all night, this happened in thirty seconds, it could have happened even if he were here.”

“That isn’t your decision,” Price answers, and you can see the wolf behind his eyes, itching to burst out and burn down the whole gala as some sort of retribution. “He is your hyrde, there is no excuse.”

“No,” you snap back, daring to push. “It is my decision to make if he is my hyrde. Not yours.” You know you’re only riling him up, but you aren’t about to let Callum get in trouble or worse. “I could have been grabbed anywhere at any moment. No one could have prevented it, not even you.”

Price’s eyes flare at the implication that he wasn’t able to protect you, to keep you safe. That was his job, his purpose, and you were telling him that he would have failed at it as well. You both stare at one another, and you can see him weighing what to say next.

“What exactly happened?” Garrick asks, cutting through the tense silence to try to steer the conversation away from a fight. If voices were raised, there would be nosy people all over, and the gossip would ratchet up tenfold. The point of tonight was to make you invisible, to make the pack seem like they enjoyed you for fun, not that they cared. If anyone saw or heard you arguing they would know the Alphas cared for you more than they let on, allowing you to disrespect them in public.

“I was getting a drink,” you answer, eyes darting over to Garrick, but still not backing down from Price, who is standing only a few feet away, looking like he wants to continue the fight. “I reached for my glass, and someone grabbed me,” you continue before extending your arm out in the light so they could all see the mark. “Yanked me so I couldn’t get away and…threatened me.”

“Threatened you how?” Riley asks as he crosses his arms, still holding his spot by the door.

“I,” you pause, looking at the staff who are still scrambling and standing awkwardly.

“Go,” Price orders them. They don’t have to be told twice, they instantly run for the side door, nearly tripping over one another to get away.

“They told me to stop what I am doing,” you begin, “and to go back to where I came from. If I didn’t,” you pause, taking a shaky breath, “next time they’d send me home to you in pieces.”

The snarl that erupts is enough to send goosebumps from the nape of your neck down to your hips, and you twist to look at MacTavish standing there, having walked up from the garden. He must have appeared while Price was ordering the workers away. The thought that he would be that upset over a threat to you shocks you, but you reason that if you were his property in these people’s eyes, this person was threatening him indirectly. He wouldn’t worry that much about you.

“And you have no idea who this was?” Garrick prompts. “Was the voice familiar? Scent? Anything?”

“No,” you answer plainly, shoulders relaxing just a bit as you turn your attention to Garrick. “I didn’t recognize the voice, I couldn’t see anything. The only thing I could smell was cigarette smoke…and that was probably the workers. These damn suppressants block everything. That’s how I didn’t even know Thorne was here until I saw him,” you hesitate. “Was it him?”

“I was with him the whole time,” Price answers, “doesn’t mean he didn’t dispatch someone to relay the message for him.”

“Now what?” You ask, looking at the four of them.

You know you can’t leave, the gala is barely halfway over. How would it look if the five of you abruptly disappeared? And more importantly, it would tell whoever threatened you that they had been successful in scaring you and the pack, which is exactly what they wanted.

“We watch,” Riley answers. “We act like nothing has happened and we see who is acting differently instead.”

“And you don’t leave our sides,” Garrick supplies. “Not once. I don’t care who you are with, but you aren’t going anywhere alone.”

“She’s with me,” Price answers, speaking as if this whole thing had been a personal slight against him. “The rest of you get back to it,” he orders as he steps up to your side and looks down at you. You can still see the anger there, bubbling just below the surface, but there is also concern, and if you look hard enough, you’re sure there is fear.

“I can’t face Edith and Thorne again,” you mumble as the other three split off without a word to go back to what they were doing as if nothing had happened. “I can barely keep a straight face after…everything tonight.”

“Then we don’t,” Price supplies, his tone calm again as he gently tugs your sleeve back down over the mark on your arm, careful not to bump your injury. “We make the rounds on the floor. I was tired of your sister anyway.” He gives you a small smile before he scoops up a freshly poured glass of champagne that had been left on one of the small shelves of the hedge when the staff had fled and hands it to you.

You take the drink and his proffered arm before he opens the door to lead you both back inside. The gala hasn’t stopped, people are still talking, laughing, dancing. Staffers still dart about the area, and drinks are nonstop at the bar. But you can’t help but look at the whole place with a tainted vision, your grip tightens on Price’s arm as he guides you to a group of men to talk. His free hand comes up to rest over yours for a second, his thumb swiping once, twice, over your knuckles before it falls away to tuck away into his pocket. He lays on the charm and politics thickly as he talks, but you know he’s still attuned to you, keeping you as close to him as possible with each movement of his body.

You barely pay attention to the conversations, too busy thinking about everything that has just happened. Someone here knew what happened out there, had probably done it themselves or paid someone to do it. It wasn’t safe. But worst of all, you weren’t sure what the threat was, exactly. Was it because you were ruining Edith’s contract and your family’s ambition? Or was it something worse? Did someone else know what the five of you had figured out, and wanted to stop it before it got any further? The threat was vague enough that it could go either way, but you tell yourself there is no way anyone could know what you all were really up to. Unless Garrick wasn’t the only person who had figured out the existence of fated mates.

----------------- Final tally, 10,022 words making this the longest chapter of this story by a long shot😅. I had not planned on this chapter being so long, but once I got started I just couldn't find a good place to stop. Pausing in the middle of the party felt weird.

But we finally get to see Thorne and Edith, not sure we really wanted to see them but I also thought it was important to bring them in. Just another threat to the whole mess we are in. The pack is furious they were outdone with Thorne's surprise appearance and even more angry at the threat against reader. I almost had Riley go off the rails...but I thought he's more lethal when he's calm so I gave more of the reaction to MacTavish instead. Bit unexpected. And did you all pick up on reader's outfit having a bit of all of their colors for the evening? Just another symbol of them being a pack.

I am leaving for a 10 day trip next week so next chapter may take a little longer than usual...another reason I didn't try to shorten this one. Let me know what you think!

----------------- Old English Words: Leas - devoid of, empty, false Hyrde - guardian, keeper

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