He's staring directly into the camera.
Chapter
Thirty-Five
VALEK
Ilock eyes with the security camera monitoring the pack house front door, holding my gaze a fraction longer than necessary. Let them know I know I'm being watched.
It's always better to establish boundaries early.
The front door swings open before I can even knock, revealing Thane Belmont in all his…captainlyglory. Dark circles under his eyes and a tight jaw speak volumes about the night he's had. And the bruise blooming on his jawline makes me wonder if his feral brother did more than disappear after our little tunnel encounter.
Interesting.
"Valek," he greets, his tone carefully neutral. "Good to see you on your feet."
"Belmont," I respond amiably even though I'm sure he doesn't want me here. Alphas don't let strange alphas in their spaces easily. "Generous of you to welcome me into your den."
His eyes narrow almost imperceptibly. He's searching for mockery in my words, for hidden meanings. Smart man. But I keep my expression open, a half-smile playing at my lips.
"The team takes care of its own," Thane says, stepping aside to let me in. He's standing unnaturally straight, like he's fighting the urge to block the entrance. Probably is.
I cross the threshold, every sense on high alert. The living room beyond is... perfect.Tooperfect. Every piece of furniture positioned just so, throw pillows arranged in a deliberate pattern, surfaces gleaming. It has the distinct feel of a space that's been frantically cleaned and organized in the last hour.
My eyes catch a small painting hanging slightly crooked.
Someonetried, at least.
"New furniture?" I ask mildly, noting the pristine sectional and coffee table.
"Redecorating," Thane says shortly, closing the door behind me.
"Because of me?" I flash a wolfish grin at him. "You shouldn't have."
Thane's face betrays nothing, but a muscle in his jaw twitches. "We've been meaning to update for a while."
I drop my leather duffel by my feet and take another step inside, inhaling deeply through my nose. Cleaning products. Fresh paint. And beneath it all, the scent of four distinct alphas.
But no omega.
Notdirectly, at least.
And yet there's something about this space—a feminine energy in the arrangement of objects, the careful balance of the room—that screams omega influence. They've used scent neutralizers, too. The expensive kind. This place should have alpha scent all over it, yet it's strangely neutral.
If there were a honeysuckle scent present, it would be buried.
"Nice place," I comment, running a finger along the back of the sectional. "Very...organized."
“Plague likes things clean,” comes a voice from my left.
Whiskey looms in the doorway to what I assume is the kitchen, a mug of coffee in his beefy hand. His eyes are watchful despite the easy grin plastered across his face. There's a bruise on the side of his head, fresh and painful-looking. Someone hit him with something hard and straight-edged.
The plot thickens.
My gaze slides past Whiskey to take in Plague, who stands behind him in the kitchen doorway. The surgical-masked alpha's expression gives away nothing, but there's a tension in his shoulders that belies his calm appearance.
“I’m impressed,” I continue. “You’re a pack of bachelor alphas, and yet your pack house almost looks like it received an omega’s touch.”
