Plague's eyes narrow above his mask.
"We have a cleaning service," Thane interjects, moving to stand between me and the kitchen doorway. Protective stance. Territorial.
"And here I thought I'd be entering a den of barbarians."
"A necessity in a pack of alphas," Plague says, his voice smooth and controlled.
"Yeah, and there was an incident with the, uh, the old furniture," Whiskey chimes in with a nervous laugh. "We got a little carried away with a party last night. Celebrating. You know how it is."
I raise an eyebrow, my gaze flicking between their faces. "Celebrating what, exactly? Your team's impressive ability to put me in the hospital before I've even practiced with you?"
The temperature in the room drops several degrees. Whiskey's smile falters, and Thane takes a measured step forward.
"That was an unfortunate misunderstanding," Thane says carefully. "One we'd like to move past—if you're willing to, of course."
"Of course," I repeat, wandering further into the living room, taking in every detail. "Water under the bridge. Or should I say, blood under the bandage?" I tap the butterfly stitches on my forehead.
Whiskey makes a strange choking sound that might be suppressed laughter. Plague shoots him a glacial look.
"Would you like something to drink?" Plague offers, his tone deliberately neutral as he turns back to me. "Water? Coffee?"
"Coffee would be excellent," I answer, moving to examine a framed photo on the mantle. Three alphas on the ice, victorious. The one that attacked me, Wraith, is behind them and off to the side, his blue eyes wary above the mask covering his lower face.
But there's something off about the wall behind it. A small section that's a slightly different shade than the rest. Fresh paint.Hastily applied, judging from the dried drip running down from beneath the bottom of the frame.
I turn, catching Whiskey staring at where I'm looking. His eyes dart away too quickly.
"Nice picture," I comment. "The four horsemen of the hockey apocalypse."
"That was after we won the conference finals last season," Thane says, a hint of pride creeping into his voice despite his wariness.
"Against the Demons, if I recall correctly." I tap the glass over the framed photo. "Wraith really handed Wade Kelly's ass to him, didn't he?"
Watching Kelly bleed all over the ice was the highlight of my season.
Pity he stood back up.
"Kelly's a sore loser," Whiskey mutters. "And a shitty alpha."
I wonder if they realize I know exactly who the omega is. The omega they're clearly guarding. The one who bludgeoned me with a fire extinguisher.
She was strangely familiar even with that dyed dark hair. I've spent countless hours researching, desperately trying to find out who she is. And I found her just this morning.
Wade Kelly's missing fiancée.
Ivy.
I never forget a face, even when they try to disguise it. And now, seeing their collective tension at the mere mention of Kelly's name, I'm absolutely certain of it. What I'm not certainof is whether they're simply protecting her for some reason or if they're dating her. It's rare for bonded packs to all date the same omega unless they're scent matched, so perhaps it's just Wraith.
Either way, I'm certainly going to figure it out soon.
Plague returns from the kitchen with a steaming mug. "Black. I wasn't sure how you take it."
"Black is perfect," I reply, accepting the mug with a nod of thanks. Our fingers brush during the exchange, and Plague withdraws his hand a fraction too quickly.
"Let me show you to your room," Thane says abruptly, picking up my duffel. A power move. Establishing himself as host, as alpha in charge. The human version of pissing on my bag.
I let him have it. For now.
