He glances down at me, those piercing blue eyes searching mine. I can read the question in them as clearly as if he'd spoken it aloud.
Are you sure?
I nod.
Wraith hesitates, his gaze flicking back to his packmates with obvious uncertainty. Then, with visible reluctance, he steps aside—not far, just enough to allow me to face the other alphas directly while remaining close enough to intervene if needed.
I take a deep breath and square my shoulders, trying to project a confidence I don't entirely feel. "So," I say, my voice steadier than I expected, helped by the fact I’m brandishing a hockey stick and they know I’m not afraid to use it, "anyone want to tell me what the hell is going on?"
The three alphas stare at me like I'm a mirage they're afraid will vanish if they move too suddenly. None of them say a word, and I take the opportunity to really look at them for the first time.
Thane stands in the center, a natural leader even in his battered state. He's tall—though not as tall as Wraith—with broad shoulders and a presence that has nothing to do with his imposing physical size and everything to do with the quiet authority he radiates. His shaggy dark hair falls to his shoulders, framing intense eyes that study me with equal parts wonder and wariness. A fresh bruise darkens his jaw, and he's holding himself carefully, like his ribs are sore.
To his right stands Whiskey, the one I hit with the hockey stick. He's built like a bear, broad and beefy with powerful arms and shoulders and a padded stomach. His messy chestnut hair falls into wide honey-brown eyes that are fixed on me with an expression of awe that borders on reverence. As if I hung the moon, even though I’m pretty sure I’m responsible for the bruise blooming on the side of his head.
And then there's Plague, standing slightly apart from the others. He's leaner than his packmates but no less powerful. His long black hair is pulled back in a low ponytail, a few strands escaping to frame his chiseled features. His light eyes are reddened from the cologne I sprayed in them, but they're sharp and assessing as they lock onto me. Despite being disheveled, he’s still relentlessly beautiful.
All three of them are bleeding from various cuts and scrapes, their clothes torn and hanging off their strong bodies from the fight. All three of them have dilated pupils and are clearly scenting the air even though they’re trying to be subtle about it. And all three of them are staring at me like I'm simultaneously the answer to a prayer and a bomb about to go off.
"Well?" I prompt when no one speaks. "I'm waiting."
Whiskey is the first to break the silence, taking a half-step forward before stopping when Wraith tenses beside me. "You're our scent match," he says, his voice rough. "All of us. The whole pack."
Wraith growls, his hands flying up to sign something I can't quite catch. Whatever it is makes Whiskey's eyes narrow.
"What? She deserves to know," Whiskey says defensively. "We've been dreaming about her, for fuck's sake."
"Dreaming about me?" I repeat, my eyebrows rising.
Plague clears his throat, drawing my attention. "Whiskey and I have been experiencing shared dreams about an omega in the maintenance tunnels," he explains carefully. "An omega with your scent. Honeysuckle." He glances at my hair. “And auburn hair, but I suppose you’ve been dyeing it.”
Great. Didn’t account for freakingdreamsleading a pack of alphas straight to my hiding spot.
"We thought we were going crazy," Whiskey adds, "until we found evidence in the tunnels. Blood. A dented fire extinguisher."
The one I used to clobber their new winger? Shit. Shouldn’t have left it there. Guess I was too freaked out to think about that.
Thane nods, speaking for the first time. His voice is deep and gravelly. "Wraith brought our new winger, Valek, to the locker room after you knocked him out. Claimed Valek was hallucinating about seeing an omega in the tunnels. He didn’t tell us about you."
I glance up at Wraith, who's watching the exchange with wary intensity. So he didn’t tell them, then. I’m not surprised, but I’m still relieved as I turn back to the other alphas. "And you've been, what? Trying to find me?"
"Trying to understand what the hell is going on," Whiskey corrects. "Wraith's been acting weird as fuck, disappearing, mauling wingers, going to omega clinics in broad daylight?—"
"And then we caught your scent," Plague interjects smoothly. "Coming through the air vents. That's when we knew for certain."
"That I'm your scent match," I say, testing the words on my tongue.
All three of them nod in unison, their expressions solemn.
I take a deep breath, trying to process this information. Part of me had suspected it, especially after my interactions with Wraith, but hearing it confirmed is still overwhelming. "I had a feeling," I admit quietly.
Wraith's head snaps toward me, his eyes widening in surprise and something that looks almost like fear. His hands move in a flurry of signs that I can't follow.
"He's asking if you knew," Thane translates, his dark eyes moving between us. "If you knew you were our match."
I shake my head. “Not for sure. I suspected... with Wraith. The way we connected. How safe I felt with him. His scent. Although I think I would have felt that way no matter what.”
Wraith stares at me in clear bewilderment.
