Sighing, I straighten up, pushing my damp hair back from my forehead, and finally meet my own eyes in the mirror.
And that’s when I stop dead, hands on the counter, breath stolen, because staring back at me is my face.
And my throat.
In the mirror, four marks stand out stark against my skin. One at the curve where my neck meets my shoulder. One higher, brushed against the tendon. One just anterior to the collarbone, splayed like a handprint in teeth. One back toward the nape, right where a kiss would be a secret.
Claiming marks.
I lift trembling fingers and hover. The skin is warm to the touch, too warm, like an ember left to smolder. The edges are clean, not ragged. Healed past the point of blood, not yet faded.Fresh.
My knees buckle, and I grab the counter to keep from collapsing. This isn’t possible. Betas don’t get claimed byentire packs. Claimings are foromegas, with their heats and their special pheromones that drive alphas wild. Betas are... well, beta. Ordinary.Me.
Yet here I am, with four distinct claim marks on my neck.
“What did I doooo?” I whisper to my reflection, which offers no answers, just the panicked expression of someone whose life has just imploded. My fingers hover over the marks. A deep, primal part of me expects to feel revulsion, the horror of being branded. Instead, a low, traitorous thrum of pure, possessive satisfaction buzzes up through my fingertips and settles deep in my belly. It’s a disgusting, terrifying, and undeniably thrilling feeling.
What kind of beta enjoys being mauled like some omega in heat?
I splash water on my face, hoping it might wash away the evidence of last night’s bad decisions. It doesn’t help. Ifanything, the water makes the claiming marks stand out more prominently against my flushed skin.
It’s like seeing them so clearly unlocks the memories, and they come crashing back. Tristan’s teeth at my throat, his growl vibrating through my body as he marked me. Diego whispering Spanish endearments against my skin before his bite made me cry out in pleasure-pain. Dane’s surprising gentleness as he claimed me, his hands holding me like I might break. And Rett—God, Rett—, looking into my eyes as he asked for permission before completing the claiming, making me part of their pack.
And me... saying yes to each and every one.Beggingfor it, actually.
What thefuckwas in that champagne?
Betas marry betas. That’s the unspoken rule. Stable, predictable, no messy biological bonds. My parents were betas. My college roommate married a beta. Even my best friend Leah, who’s an omega, had sworn off alphas—until her pack came along.
This wasn’t just a mistake. It was a nuclear bomb dropped on my life.
I slide down against the bathroom cabinet until I’m sitting on the cold marble floor, my bra clutched to my chest like some kind of shield. As if lace can protect me from what’s already happened.
That’s when I catch a whiff of something that makes my breath halt in my chest. My skin smells... different. Beneath my usual clean, neutral scent is something richer. Cedarwood. Ginger. Cardamom. Peppermint. Four distinct alpha scents clinging to me like a second skin.
Oh God.
A deep, slow stirring begins in the base of my belly. A low, vibrating chord of pure recognition. A traitorous, undeniable thrum of want.
“This isn’t happening,” I mutter, pressing the heels of my hands against my eyes. “This cannot be happening.”
But the evidence is all over me.Inme. Even my body feels different. Sensitized in ways I’ve never experienced before. There’s a constant hum under my skin, like electricity running through me, connecting me to the four sleeping men in the next room.
I try to stand, but my legs are too shaky. My head is pounding, partly from the hangover and partly from the sheer magnitude of what’s happened.
Claiming bites aren’t just some type of kinky love bite. They’re a biological bond. A permanent connection between alpha and omega that alters body chemistry and synchronizes hormones. Creates a literal physiological dependency.
Except I’m not an omega. I’m a beta. Single alphas might choose a beta, under rare circumstances where they fall in love. But an entirepackof alphas? They almost certainly ALWAYS mate an omega.
I force myself up on trembling legs and splash more cold water on my face.Think, Zoe. Think.
Option one: Run and pretend this never happened. I bite my lip, staring at my haunted reflection. At the marks staring right back at me.
That’s not going to work.
Option two: March back in there and demand answers.
Option three: Get the hell out now and deal with this mess when I’m not naked and surrounded by sleeping alphas.
