This might actually work.
I watch the chaos unfold—my packmates, my dog, this unexpected Omega who walked into our lives and somehow made everything feel different. Better. Like a piece we didn't know was missing has finally clicked into place.
But beneath the warmth spreading through my chest, my tactical mind is already working. Rosemarie mentioned bounty hunters. She mentioned an ex-pack, a family trying to sell her off, luxury deals with expiration dates. There's more to her storythan she's told us—more danger, more complications, more reasons someone would want to track her down.
She needs protection. Real protection. And if I'm going to provide it, I need to know what we're up against.
I make a mental note to dig into her background. To find out who's looking for her and why. To figure out exactly how desperate her ex-pack is to get her back. Because if they sent bounty hunters to a government-mandated mixer, they're already willing to break rules. And desperate people do desperate things.
I've seen what desperation can drive people to do. I've been the one who stopped them. And I'll be damned if I let anyone hurt this woman who just offered herself as our pack's salvation.
Because if they're smart, they'll cut their losses and move on. They'll realize that Rosemarie has found protection and leave her alone.
And if they're not...
Well, I've spent years training for situations exactly like this. Protecting people. Neutralizing threats. Making problems disappear.
I crack my knuckles, watching Rosemarie giggle as Sasha tries to climb into her lap despite being far too big for such nonsense.
It's time to see how desperate this ex-pack is.
CHAPTER 17
Paperwork And Petty Omegas
~ROSEMARIE~
The Oakridge Hollow Pack Registration Office smells like old paper, stale coffee, and bureaucratic despair.
It's a small building tucked between a bakery and a dry cleaner on Main Street, the kind of place that looks like it hasn't been updated since the 1970s. Faded linoleum floors. Fluorescent lights that hum with an intensity that borders on aggressive. Posters on the walls advertising the benefits of early pack registration and the importance of timely heat documentation. A fake plant in the corner that's accumulated enough dust to qualify as a historical artifact.
How romantic.
Nothing says 'new beginning' quite like filling out forms under fluorescent lighting while sitting on a chair that's probably seen more awkward pack registrations than a wedding chapel in Vegas.
I'm sitting in one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs that line the waiting area, a thick stack of paperwork spread across my lap. The contract is dense—pages and pages of legal jargon andofficial stamps and lines that need initials. But I've read through it twice now, making sure every clause is exactly what Tank said it would be.
Temporary Pack Omega Status. Protection under the Late Alphas pack designation. Pending review until Valentine's Day, at which point both parties can choose to terminate or extend the arrangement.
Everything looks legit. No hidden clauses. No sneaky language that could trap me in something I didn't agree to. Just a straightforward temporary arrangement that gives me legal protection from anyone trying to claim me without my consent.
It's almost suspicious, how fair it is. I've read enough contracts in my life—courtesy of my family's endless attempts to marry me off—to know that there's usually something buried in the fine print. Some clause that benefits one party at the expense of the other. But this one is... clean. Balanced. Like someone actually thought about what would be fair for everyone involved.
I nod, flipping to the final page where all four signatures need to go. "This all checks out."
Elias is hovering over my shoulder, reading along with me despite the fact that he's already seen these documents. His scent—woodsmoke and pine needles and that underlying warmth that reminds me of campfires—mingles with the stale air of the office, making the sterile environment feel slightly more bearable.
"Your middle name is Kaitlyn?" he asks, pointing at the line where my full legal name is printed in stark black letters.Rosemarie Kaitlyn Carlisle.
I laugh, surprised that he noticed. "Yeah. From my grandmother."
"That's sweet." He grins, settling into the plastic chair beside me. It creaks ominously under his weight—clearly not designed for broad-shouldered Alpha firefighters. "Family name?"
"She was the only one who actually treated me like a person," I admit, my voice softening. "My grandparents obviously meant well. They tried to protect me from the worst of the family politics. But..." I sigh, staring down at my name on the contract. "The politics of this whole Omega nonsense is rather boggling."
Boggling. That's putting it mildly. The entire system is designed to treat Omegas like commodities. Like we're products to be bought and sold rather than people with our own dreams and desires.
"Sometimes I wish I were an Alpha," I continue, running my finger along the edge of the paper. "Like my brothers. I probably wouldn't be dealing with any of this if I'd presented differently."
