I shoot a weighted look at Wyatt that makes him raise his hands in defense. “How about you put the phone down and get ready yourself?”
Wyatt’s phone might as well be surgically attached to his palm. It was the one thing that truly differentiated him from Christopher. But if Chris could see his brother now, phone-addicted and blogging constantly, I think he’d be pissed, too.
But Chris won’t see it. He’s been gone for five years. So it’s up to Bastion and I to break Wyatt’s penchant for blogging everyone’s business for the world to see.
Wyatt glances down at his tailored, dark-navy suit and, yeah, actually fairly put-together image. “I’m ready to go, just waiting on you assholes to finish cleaning up.” He looks to Bastion. “Seriously, man. The bar?”
Bastion curses under his breath and heads to a dressing room off the main space. It’s really only cordoned off by a curtain so I know he’ll hear every word of the conversation.
I straighten my own suit jacket and crack my neck. “What I mean is get off the phone, Wyatt.”
“Not a bad idea,” Helena adds with more softness than I’ll ever receive from her.Good.Wyatt could use a warm older sister, and she’s much closer to his age than Bastion or I.
Sometimes I feel like I don’t know how to get through to Wyatt at all. We’re only eight years apart in age, but twenty-five and thirty-three are two completely different life stages.
But we owe it to Chris. I owe a lot to Chris.
Wyatt holds up the device. “Don’t you want to know what I’ve learned? There’s so much information out there, and the Omega Finishing School’s database isn’t really hard to break into at all. It’s?—”
The door to our ready-room at Ravencroft Hall opens and my father steps through. He’s dressed to the nines in a perfectly tailored black suit, a black tie, and shiny black shoes like he’s going to a funeral.
Yeah, mine if our pack doesn’t accept an omega today.
“Good morning, Everhart Pack,” my father says.
Bastion nods a hello. Wyatt waves.
“Good morning, father,” I reply with about as much enthusiasm as Helena got from me.
“Ready to finally select your omega?” he asks but then stops. His eyes narrow on Bastion’s hungover state and he clicks his tongue.
Bastion catches it and waves him off. “Don’t bother. My parents already wrung me out. I’m fine—and I’ll be even more fine by Selection time.”
Thirty-three and the man still drinks like he’s in college, and gambles as if he isn’t aware that money is real and actually useful. But then, who am I to judge? At least Bastion has a life outside the royal manor given to us years ago.
Wyatt sits up and goes back to focusing on his phone. “There are a few lovely options. Alice Hawthorne—a cutie with high finishing school grades.”
“The Hawthorne Family would never,” Helena suggests. “Not with Bastion’s… hobbies.”
Bastion rolls his eyes.
Father nods his agreement. “It is an unfortunate fact that omegas with police ties do not want to deal with your addictions, Bastion. Please get them under control.”
Bastion has no reply to that, which is probably for the best.
Wyatt flicks his finger across the screen. “Aurelia Seymour. She’s a singer from Denmark.”
Father smiles, although it’s thin and not even remotely genuine. “She sounds lovely. Perhaps we can nudge the Council in her direction.”
Wyatt then loudly snort-laughs. “There’s always this rags-to-riches case. Emery Grey. She’s a commoner, but her parents worked like hell to pay for Omega Finishing School.”
Wyatt flashes us all the phone so we see the school profile photo of a beautiful woman with cotton-candy colored hair, a beaming bright smile, and intelligent and kind eyes. She’s mesmerizing, actually.
Bastion perks up a little. “She’s gorgeous.”
“And a painter,” Wyatt adds as he flips the phone back to himself so he can keep scrolling. “Her art is pretty mid, though.”
Father raises a hand. “She’s a commoner, so it’s a no.”
