We’ve known each other since we were pups and can identify when one of us is upset or sad. Once we find an omega to complete our pack we’ll bite her and form a bond. Then we’ll be able to sense each other through our bond.
Archer scratches along his nape as he stares at her.
Thatcher’s hands are stuffed in his pockets as he leans against the wall drinking her in.
“You grew a beard.” She reaches up.
“It looks good on you.” She smiles.
“Don’t fucking touch him,” Archer growls.
She drops her hand at her side.
“Fuck you, Archer.” Sawyer takes her hand, places it on his jaw and marks it with his scent. Musk, vanilla, and caramel exploding around us.
Great now, Harper’s coming between our pack again.
He’s purring now and Harper reacts to it. Her shoulders loosen as she gets locked under his spell.
“What the fuck, Sawyer?” I bite out.
Archer appears ripping her hand from Sawyer’s face. “Go to class, Harper.”
Her watery brown eyes meet mine then Thatcher’s before she storms off.
“That was nice, Sawyer. We don’t want her, remember?” I say.
Archer places his hands on Sawyer’s face. “I need you to pull it together.”
“Why couldn’t I smell her?” Sawyer asks.
I throw my hands in the air. “Fuck, Sawyer’s broken.”
Thatcher steps closer and palms Sawyer’s shoulder. “Pull it together for the pack.”
Sawyer blows out a breath. “I’m good,” he lies and walks out the building probably to stalk Harper.
My pack brother gives in to her because she didn’t accuse him of cheating. She accused me.
That nightmare repeats every single night. Harper’s voice echoed through the hallway intercom that day, calling me a dusty cheater. My heart shattered into a thousand fragments. The omega meant to be our mate had accused me of betrayal. Sarah had always flirted with me and the other alphas, but we rejected her every time. We never wanted her. My brothers and I had intended to bond with Harper as soon as she awakened.
She was the one for us. Not anymore. I despise her. I hate her for labeling me a cheater. I hate her for tearing our pack apart. Now that she’s back, I’m determined to make her life miserable here at Greywood University.
***
Dressed in a heavy crimson robe, the hood shadowing my raven hair, I stand in an underground tunnel, a single candle flickering in my grasp, our only light.
Thatcher is to my left. Sawyer to my right.
Archer, president of the Wolves, stands before us.
“Brothers,” Archer says, his voice echoing off the damp walls. “It’s initiation week.”
He pauses, eyes sharp beneath his hood. “Are your pledges ready?”
“Yes, brother,” Thatcher answers.
“Yes, brother,” I say.
