Sarah, a young woman who looks like she'd rather be anywhere else, gives the driver an apologetic smile. The driver looks like he's questioning every life choice that led him to this moment.
But the real spectacle is happening near the fireplace.
"ATTENTION UNMATED INDIVIDUALS!" Alpha Rebecca Redtooth has apparently declared war on subtlety. She's standing next to a hastily constructed chart that looks like something out of a military planning session. "Redtooth Pack is officially commencing Operation Omega Hunt!"
Operation Omega Hunt. I can't make this shit up.
"Phase One involves snowshoe reconnaissance!" Rebecca continues, pointing to a diagram that suggests she's been planning this for months. "Phase Two includes compatibility tracking with hot cocoa bribes! Phase Three..."
"Rebecca," I interrupt, pushing through the crowd that's gathered to watch this trainwreck. "Maybe we should focus on basic survival before we start looking for anything?"
"Survival IS the hunt, Griffin!" she replies with the intensity of someone who's watched too many nature documentaries. "Crisis situations reveal true compatibility! We're simply facilitating natural selection with modern efficiency!"
Her pack members are distributing snowshoes to confused guests while someone's set up a hot cocoa station complete with marshmallows and what appears to be a sign-up sheet for "compatibility testing."
It's terrifying and slightly adorable, and I'm not sure which part disturbs me more.
I'm starting to think Beverly might be right about the crisis bonding thing. Everyone's acting like they're preparing for extended hibernation, and the scent of stressed hormones and pack bonding is getting thick enough to cut with a knife.
That's when my phone rings.
I look at the caller ID and see Logan's name, which is weird because Logan's supposed to be right here dealing with heating issues.
"Logan?" I answer, stepping away from the crowd for some privacy.
"Griffin." His voice is tight with something I can't immediately identify. "I need you upstairs. Now."
"What's wrong? Did the heating system fail completely?"
"No, it's..." Logan pauses, and I can hear him take a deep breath. "It's Savannah. She's in heat."
The bottom drops out of my stomach. "What?"
"She's been helping coordinate sleeping arrangements upstairs, and about twenty minutes ago her scent shifted. She's locked herself in one of the guest rooms, but Griff... the wholesecond floor smells like her heat cycle. Every unmated alpha in the building is going to catch it soon."
I look around the main hall, at the two hundred guests who are already acting on heightened instincts, at the packs that are clustering together and getting territorial, at the compatibility experiments and romantic tension that's been building all afternoon.
"Fuck," I breathe into the phone.
"Yeah," Logan agrees grimly. "Fuck."
I straighten up, already knowing I'm not going to like whatever comes next. Everything in me goes still. My pulse spikes, then tunnels into one single thought: not here. Not with them.
"Not with these fucking crazed alphas around, she's not," I snap, already moving toward the stairs. "Let's get to her. Now."
33
LOGAN
The scent hits me like a physical blow halfway up the stairs.
Vanilla bourbon, but wrong. Deeper. Richer. So thick and sweet it coats the back of my throat and makes me restless under my skin. My hands shake as I grip the banister, and behind me, I hear Griff curse under his breath.
"Fuck. Logan, that's..." Griff's voice cuts through the chaos downstairs, tight with recognition and something darker.
"Strong heat," I finish grimly, taking the steps three at a time. The sound of my boots echoes off the wooden staircase, nearly drowned out by the commotion from the reception below.
My chest tightens with something that feels like panic mixed with pure alpha instinct. Savannah's never gone into heat around us before. And now she's trapped in a building with two hundred people, thirty of them unmated alphas who are going to catch this scent and lose their fucking minds.
