I perfume before I can stop myself. The scent rolls out in a warm wave and all three of their heads snap in my direction. Even Saint’s. Low growls rumble around me. I perfume again. Who wouldn’t?
Silas’ eyes darken as he steps close enough to lean down and press a quick kiss to my lips.
“Pick the one you want, little bird,” he murmurs. He hasn’t even lifted the hammer yet.
The audacity. The completely justified audacity.
My omega rolls over and spreads her legs.
I am so embarrassed by her sometimes. But also, yeah. I get it, girl.
Silas steps back to the platform and grabs the giant hammer. The game operator barely has time to finish explaining the rules before Silas lifts it easily over his shoulder. Then he swings.
The hammer slams into the base with a thunderous crack. The red marker shoots up the tower so fast it’s almost a blur before, CLANG! The bell at the top rings loudly, echoing across the row of booths.
A few nearby people clap and whistle. The game operator blinks once, clearly impressed, before reaching up toward the prize shelf.
“Alright,” he says. “Pick your prize.”
Silas doesn’t even look. Instead he turns back toward me, one eyebrow lifting. “Lark?”
I point immediately. “The blue bear.”
The operator grabs it down and hands it over.
Graham studies the bear as Silas passes it to me. “The tie is navy,” he says thoughtfully. “Feet are green.” His lips quirk to one side. “Beautiful, did you pick this because it reminds you of us?”
My skin prickles with awkwardness.
Saint’s expression barely changes, but I catch his ginger scent shifting sharper.
Silas doesn’t comment on it at all. He just pulls me into his side, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and pressing another quick kiss to my temple.
I hug the bear to my chest.
Overall, a very successful first pack date.
Lark
Silas had been very clear about the rules. Each alpha gets a proper date. Intentional time. One-on-one. It makes sense. What didn’t make sense was who ended up with the first night.
Silas is the one who declared the rule. He’s the one whose alpha authority makes people move out of the way. If anyone was going to claim the first date, I assumed it would be him.
It’s Graham.
The realization still surprises me a little as I stand in front of my mirror, trying to decide if a skirt counts as overdressing. My own scent is slightly off, salty caramel gone thin. Nervous. I'm nervous about a date with a man I've already knotted.
My omega finds this hilarious.
Silas didn’t seem bothered when Graham announced over breakfast we’d be going out tonight. It leaves me wondering if Silas stepped aside deliberately, or if Graham quietly negotiated for the slot. Both feel possible.
Graham might be soft spoken, but there’s a quiet determination under all that kindness. And despite how dominant he is, Silas always wants what’s best for the pack. Either way, tonight belongs to Graham.
Which is how I end up standing here examining my reflection. My usual wardrobe leans toward practicality and comfort: jeans, soft leggings, oversized sweaters that let me curl up in a chair with my laptop for hours at a time.
Tonight, I settle on a flowy red skirt that swishes when I walk. It hits a few inches above the knees and shows off the muscles in my legs, which took years of tennis matches, golf courses, and climbing the stairs to my old apartment building to earn.
A cream sweater goes over the top, lightweight but warm enough for the cool evening air. Comfortable. Feminine. Nice without looking like I tried too hard.
