CHAPTER 1
Helena
If I didn’t know better,I’d think my parents had had the house staged simply to remind me I’m not yet bonded to a pack. The entryway is an exhibition of taste and intimidation. Tapestries hang so evenly, it’s unnerving. Even the marble floors have been buffed to become so reflective, they threaten to expose every flaw in my stride.
To top it off, two hundred years of Starling ancestors hang pictured in portraits flanking the walls, each one offering a silent judgement.
Zane, my bodyguard of many years, keeps behind me at exactly the respectful distance, but his presence registers in my bones. Steady and calm.
The only thing that’s steady and calm with my return home after graduating Omega Finishing School at the delayed age of twenty-eight.
I should have a pack by now.
I should havea lotof things by now.
Going to Omega Finishing School was meant to cement most of those items, but all it’s done is make me question everything.
The familiar scent of beeswax and lavender polish nearly trips me into pure nostalgia of times past in my family home,but Zane’s flint scent is far stronger. How my father got up in arms about my brother bonding with a commoner omega but is somehow fine with an alpha guarding me day in and day out is a mystery—even if Zane is also high society.
I don’t have time to consider why Zane’s suddenly hovering so close, or why the pit in my stomach is growing, before a blur of navy blazer and tousled blond hair barrels down the stairs.
“Helena!”
My brother Richard, recently out of boarding school and taller than I remember, vaults the last three steps. He launches himself at me and hugs me tightly. How is it possible that a nineteen-year-old can wrap around me like I were a child’s teddy bear?
Richard pulls back and grins at Zane with genuine admiration. “Good to see you, Hawke. Thank you for keeping my sister safe.”
Richard offers his hand for a shake, which Zane ignores in favor of a crisp nod. Zane has two overnight bags and my box of finishing school ribbons balanced on one arm, a feat I can only admire in theory.
Behind Richard, my sister, Dorothea appears. She’s doing a mix of sprinting and flailing in the way only an eleven-year-old could. She lands at my feet and stares up with huge, blue eyes.
“Is it true you had to wear dresses every day?” she asks, bypassing any greeting in favor of interrogation. Her eyes dart to Zane, then back to me. “And did you have to have a chaperone the whole time?”
“It’s true, and yes, I had a chaperone.” I gesture at Zane, who might as well be sculpted from stone, except for the muscle ticking in his jaw. Kids—and endless questions—aren’t really Zane’s thing, and Dorothea happens to knowexactlyhow to push his buttons.
I offer him a reassuring smile.
Mother glides in with lips pursed so tightly, the lines are etched into her skin. She does not hug me. Instead, she turns immediately to Zane.
“I trust everything went smoothly, Mr. Hawke?”
Zane’s response is perfectly modulated. “The Lady Starling represented her family with distinction, ma’am. No incidents.” He never breaks eye contact, not even to blink.
I’m pretty sure the only person who even occasionally sees him break this stoic guardian act is me. It doesn’t happen often.
Mother nods, satisfied but not warm. “You may return to your usual quarters, unless Helena wishes you elsewhere.”
“I’m sure Zane would enjoy some rest,” I say. “It’s been a long trip back.”
Zane nods to me and to my mother. “Happy for whatever you think is best.”
“Go,” I offer. “I’ll be fine at home.”
Zane nods again in acknowledgement and then retreats from the foyer. As he passes, he brushes my arm with a touch so brief, I almost think I imagined it.
Almost.
When the hallway is empty but for family, Mother steers us toward the morning room. It’s ostentatious even by our standards, with thick carpets under too many vases, and a chandelier that could flatten a small child if provoked.
