Captivate (Knot Their Omega) E. J.

Lawson
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 CAPTIVATE
KNOT THEIR OMEGA
E.J. LAWSON
Copyright © 2022 by Thorn House Publishing Inc.

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and
retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
 CONTENTS
Chapter 1
R I LE Y
Chapter 2
R I LE Y
Chapter 3
R I LE Y
Chapter 4
MI LE S
Chapter 5
R I LE Y
Chapter 6
R I LE Y
Chapter 7
FOX
Chapter 8
R I LE Y
Chapter 9
R I LE Y
Chapter 10
FOX
Chapter 11
TH AN E
Chapter 12
R I LE Y
Chapter 13
LE V I
Chapter 14
R I LE Y
Chapter 15
MI LE S
Chapter 16
FOX
Chapter 17
R I LE Y
Chapter 18
LE V I
Chapter 19
R I LE Y
Chapter 20
TH AN E
Chapter 21
R I LE Y
Chapter 22
TH AN E
Chapter 23
MI LE S
Chapter 24
TH AN E
Chapter 25
FOX
Chapter 26
R I LE Y
Chapter 27
MI LE S
Chapter 28
R I LE Y
Chapter 29
R I LE Y
Chapter 30
FOX
Chapter 31
R I LE Y
Chapter 32
R I LE Y
Epilogue

Coming Soon from E. J. Lawson

ONE
 —
RILEY

“HOLY SHIT,” I say aloud to no one but my empty office and the computer in front of me. Sitting
back in my rickety old desk chair, I fan myself with my hand. “There’s that contract finished.”
I peruse over the final chapter I just finished writing for my client, checking for spelling errors
and the occasional word mix-up. The completed manuscript looks good, especially with the
explosive ending scene. Hot enough to literally set fire to the rain. It’s definitely spicy enough to set
me on fire, and I wrote the damn thing. Her readers will be needing a change of panties. I know I do.
Every time I have to ghostwrite romance, I get all squirmy and hot writing the sex scenes.
Of course, squirmy and hot is a better alternative to the dark loneliness I feel when I write out the
romantic scenes, the ones with the epic love confessions and handsome Alphas and Betas doing
anything for their Omegas. Those just hurt. I wince, but not even the reminder of what I can’t ever
have douses the flames still lingering in my core from writing that spicy group scene.
Did I touch the thermostat?
God, it’s hot in my office.
Almost as if I’m…
Shit.
I jump out of my desk chair so fast it topples over onto the carpet with a muted thud. I dash toward
the bathroom, only to trip over the bedroom slippers I left scattered in my front hallway. I catch
myself with one hand on the wall before I hit the floor completely and cuss out my past self.
When I work, I get into this perfect headspace where I can tune out the outside world and just
write and write and write. The downside? I forget to take care of myself and end up forgetting things
like tidying up after myself, eating three meals a day… or taking my goddamned heat suppressants.
I hurtle myself into the bathroom and catch a glimpse of my reflection in the mirrored door of the
medicine cabinet. I’m an absolute mess, but that’s nothing new when I’ve been working. My straight
dark hair actually has some volume to it, not because of any miracle product, but because I’ve been
running my hands through it roughly every time I blank out on a scene or can’t remember the perfect
word to use. Now my hair is in this messy “I survived a hurricane” hairstyle. The shadows under my
eyes nearly match the violet shade of my irises.
But it’s the flush in my cheeks and slightly enlarged pupils in my eyes that startle me most. I know
what they mean.
Normally, after I finish a manuscript, I send it off to the client and then fall into bed, waking up
sixteen hours later hungry and ready to work all over again.
Not this time.
A jab of anxiety pierces my gut as I rip open the cabinet, already having a pretty good idea of
what I’ll find. Or more accurately, what I won’t find.
“Please,” I whine to myself, digging past the empty bottle in the front labeled falsely as aspirin to
the many others behind it. “Please, please, please.”
I shake bottle after bottle, hoping for that familiar rattle of pills, but there’s no sound at all. I’m
out of heat suppressants.
“Fuck!”
How could I let this happen?
I pinch the bridge of my nose and slam the cabinet shut so hard that the lock doesn’t engage and
the door bounces back toward me. Frustrated at my own irresponsibility, I lean in closer to the mirror,
checking for the unmistakable signs of impending heat. My cheeks have a slight pink flush, but it’s
faint enough that I would probably be the only one to notice it.
The dilation in my pupils isn’t too bad yet, either, and while I feel that familiar thrum of need like
a distant drumbeat echo in my core, I don’t have the crazed, fidgety feeling that normally goes along
with it. Which means there’s still time to fix this. But when I inhale deeply to calm my nervous system
I can already smell my Omega pheromones mixing with the cool but stale air of my apartment.
“Think, Rile,” I demand to myself. When did I take my last pill?
There was that chapter I wrote, the one with all the groveling. I’d gotten up to make a sandwich
and had taken one then. But that was what? Two days ago?
I shake my head at my own idiocy.
Panic starts to bubble in my chest like a broken fountain.
I’m never this irresponsible, not even when I was juggling my former job at the bookstore with my
current ghostwriting work. I strip out of my ratty sweatpants and thin T-shirt, push open the shower
curtain, and step into the small but clean shower, turning on the hot water. ‘Small but clean’ describes
everything about my efficient apartment.
It isn’t a dump by any means, but there’s nothing about it that whispers welcome home. Nothing
about it that shows any emotion or sentiment other than ‘this is a place to live, and nothing more’,
aside from the small nest I’ve made for myself in my bedroom.
I grab a washcloth and coat it with scent-blocking body wash, much more than the directions
recommend, but who actually pays attention to those anyway? I need to smell like something else,
someone else, if I’m going to be able to leave the apartment.
The body wash smells like vanilla and cinnamon, almost like a holiday cookie, but it works
wonders and is worth the hefty price tag. Some people might buy their toiletries based on quality and
the ability to make them look beautiful, but I just shop based on safety. And this body wash keeps me
safe.
After I’ve scrubbed my skin until it is pink and raw, and allowed the scent-blocker to remain on
my skin, burning slightly for a few minutes before rinsing it off, I’m satisfied my Omega scent is
covered for now. I turn off the shower and step out onto the rug, shivering in the cool air before I
wrap myself in a gray-striped towel.
The scent-blocker should normally last about twelve hours, but given the heat trying to build at my
core, I’d give it maybe six before I’ll need another wash. Long enough for me to meet up with
Kennedy and get what I need.
I go into the bedroom and dress in another plain T-shirt and jeans, tying my wet hair up into a
messy bun. I won’t put on makeup or dress nice for a meeting with Kennedy. I don’t want anything to
stand out about me, anything that would cause any Alpha—hell, any person—to look at me twice. I
grab my cell phone from my dresser and scroll through my contacts until I find the one I need.
 Kennedy picks up after three rings, his naturally sleepy voice coming clear through the speaker.
“Hey, sexy lady.”
“Hey,” I say back, glancing around my room as if someone could possibly be eavesdropping.
Some paranoia never really leaves you. “I need more suppressants, Ken. I messed up my schedule,
and now I’m completely out.”
He whistles, long and low. “That’s not good, Rile. How long has it been?”
“Two, maybe three days?”
He is quiet for a moment, probably calculating dosages in his head. “I can get you back on track, I
think. It will have to be a higher dosage than you’re used to. Can you meet at the usual place in an
hour?”
“Any chance you’d make a house call? Just this once?”
“You know it doesn’t work like that, babe.”
I sigh.
“Right. All good. I’ll see you in an hour then.”
He hangs up without a goodbye, and I clutch the phone to my chest, my hands shaking.
What a mess. At least Kennedy is a decent guy, not one of those skeezy drug dealers you see in the
movies or on the news. He sells suppressants to help Omegas stay under the radar and designer drugs
for Alphas with cash to spend, like rut-blockers or focus enhancers, or just plain old party drugs for
having a good time. But while technically almost everything Kennedy sells is helpful in some way,
it’s still illegal. Omegas aren’t allowed heat suppressants without the permission of the family whose
care they’re in or their packs. Since I have neither, it’s pills of the illegal sort for me.
I open up my top drawer to find the pair of red woolen socks I have balled up in the back and turn
them inside out. A roll of cash falls out, and I count out the money I’ll need for today’s exchange.
Once I have it, there’s only about a fourth of the cash left to tuck back into my hiding place.
I’ll have to take on several more contracts to make up for the loss, but it’s worth the extra hours of
work. I pull on my boots, tuck the money into my nondescript purse, and steel myself before heading
out the door for my meeting with Kennedy.

THE ‘USUAL PLACE’ is a café called Charlie’s, which serves decent coffee drinks and pastries
near the university. Anyone outside this sort of life might think that these unsavory exchanges happen
in darkened alleys or abandoned apartments, but it simply isn’t true. Drugs can be passed around just
as easily in a family restaurant, sometimes more easily because it doesn’t look suspicious. No one
expects a drug deal to go down in the same place where they just celebrated Grandma’s birthday.
Kennedy prefers Charlie’s because he blends in, looking like one of the college students that
frequent the place between classes. In another universe, it would be easy to picture him kicking
around a soccer ball or hacky sack on the lawn in front of the student union.
There are no Alphas in here, and no one has glanced my way yet other than the teenage server
behind the counter, and that’s probably just to see if I’m done with my iced coffee yet so she can wipe
down the lop-sided table.
My heat symptoms are getting worse, exacerbated by my own anxiety. If I don’t get control of it,
something far worse than my heat will rear its ugly head.
Right on cue, a tick makes my head jerk and I force myself to breathe slow and easy to soothe my
rapidly beating heart. My hands won’t stop trembling, and dizzy spells come over me in short bursts
every few minutes. The iced coffee is helping to keep my temperature low, and I wrap my hands
firmly around the cup, sloughing the condensation off with my fingers.
I feel like I’m swaying in my seat, but again, no one has noticed, or they are too polite to say
something. Or maybe they have noticed and just think I’m drunk. That would be the perfect cover, and
I’d get in a lot less trouble for daytime inebriation than for illegally suppressing my heats.
The dull bell over the door rings, and Kennedy comes through, a wide cocky grin on his face and
a messy stack of mail in the crook of his arm. The guy is a total beach boy, heart and soul, from his
long blond curls to the woven flip-flops on his feet, even though it’s nearly November and there’s a
constant chill in the air. Even his little yellow coupe has a surfboard strapped to the top, like he’s
going to find the perfect wave driving down the streets of downtown Rogers City.
“Hey, sexy,” he says, angling his lanky body over me and giving me a tight squeeze. “I’ve missed
you.” He plants a cheeky kiss on my forehead before sitting in the wobbly chair across from me. He
plops his pile of mail on top of the table–and on top of the envelope of cash I’ve had sitting there
since I arrived. Then he stretches out his arms and sprawls his legs into the aisleway, looking as
casual and relaxed as can be.
“Missed you too,” I say, giving him a shy grin. To any outsider, we look like close friends, maybe
even college kids in the throes of their first real relationship. Sometimes I wish we were in a
relationship. Everything would be so much easier. But while I enjoy Kennedy’s company, and I know
he’d take care of me and treat me right, it isn’t meant to be. He’s a Beta, and neither of us is attracted
to each other in any way other than friends. “How’s life treating you?”
“Same as always,” he says, stealing my iced coffee and taking a big gulp. I swat at his hand
playfully, and he grins at me, showing off dimples that would rival Shirley Temple’s. “How’s your
mom doing?”
“Recovering well,” I say with a shrug. “The orthopedic doctor says she can start walking without
the crutches now.” It’s all a lie, a made-up conversation to keep the façade going. My mom is long
gone, dead when I was three from cervus, a wasting disease that targets Omega genes, making us rare
and decreasing our population as a whole. I have very little memory of my mother, other than the
legacy she left me–the cervus now running through my own veins, slowly killing me.
“That’s good,” continues Kennedy, still keeping up the ruse. “I feel sorry for her physical
therapist. Your mom is kind of a firecracker.”
“That she is,” I agree, swirling the plastic straw around in the coffee, clicking the half-melted ice
cubes against the sides of the cup. “You should have seen her when they took the cast off. She was
ready to march right out of the hospital all on her own.”
My chest pangs, imagining living in a world where what I was saying was true.
“Well, I hope she’s back to her grouchy self again soon. And what about you? How’s the writing
going?” Kennedy waggles his brown eyebrows at me with a goofy leer on his pouty lips. “Anything
salacious you can read me? Possibly while in my bed, feeding me grapes?”
“Yeah, that dream will never come true. And you know I can’t read you anything. I’ve got my
name written on enough NDAs to keep me quiet for life.”
“You could always write me my own story. Something sexy, just for me.” He winks at me, and I
shake my head with an indulgent smile.
“Absolutely not. Besides, you’d only want sexy surfer stories, and that would get old after a
while, trust me.”
“What’s wrong with surfers?” he protests, gesturing at his entire body.
 I give a dramatic performance, checking him out and letting my eyes catch on every bit of him
before shaking my head dismissively. “Sex and sand don’t mix.”
He opens his mouth to complain, and then snaps it shut again. “Yeah, you’re right on that one. It
gets everywhere. And I mean everywhere.” He grimaces with a full body shudder. “Look, I gotta get
going. I’m meeting Zoe for dinner later.” Never mind that Zoe is the name of his Himalayan cat, and
dinner just means opening up a can of gourmet kitty chow for her.
Kennedy stands and stretches with a leonine yawn, showing off sleek abs that should be making
me drool, but I can only admire them aesthetically, the way one would look at a Greek statue. He
scoops up his mail again, leaving behind an envelope next to my nearly empty cup. “See you around,
Rile.” He lumbers out of the café, the bell over the door announcing his exit.
I exhale slowly, leaning back into the café chair and closing my eyes. Kennedy is extra smooth at
these types of exchanges, but I can’t help the anxiety that overtakes me every time. I pick up the
envelope from the table—identical to the original one but with completely different contents—and
tuck it safely into my purse. I wait a few more minutes, finishing up my coffee, and then stand and
head straight to the bathroom.
I stop a moment to catch my breath, which has become shallower over the past few minutes, then I
tear open the envelope and pull out one of the heat suppressants. The pill is white and chalky, leaving
traces on my fingers as I toss it back and lean over the faucet to bring a palmful of water to my lips as
I swallow it.
The relief is immediate, not because the little white pill is working, but because I know it will. I
take a second one, knowing Kennedy is right about needing to up the dose for a few days, and wipe
the back of my hand across my lips before leaving the café.
A wooden bench sits out on the sidewalk, and I make my way over to it, collapsing on the seat. I
try to keep my inhales and exhales steady and rhythmic, and eventually my lungs are able to take
deeper and deeper breaths. After two dizzy spells that make my stomach lurch, I finally start to feel
like myself again. Truly myself, not what my Omega genetics tell me I am. I am more than my heat,
more than what my body dictates, and if it takes heat suppressants, scent blocking soaps, and an
arsenal of sex toys to keep myself safe, then so be it.
At last, I trust my legs not to collapse under me when I stand, and when I touch my fingers to the
back of my neck, it feels cold and clammy instead of the dry fever it had before. Clarity comes back
to my mind, instead of the constant thoughts of run hide run that were swirling around in my brain
earlier. This was a mistake, but it’s not one that can happen again. With a deep, bracing breath, I
gather up my purse with the precious pills inside and head down the street.
TWO
 —
RILEY

MY APARTMENT BUILDING is only a few blocks away, and the bookstore where I used to
work is just down the street from Charlie’s, between the two. Despite the November winds, it feels
too good outside to be locked up in my apartment, even if that’s where I should be. My Betas-only
building is the safest place for me right now, never mind that I had to lie on five different forms and
break about eight laws to get in…
Go home, Riley.
Ugh.
The ache for normalcy is real.
The cluttered old bookstore looks the same as it did when I applied there two years ago, fresh off
a Greyhound bus with one suitcase to my name. I needed an income and a place to stay under the
radar. The bookstore provided both for a while. The owner let me crash on the couch in the back
room, at least until I could afford first month’s rent and the deposit for my apartment.
The only difference in the old shop’s appearance now is that the front window display is filled
with cozy mysteries, other autumn-themed books, and an abundance of cheap fake leaves. Otherwise,
it’s still the same haven I needed back then.
A quick stop to say hi to Caroline won’t hurt.
I do a quick sniff over my shoulder and take stock of how I’m feeling, deciding it should be
relatively safe. There’s a good chance no one besides Care will even be in there at this time on a
Tuesday.
When I enter the brownstone building, my friend looks up from behind the counter with a big grin.
“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” she says, typing something into the system before coming around
the corner and giving me a hug. There’s no need to worry about her possibly picking up on any
pheromones. Caroline is a Beta, and in her mind, so am I. She’s never given any indication that she
thinks otherwise, and honestly, I think if she knew I was really an Omega, she wouldn’t say anything
anyway.
“Sorry I haven’t texted back lately, I was really in the zone with the last project,” I say, offering a
guilty smile, breathing in the calming, familiar scent of books and old wood. “It’s nice to be back.”
“You should stop by more often then,” she pouts, flipping her auburn braid behind her shoulder.
“This place isn’t the same without you. I miss you.”
My heart twinges at her honest words. I really did love working at the bookstore, but it was too
hard to manage hiding my Omega status in a place that was so easily accessible. I never knew who
was going to be around at any moment, even if it’s a place where Alphas don’t usually hang out. They
prefer fancier locations, or places where they can show off their physicality, like gyms or bars or
pool halls. “How is it going here? Is the shop doing okay?”
“Same old, same old. Customers still like to take books off the shelves and put them in the wrong
spot. Teenagers come in and read the manga and leave them on the floor without paying for them. The
usual.” She narrows her bright blue eyes at me. “What about you? How’s the ghostwriting world?
Any best sellers under your belt?”
“It’s going very well, actually. I’ve built up a lot of repeat clients, and I’ve been able to raise my
rates. Besides, I get to spend my days writing about happy endings. What’s better than that?”
“There’s tons in life better than that, girl. You need to take the next step and write for yourself.
Get your name out there. Write what you want instead of just what sells for your clients, you know?”
I do know, but I really don’t want to have this talk again. The truth is that I’m just not ready to
write for myself yet. I have nothing worth saying. My clients give me very detailed storyboards and
character maps and ideas. They have those because they live actual lives instead of being trapped in a
square box fifteen stories off the ground ninety eight percent of the time.
I’ve always loved to write. I’m just grateful I get to make money doing something I love, even if
it’s not entirely for myself.
Caroline pulls a wrinkled dust rag from her apron and wipes down shelves that are already
spotless from when she probably dusted an hour ago. “I mean, the happy little Omega in the happy
little Pack, making happy little babies… or the Beta who finds his or her way into a pack of loving
Alphas–which are the exceptions, not the rule.”
I roll my eyes.
“Come on, Rile, even you have to admit it’s all corny fantasy. And if it’s not that, it’s forbidden
romances between Betas and Omegas, or Betas and Alphas, or Alphas and Alphas. Sure, they happen,
but it sets up unrealistic expectations. You and I are both going to end up with another Beta, and
there’s nothing wrong with that.”
When I wince at her judgmental words and look away, Caroline realizes what she said and hangs
her head with a sigh. “I’m sorry, Riley. That was rude of me. I didn’t mean that what you’re writing
isn’t good, it’s just… I don’t know. It’d be nice to see something real on the bestseller lists for once,
you know?”
I lift a shoulder, not wanting to go any deeper into this argument. “It’s fine, Care. I get what you’re
saying, sometimes I do want to write something a little more real. A little more raw. It isn’t like you
have a particularly unique opinion about the genre. A lot of people don’t take romance stories
seriously. But it’s the type of book that sells well with my clients. Reading is an escape from the
mundane. It doesn’t have to be realistic; it just has to make the reader feel something.”
“You’re so right,” Caroline says, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “I blame my shitty
attitude on it being that time of the month.”
She gives me a conspiratorial look, not knowing that I have never and will never have a period
like she and every other Beta gets.
I dig around in my purse, finding the fancy chocolate bar with freeze dried raspberry pieces
dotted on top, and hand it to her. “Here,” I say. “I swear chocolate makes everything better.”
Caroline makes an adorable snorting noise and takes the chocolate with a smile. “You’re my
hero,” she says, tearing it open to take a bite directly from the bar like some sort of savage. “What
project are you working on now?”
Before I can give her a generic, non-NDA-breaking update on my current projects, a harried
mother and three boisterous children come in through the shop door. I wave Caroline on so she can
greet her new customers and head over to the romance section of the bookstore. I love going through
the shelves to try and find any books I’ve ghostwritten. Even though my name isn’t anywhere on the
cover, I like to buy them for my own collection, displaying them on the shelves like trophies. I like to
know that something I wrote made someone else happy. It’s one of the best rushes I’ve experienced.
After searching through a few shelves, I come upon an old historical romance that I wrote, one
based on the fairy tale of Beauty and the Beast. In the book, a brave young Omega trades her own
freedom for her father’s and goes to live with a reclusive, scarred, moody Alpha. As always, she
wins over his grumpy heart, and they fall madly in love and experience the all-important happily ever
after. It was one of my favorite projects, and I’ve never seen it in print in the store before. I tuck it
under my arm, and crouch down to sift through the lower shelves, looking for more treasures.
The sound of slow footsteps in the aisle, muffled by the thin brown carpet, startles me enough that
I nearly topple back off my heels. When I look up to find the source, a tall Alpha perusing the science
fiction section, his full mouth twisted in concentration, my lips part in surprise. He has an arm full of
books and seems to be picking out yet another novel to add to the heavy load.
I picked this bookstore to work in when I first came to town because Alphas weren’t their usual
clientele. It was easy enough to busy myself in the back room and let Care handle them whenever one
did come in, but it was so rare that I could be at ease pretty much all the time.
My heart begins to beat faster, and my throat tightens as if I’m choking on the air around me. I
don’t want him to see me, but I can’t try and hide from him either. That would be even more
suspicious. I take a deep breath to fight the anxiety that drapes over me like a suffocating cloak.
Focusing on the multi-colored spines of the paperback books on the lower shelf, I say each title aloud
in my head slowly to keep my focus anywhere but on the threat just a few feet away.
The Alpha’s footsteps get closer and louder until it would be weird if I didn’t at least give a
friendly nod or something.
I twist my head up to look at him, my throat dry.
The Alpha gives me a strange look, his nose wrinkled in confusion. I bite down hard on my lip
until it hurts. He must’ve caught my scent. The suppressants haven’t fully kicked in yet and the
blockers didn’t work, and this is it. I’m going to be found out. Either this Alpha is going to claim me
right here and now or he’ll turn me over to the authorities and I’ll never go home again. I’ll be paired
off with a pack against my will. One of the worst kinds. And they’ll…
Oh god.
I should run but I can’t move.
But instead of growling at me or coming on to me, he simply asks, “Are you comfortable down
there?” in a soft, teasing tone.
For a second, I don’t register his words, blinking up at him like a baby owl. Then I realize what
exactly he has asked, and I jump up from my awkward crouch on the floor, nearly knocking over a
display of Choose Your Own Adventure books. His expression is too neutral to be reacting to my
natural scent. If he were picking up on it, he’d be all over me, trying to mark me as his own and
posturing for all Alphas in the area to see. Unless he’s already bonded, but I don’t see any markings
over his collarbone or up the sides of his neck.
“Just getting a better look at the lower shelves,” I mumble, stepping out of the way for him to pass
by.
He doesn’t.
He smiles at me, a friendly smile with no apparent ulterior motive. I try to make my heart calm
down, though I don’t relax completely. Even the kindest Alpha is still a predator. “I get it. I used to
hang out in bookstores as a kid, sprawled out on the floor with a dozen books piled around me. It
doesn’t work so well now that I’m much taller. I don’t fit in the aisles as well.” He winks at me, and
my heart begins to beat for a completely different reason than fear.
He’s handsome, tall and lean with light brown hair and sparkling hazel eyes. His smile is
crooked, hitching up on the left side more than the right, giving him an impish look that’s counteracted
by the dimple in his left cheek. “What are you reading?”
I twist the book away from my chest for him to see. He raises his eyebrows at the half-naked
Alpha on the cover, leaning over an Omega maiden in a very low-cut peasant dress. “I think we have
different tastes in books.” He holds up a copy of Isaac Asimov’s short stories, complete with a
solemn black and white photo of the author on the cover. I roll my eyes at him, because defending the
romance genre twice in ten minutes has to be some sort of record.
“Romance is just as legitimate as any other genre,” I say, reciting my usual argument.
The Alpha grimaces, waving his free hand in a so-so gesture. “I don’t know about that. Romance
books aren’t very realistic, are they?”
There’s a bantering tone to his voice that puts me at ease instead of making me want to tear him a
new one.
“But it’s not about realism.” I gesture at the book of short stories clutched in his long fingers.
“And isn’t true love something you’d see before aliens and UFOs?”
He throws back his head and laughs, a warm noise that feels comforting, like curling up next to the
fire with a homemade blanket. I think I catch his scent, but it’s so similar to the scents already around
me that it’s difficult to distinguish. Old paper and warm wood.
“Touché. Of course, we could always mix the two together and read some sci-fi romances. Aliens
whispering sweet nothings into each other’s ears. Best of both worlds.”
“Oh, those definitely exist. Trust me. I’ve written a few.” I immediately wince at my words. I
didn’t mean to reveal any personal information, not to an Alpha.
His clever eyes instantly narrow on my face. “You’re a writer?” He gestures at the overladen
shelves next to us. “That’s so cool. Are any of these novels yours?”
“I can’t tell you that,” I say in my best teasing tone. “Under penalty of death.” When his lips quirk
up in amused confusion, I add, “I’m a ghost writer. I’ve signed a lot of NDAs. I couldn’t tell you if
any of these books are mine, even if I wanted to.”
He frowns at my answer, full lips turning down at the corners. “Don’t you want to get credit for
your work?” he asks, but I shake my head in response.
“Not really. I’ve never been someone who wanted fame or publicity. I just like to write. I like to
take someone else’s idea and polish it up until it’s something that the entire world can enjoy.”
He furrows his brow as if this is the most absurd thing anyone has ever told him. “And you think
you can do that with”—he reaches in front of me to pluck out a random book from the shelf—”The
Alpha Billionaire’s Christmas Baby?”
“I happen to like Christmas babies and Alpha billionaires,” I say with mock disdain, and he
laughs that incredible laugh once again that makes me want to curl up to his side and cuddle into his
broad chest.
“Fine, fine,” he concedes with a mock salute. “You read your thing, and I’ll read mine.”
“They really have the same purpose,” I say, tapping on another one of the books in his stack for
emphasis. When I do, my wrist brushes against his, and a frisson of awareness shoots down my arm.
How can something as simple as that make my toes curl?
I clear my throat. “Books are meant for escaping the real world. Books with happy endings allow
us to find hope, even if the real world doesn’t have it.”
 My voice cracks a little on the last few words, and I clear my throat to disguise it. I am one of
those poor souls who will never get her happy ending. But I’ll live a thousand of them through the
stories I read and the ones I tell.
Sometimes, that’s as good as it gets.
The Alpha stares at me intently, blinking a few times with long dark lashes. “You’re right,” he
murmurs, taking a step closer to me. “Happy endings are important. Everyone deserves one.”
“But not everyone will get one,” I whisper, my face heating at his proximity. One step forward,
and I could be in his arms if I wanted to. “But they can through a book.” We’re only a few inches
apart now, and I know I should be worried about my pheromones breaking through the scent blocker,
but all I can do is focus on his own amazing scent, coming through more clearly now that he’s closer.
He smells like old books, comforting and full of warm memories. I’ve always loved the smell of
old books, but I’ve never met a person who smelled like them. This Alpha does, though, the scent
wrapping around me like an embrace from an old friend, making my throat burn with longing for
something I can never have.
His hand suddenly thrusts out, and I jump, startled by the swift movement. “Are you okay?” he
asks, cupping his palm under my elbow to steady me on my feet. “You were swaying a little on your
feet there.”
“I was…?” Oh no. My body is reacting to him. My instincts are trying to say, Alpha, Alpha,
Alpha. Mine, mine, mine. When I really need to be thinking home, home, home. My knees wobble,
and my palms are clammy, even when I wipe them on my jeans. My core heats with desire, though I
haven’t started producing slick yet. I can’t, or everything I worked for will be destroyed.
“I haven’t eaten much today,” I lie easily, stepping back from him so sharply that I drop the book I
was going to buy. It falls to the floor, the pages crumpling against the carpet. His head whips from the
book to me again, a baffled look on his face.
“I better get home and get that taken care of. Low blood sugar and all that.” I bend to snatch up the
book and hastily shelve it properly, not wanting to give Caroline more work on my account. “Excuse
me,” I duck past him, rushing out past Caroline and her customers, shouting a hasty later, girl! on my
way out the door. I push my way outside, not looking back at the handsome Alpha as I flee.
I need to get back home to take another shower to cover up my pheromones with another hot
shower and lots of scent blocker. My body is still adjusting to the new dosage of heat suppressant,
and going to the bookstore was a risk I shouldn’t have taken. The only place I should be is locked up
in my apartment, away from anyone else. Away from any Alphas. Away from the real world and any
chance at those happy endings that only exist in my books.
THREE
 —
RILEY

I FINALLY STOP LOOKING behind me for the handsome Alpha when I’m just a block away
from home. The scent-blocking soap must be working its hardest because I’m not being followed by
him or any Alpha, for that matter. Getting away from him was almost too easy, and my hackles are
raised in suspicion. Usually, an Alpha will pursue anyone who pulls away from them like I did,
especially if they carry an Omega scent. But this book-loving Alpha was different. He was kind,
gentle even. My natural instincts weren’t the only thing drawing me to him. He was genuinely
interesting, and if things were different…
They aren’t different.
As I walk down the sidewalk, hands in my pockets to ward off the chilly wind, I see a familiar
car drive past—Kennedy’s little yellow coupe, complete with that ridiculous surfboard strapped on
top. I don’t know why he keeps it up there. We don’t even live near that close to the ocean, for
goodness’ sake. The closest beach is two hours away. But that’s Kennedy for you. He marches to the
beat of his own drum, which is weird enough that he’s hardly ever suspected for his other activities.
If we were normal friends, two Betas without a care in the world, I might have waved at him as
he drove by, but it isn’t worth exposing our connection to each other.
I stop short at the blare of a siren, catching the spread of blue and red light splaying over the
buildings across the street. Three police cruisers come barreling onto the main road, tires squealing
as their drivers overcorrect on the tight turn. The vehicles’ sirens wail like banshees and I can only
watch, dumbstruck, as they barricade themselves around Kennedy’s car, preventing him from going
any farther down the road. My mouth drops in horror, and fear freezes my feet right where I stand,
when I should be running into my building to hide away.
Oh god.
Kennedy is getting arrested, right in front of me, and there is nothing I can do to help him. Hot
tears well in my eyes, and I can’t seem to make my feet move more than an inch, frozen in shock as the
officers step out of their vehicles and other pedestrians stop to watch—or scurry along to get out of
the way.
“Out of the vehicle!” one of the officers belts through his megaphone, feedback echoing off of the
tall buildings around us until I feel like I’m in a tornado of static. “Put your hands up and drop your
weapons!”
Weapons? What weapons? I’ve never seen Kennedy with a gun. He is much more the “peace,
love, and weed” type. But if these officers are actually telling him to drop whatever weapons they
think he has, maybe he’s in more trouble than I thought.
I cover my mouth to muffle a scream as Kennedy finally emerges from his coupe, lanky arms
raised high in the air, his posture stiff. He says nothing, but I can’t tell his expression from here on the
sidewalk. There is no weapon in his hand, just as predicted. Nor is there the bulge of a pistol or
hidden gun anywhere in his tight jeans. Everything about this excessive force is all wrong, and I can’t
figure out why the cops were called out in such force.
I startle again as additional cars, all unmarked sedans, come roaring down the road from behind
me, blocking off Kennedy’s exit from the rear of his vehicle. Half a dozen hop out of the cars like
clowns from a circus wagon and point their guns at Kennedy, shouting loud, cold threats that blend
together until I can’t tell what they are saying. The cacophony of yelling men makes my pulse soar.
Why are they using weapons on Kennedy? Wouldn’t this just be a drug possession charge? He’s not a
murderer, at least I don’t think he is. They shouldn’t be using this kind of force. None of it makes any
sense.
Unless they’re looking for something other than just Kennedy’s drugs. Unless they’re looking for
someone other than Kennedy.
Terror shoots through my bloodstream like icy needles. What if the cops are rounding up the
Omegas that Kennedy has helped hide over the years? What if someone saw us at the café and tipped
off the police? That could be the only reason to use such a dramatic force against a simple drug
dealer. This is an attack against Omegas and those that stand up for their rights.
My feet unfreeze. I need to get out of here. Now.
I stumble backward, and my back hits a lamppost with a loud clang. The sound cracks across the
air like a gunshot, and one of the policemen pivots in place, his gun pointed in my direction, and
every instinct I have tells me to run away as far as I can.
So, I do. I run like all the demons in hell are chasing me, away from my apartment building and
back toward the street where the bookshop sits. But I’m not a good runner, and I never have been,
even when I was healthier as a child. I’m too skinny and weak, and my body doesn’t know which side
is right side up with all the imbalanced hormones rushing through my blood and muddling my senses.
After only a block and a half, my lungs are raspy and on fire, and my legs are shaking so badly that I
can barely put one foot in front of the other without tripping. The drumbeat of footsteps behind me
announces my pursuer’s arrival, and I slow to a surrendering stop. This is it. The end.
When I turn to face the cops, they have their weapons pointed right at me, tasers, not pistols,
which means they know exactly who, and what, they were chasing. Neither man is winded from the
chase, but I can barely gulp air into my lungs fast enough to keep from fainting.
“Hands in the air!” the taller man, a blond, orders, his voice harsh and biting. I let out a shriek
when he thrusts the taser toward me. ”I said hands in the air!”
I try to raise my hands toward the sky, but I’m shaking so badly that it hurts to lift my weakened
limbs. A single tear rolls down my cheek, but whether it is caused by fear or the cold wind in my
eyes, I’m not sure. I meet the second cop’s eye, and as our gazes connect, his nostrils widen. As he
inhales, his pupils grow big and dark. He’s an Alpha, and unlike the one in the bookstore, this one can
smell my scent like a shark with blood.
“Omega,” he growls, taking a menacing step forward, hand outstretched like a claw. He grabs the
front of my T-shirt, and a seam on my shoulder tears. He pulls me up against his wide chest, leaning
down to run his nose against my neck, scenting me and rubbing his own scent along my skin. I haven’t
been touched by an Alpha in years, and when I feel the air from his breath against my jugular, I break
completely.
“Please,” I whisper. My voice doesn’t sound like my own—it is too young, too small, too
frightened. “Please.” I don’t know what I am begging for. Mercy? Forgiveness? Death? I want all of it
and none of it.
“Please, what, little Omega?” snarls the cop, his fingernails digging into my skin. He looks nearly
close to rut already, his eyes wide and wild, and his cock hard in his uniform pants. I am programmed
to respond to any Alpha, but I don’t want this. I don’t want this disgusting man who would rather hurt
me and abuse his power than show me any kindness.
“Please let me go,” I say, willing my voice to go louder. He throws back his head and laughs,
shooting a glance at his partner. The blond cop looks uncomfortable, as he should be. He is a Beta,
oblivious to the thrall that Omegas and Alphas create around each other.
“Whitten,” he says carefully. “Let go of the girl. We need to take her in.”
Whitten snorts through his nose, a cruel, dismissive sound. I check his pupils again to find them
dark as night, his irises barely visible. I’m in so much trouble. If someone doesn’t stop this and soon,
this Alpha will bundle me off to his own Pack, and I’ll be doomed to live out my life as his, loveless
and lonely, only meant to be used for what my body can provide. Sex, and babies, and ecstasy,
pleasure that won’t necessarily be two-sided.
I’ve spent the past years trying to save myself from the fate I am destined to find. I’ve run from
family, from friends, from my childhood home, just to find safety from those who would use me. But
for the first time in a long time, I can’t save myself. I close my eyes and pray for a miracle. A hero.
I’m so tired of having to be my own.
FOUR
 —
MILES

I STARE DOWN at the Isaac Asimov book in my hand, frowning at the black and white cover. Was
I really that much of a book snob or was I just being oversensitive? The pretty Beta with the dark hair
that took off running seemed to think so. I thought I was a pretty open guy, but maybe I was wrong. I
wish she stayed so we could have talked about books a little longer, romance or not. Maybe I could
have redeemed myself.
Not that it matters now. She’s long gone.
I lift the book she’d been holding from the shelf, finding the pages bent from when she dropped it.
I run my fingers along the blade to crease the pages back to their original condition. The cover is
designed in the typical bodice-ripper style: a man and a woman embracing in torn clothes, both
looking like they’re about to orgasm right there underneath the $8.99 price tag. I’ll never hear the end
of it from the other guys if I buy it, but I still add it to the pile anyway. I could just say I met the author
and wanted to see what she wrote, that was all. The girl hadn’t confirmed that she was the author of
this book, but she hadn’t denied it either, and it was pretty clear by the proud look on her face that she
had something to do with its production.
“Will this be all?” says the auburn-haired female employee, scanning the books’ barcodes at
lightning speed. I nod in response, my thoughts still on the peculiar Beta girl. I had found her…
attractive. More than attractive, actually, which was odd. There are plenty of good-looking Beta men
and women, and I’ve always found them pleasant to look at, but I’ve never been enthralled enough to
want to have any sort of relations with them, unlike some of the other Alphas in my pack. But this girl,
with her messy dark hair and pale skin, seemed to electrify something in me that wanted more. She’d
been lecturing me about literary assumptions, and all I could think about was running my hand down
her jawline or leaning in and tasting the pulse point in her elegant neck.
Odd. Maybe Thane would know better. As an endocrinologist, my packmate was well-versed in
hormone imbalances, and maybe this fell into that category. I hoped I wasn’t getting sick, but then
again, I didn’t know of any conditions that caused Alphas to suddenly become enthralled with a Beta.
I mean, Fox fucked Betas all the time, and he’s right, it’s like putting a band aid on a bullet wound. It
eased the need, but didn’t get rid of it entirely. Not like knotting an Omega would.
Outside of the building, I hear sirens begin to wail, more than one by the sound of it. The alarms
still sound distant, but more and more join them until there is practically an orchestra of emergency
sirens holding a concert outside.
“What the hell?” muses the bookshop employee, and I agree with her thoughts. I take my bagged
books from her and open the shop door carefully. I haven’t heard any shooting, but if I get myself shot,
I’ll never hear the end of it from Thane while he fusses over me.
 My back stiffens as shouting joins the sirens, and a thin figure comes sprinting toward me,
followed by two burly officers, guns in hands. As the figure gets closer, I realize it’s the Beta from the
bookshop. That realization is punctuated by the sudden, sweet scent of magnolia blossoms that hit me
like a punch to the gut.
She’s not a Beta.
She’s an Omega.
And that scent? I inhale deeply, the rumble in my chest rolling down to the soles of my feet. It’s
possibly the most alluring scent I’ve ever found in my entire life. The smell of honeysuckle joins the
magnolia blossoms, and I know that I’ll never find anything like it again.
I drop the bag of books to the ground and take off running before my lazy brain catches up with my
limbs. Every Alpha instinct I have is urging me to protect the Omega, to keep her safe and secure. My
mind is racing with possibility. If I hadn’t caught her scent before it meant she was blocking it.
Probably taking heat suppressants. But she wasn’t bonded. That I was sure of. And she wasn’t
chaperoned by a family member or a promised pack as was law when an Omega was out in public.
Which could only mean one thing.
Within seconds, I’ve crossed the hundred yards between us, skidding to a halt and pulling the
Omega away from the officer with his fist in her shirt, back into the cradle of my arms. She gasps in
shock, her spine locking, and I can’t help but bury my nose in her hair and inhale her scent. That
magnolia smell is so strong and comforting, like a lazy warm summer day, but underneath, there’s a
strange aridity that sends a shiver down my back. It’s a bit like biting into the juiciest apple, but the
tartness of it sucks your mouth dry, leaving a not unpleasant bite of sour in its wake.
She must be taking some sort of suppressant or using a blocker, because I can’t think what else
would cause the sour tang unless it’s just another layer to her pheromones. I can’t help but inhale her
again and again, a high making my head light. I’d caught distant whiffs of Omegas before, claimed and
unclaimed, but I’d never allowed myself to get close. It isn’t what the pack wanted.
Was this what I was missing?
Christ.
No. All Omegas couldn’t possibly smell this way.
I knew there was something about this girl…
She shakes like a maple leaf in my arms, and thinking quickly, I tuck her against my chest, making
soft, shushing noises into her head, pressing a kiss to her damp temple. She still hasn’t relaxed into
me, but she’s not fighting me either.
I rub my hand along her forearm as a comforting gesture, but her skin feels cold and clammy.
Fuck, I hope she’s not going into shock. I don’t know what I’d do if she were, honestly. We’d have to
take her to the hospital or emergency room, and she’s already obviously trying to run away from
authority, not toward it.
“It’s okay,” I whisper, eyeing the cops, digging for the best play here.
Clearly, she’s trying to hide from the cops. Trying to pass herself off as a Beta. All I know is that I
feel a vicious need to protect her, even if I’ve only known her for a few minutes.
“Thank you for finding her,” I say to the taller, tow-headed cop, giving him a false look of
gratitude when all I really want to do is throttle him for touching her. “I’ve been looking for her
everywhere. I was so worried.”
Since I can’t bring myself to thank the brutish Alpha, I glance at the other Beta officer’s name tag
and add, “Officer Dunmore, I can’t thank you enough.”
“Why is your Omega wandering the streets alone?” asks the first cop, whose name tag reads
Whitten. His sharp gaze has yet to leave the Omega.
He’s undressing her with his eyes, while at the same time glaring at her as if she is the lowest
form of trash. A second glance shows his pupils are nearly fully dilated, and the erection popping
through his trousers is prominent and unhidden. This cop is nearly too far gone on her sweet scent. I
do the only thing I can do: I let out a possessive growl that echoes from my belly up into my chest, and
he immediately looks up at me, thin lips pursed in frustration. Like a wolf howling over its territory,
or a bear fighting for its prey, I growl again, claiming the Omega as untouchable to anyone but me and
my Pack. When I’m sure he’s backed down enough, I let the aggressive expression slide from my face,
though my anger isn’t hidden too far below my skin.
“She isn’t wandering them alone,” I argue, pulling the Omega tighter against me. Her back
relaxes, and she nuzzles into my chest like a newborn kitten trying to find warmth. My pants tighten at
her affection, and I have to shake my head to get my bearings back. It isn’t exactly best practice to be
aroused while talking to the police, and we’re all screwed if I go into rut as well. No pun intended.
“We were in the bookstore together, and I lost her. You know how easy it is to get turned around in
those sorts of places. She must’ve lost sight of me and assumed I stepped outside.”
“She could have been injured,” bites out Whitten, gesturing angrily at the shivering Omega. I’d bet
money he doesn’t care at all whether she was injured or not, as long as he could have a piece of her.
“We’ll have to fine you for your negligence. The laws protecting Omegas are in place for a reason,
son.”
You mean because of creeps like you?
“I understand,” I say, gritting my teeth into a stiff smile that nearly cracks my jaw. “I absolutely
should have been taking better care of her, and I accept the consequences of my actions. However, let
me just cover her up while you write out the fine. She’s shivering.” I’m laying it on thick, but Whitten
just grunts and heads down the block to his parked patrol car. No other cars are around him, so
whatever incident was going down must have cleared up while I was chasing my faux Beta. I
wouldn’t think all of those officers were here for her, but it’s been a strange enough day already, and I
wouldn’t discount the idea completely.
I take off my navy blazer and wrap it around the young Omega. Her violet eyes round as I tuck it
around her shoulders, making sure every bit of her bare forearms are covered. Her form is so slight
that it fits like an oversized bathrobe, dwarfing her body. “Now, baby, I don’t want you getting cold,”
I say once she’s bundled up nice and tight. She nods slowly, her expression dazed. She barely blinks
her lids over those brilliant violet eyes, and once again, I’m worried she’s in shock from all of the
commotion.
Whitten better hurry up with that citation, or we’re going to have another problem on our hands. I
don’t want to have to take her to the hospital. Just the thought of an unbonded Omega, releasing such
strong pheromones, in an enclosed medical building with a thousand other people, half of them
Alphas… It would become a warzone.
“You know,” says Dunmore, his voice much kinder than his cohort’s, albeit a bit awkward. “You
really need to bond with her as soon as possible. Anything could have happened to her alone. If we
hadn’t been out here on a separate call, who knows who she would have run into.”
“I know, sir,” I say with a solemn nod. “I plan to get her bonded into the Pack as soon as we can. I
just want it to be special, you know?” Dunmore’s face reddens, and he steps back as if I’m going to
give him cooties from being too sentimental.
“You do that,” he says gruffly, looking relieved when Whitten comes back with the necessary
paperwork.
 “Your name?” Whitten asks me, pen at the ready.
“Miles Knight,” I say clearly. “That’s Knight with a K.” Whitten rolls his eyes, but he scrawls out
my name in a lazy hand. I provide my home address, my birthday, and anything else he needs to hand
over the fine like an overeager doctor with a prescription pad.
“And your Omega?” he asks, leering at the girl but addressing the question to me. “What’s her
name?”
“Riley North,” she pipes up before I can come up with a pseudonym for her. “That’s North with
an N.”
Whitten pauses his ticket writing, glaring at her. “Cheeky little thing, aren’t you? Is that why you
ran from us? You’ve got a problem with authority?” Even as annoyed as he sounds, his pupils haven’t
gone fully back to their correct size. He’s still dangerous, even after being challenged by a stronger
Alpha such as myself.
I take a threatening step forward, ready to protect her, but she stills me with a calming look. “No,”
she says, bowing her head demurely. “Not at all. I ran because… well if you caught me without
Miles, then I knew he’d get in trouble. It was my fault. I shouldn’t have wandered out of the shop.”
Quick little thing. A sense of pride and something close to hope grows in my chest and I can’t help
a little smirk. She’s going along with my charade.
She bites her lip and looks up at Whitten through hooded lids, looking every bit the repentant
Omega. “Guess I messed that up, didn’t I? He still ended up in trouble because of me. I’m so sorry,
Miles. I really am.”
Whitten seems taken aback by her coy act, and I’m impressed as hell at her cleverness. “Fine,” he
says, scribbling some additional items on the citation before ripping off the top blue copy and handing
it to me. “Have you claimed her formally?”
“Uh, no,” I stammer. “It’s still a newer arrangement.”
He grunts. “Well, I’ll be entering your claim in the system, and that fine needs to be paid within
two weeks. Get that girl bonded, or you’ll end up in this same situation. You know how these young
Omegas get.”
“Absolutely,” I say with the biggest shit-eating grin I can muster. “Nothing but trouble
sometimes.” He huffs out a sound of agreement and turns back to his car, with Dunmore trudging along
behind him. I watch him carefully, not relaxing a single muscle until he’s inside his patrol car and
pulling away from the scene.
Once we’re alone, the girl and I both let out sighs of relief in tandem. I glance down at the girl–
no, Riley, her name is Riley, my sweet, sweet, Riley. “Do you have a Pack I need to return you to?” I
hold my breath for her reply but I can already guess the answer. She shakes her head anyway and I
feel my tensed muscles relax. “Family then?”
She shakes her head again, her jaw tightening.
“Well, then, welcome to the Woods Pack.”
As soon as I say the words, I feel the connection between us grow, heavy and tangible, so thick I
can taste it. It isn’t a true bond, not yet. That takes a special connection and the bite to end all bites.
But either way, she’s a part of me now, and I’m a part of her, even if it’s the very beginning of a
connection. It could snap like a twig or grow into something as strong as an oak. It’s all up to her at
this point. And the rest of the pack.
I feel my stomach drop at the thought, but what other option is there? I can’t leave her here on the
street and I’ve basically just taken legal responsibility for her.
I silence the part of my brain demanding to know what the fuck I was thinking, letting instinct win
out over logic just this once.
I want to bury my face in her neck, to lick and nip at her skin, to pull her shirt over her head and
worship those perky breasts that are just begging for attention. But I don’t do that. I hold back the
beast inside me, the beast that wants to claim her as my own for my brothers and me, like a wolf
bringing back prey to his Pack. My Pack. I look at her and ask the question that needs to be asked
first, “Riley? What do you want?”
FIVE
 —
RILEY

“RILEY? WHAT DO YOU WANT?”

Miles’ question bounces around in my head, the inquiry so unfamiliar to me. When was the last
time anyone asked me what I wanted? When was the last time I was allowed to choose my own fate?
My mood drops, though, as I work through the ramifications of the question. It isn’t in my hands,
not really, no matter how polite the Alpha sounds. Everything has changed for me in a matter of
moments, and my muddled brain can’t catch up with the reality that has taken over. For years, every
action I’ve taken has kept me from having to bond with an Alpha or belonging to a Pack. Now, my
dealer, and one of my only friends, has been dragged off to jail, and this Alpha had to stake a false
claim on me just to stop me getting arrested. In the end, what I want doesn’t matter at all.
While my heart hurts to picture Kennedy stuck in some lonely jail cell, I doubt he’ll be in prison
very long. He’s no snitch, not with the network of dangerous people he deals with, either directly or
indirectly. If he were to rat out any of his contacts, he’d be dead in a matter of days, shanked to death
on a cell’s cement floor. I also doubt he would sell me out, because that wouldn’t get him anywhere,
even if we weren’t friends. There is just no point in throwing an Omega under the bus.
Our kind has become so few in number that it would be a waste to lock one of us away forever.
We’re a commodity, and rarities are meant to be used and displayed by the rich and powerful. Which,
in our world, means the Alphas. We both knew what awaited me if he turned me in. I’d be put in a
holding cell until one of the packs who signed up as available to take on any Omega brought into
custody came to pick me up and claim me as their own. And those kinds of packs? They weren’t the
sort that could get an Omega any other way. The last sort any Omega would want to be bound to.
So no, I can’t see Kennedy bringing me up to the cops at all, not even to save his own skin.
Miles stirs in my peripheral vision, and I force myself back into the present. There’s nothing I can
do to help Kennedy now or to undo everything that was just done.
“Riley?” Miles repeats, his voice firm but kind. There is no Alpha persuasion in his voice, but I
can see how that heady, low tone of his would be hard to resist if there were. “What do you want?
What do you really want?”
I ignore his direct question. “Um, thank you for your help,” I tell him quietly. His chest rises and
falls, and he has that stunned, drunken sort of look that any Alpha gets when they first come into
contact with a new Omega. Every few moments, he shakes his head, as if he also can’t believe
everything that just went down. “I should probably head back to my apartment.” I turn in the direction
of home to leave, but his hand shoots out, grasping me by the wrist with his long, masculine fingers.
“You know you can’t do that anymore,” he murmurs, sliding his hand down my arm until his
fingers entangle with mine. I tremble at his touch, not understanding how something so simple as
interlocking hands with another person could feel so good. I should pull away. I should really pull
away, but I can’t seem to make myself.
Miles swallows, brushing the pad of his thumb over the back of my hand. “I’m legally responsible
for you now. They will file that citation and register you as part of my Pack, even if you haven’t
bonded yet.”
I hear what he’s really saying underneath the logical response.
You’re mine.
“No,” I say, shaking my hand free from his, mourning his touch even though I don’t want it, not
really. “I’m fine on my own. I have been for years. I won’t get caught again.”
“Riley, your scent is everywhere, and it’s strong.” He inhales, closing his eyes as if savoring the
scent like a fine wine. “If you don’t come with me, then another Alpha is going to find you.”
No doubt one who would behave much worse. He had a point.
“I don’t want to,” I whisper, embarrassed at how it comes out like a child’s whimper.
“I know you don’t,” he says, and before I know it, my hand is in his once more. He presses my
palm gently, rubbing his thumb over the sensitive skin. “Are you sure you don’t have a family I can
take you to? Someone else who might have a claim on you?”
I could tell him the truth. I could say that yes, both of my Alpha fathers are alive and well, living
nearly three hours from here. But then I’d have to tell him that they betrayed me, believing one of their
oldest friends over their own daughter. They chose his lies and denials instead of my cries for help.
Miles would help me, I think with surprise. Miles would have believed me when I said that that
man was looking at me the wrong way, touching me the wrong way when I first presented as
Omega. Miles would have kept me safe.
I don’t know where these rapid-fire thoughts are coming from. I’ve never had anything like them
before, suppressant or no suppressant. But at the same time, I know each and every statement is true.
Some deep, base instinct I’ve never felt before tells me that Miles will keep me safe. If I let him.
“I could come home with you?” he asks with a disheartened grimace, glancing in the direction I’d
been trying to go when I first pulled away. I shake my head fervently at his idea. The apartment is my
safe space, and I don’t want anyone in there, not even him. I’d rather abandon it completely than lose
its sense of security.
He looks disappointed at my denial, but asks, “You do have a home, right? You’re not homeless,
are you?”
I shake my head at that, though I might as well be. I don’t want to take him back to my apartment,
but I also can’t leave here alone, not with my pheromones going crazy the way they are. The heat
suppressants should’ve been fully kicked in by now and I’m blaming this Alpha’s presence for making
them and the scent blocking body wash entirely ineffective.
“Look, Riley…” His voice drifts off, and he rubs at his temple like he has a headache. “I don’t
know your story. I don’t know you. And you don’t know me. But you need help, and I can give it to
you. I promise you that no one in my Pack will hurt you. No one in my Pack will even touch you or
speak to you if I tell them that’s the way it needs to be. I’ll talk to them and make them do whatever
you need, but you should come back with me. An Omega can’t live alone, it isn’t sa–”
My head whips toward him, and I bare my teeth at him in electrified anger. He steps back, hands
up in surrender, eyes rounded at my burst of fury. “Sorry, sorry. An Omega shouldn’t live alone. You
clearly can, and have, and it’s probably important to you, but it’s not plausible anymore. You need to
be protected and I can offer that.”
He winces, hesitating before he continues. “I also need to point out that since I’ve taken legal
responsibility for you, if anything should happen to you, or if you were to be caught again, I would be
the one liable.”
My throat closes up and I push back the urge to angry cry, balling my hands to fists.
“I didn’t want any of this to happen,” I say, raising my hand to silence him when he tries to
protest. “I don’t want to go with you.”
“Why?” he asks, reaching forward and tucking a stray piece of hair behind my ear, making me
recoil and shiver at the same time. “What are you running from? Why won’t you let me help you?”
Because in the end, I’m running from myself, I think, my lip trembling. In the end, you’ll be
running from me too.
“It doesn’t matter,” I mutter, not necessarily directing the morose words toward him. “For now,
I’ll go back with you to your Pack house.” His eyes light up with excitement, and I hold up a hand to
interrupt him. “But this is temporary. That’s all it can be. I need to get enough suppressants into my
system to counteract my heat and get my scent under control and then…”
I trail off, wanting to say that I’ll go home, but I can’t do that anymore, can I?
Miles is right. Now that I’m in the system as promised to his pack, he is technically liable for me.
A flare of frustrated anger rushes to pool in my cheeks like acid.
Miles, oblivious, nods, barely containing a relieved grin. “Okay. Okay, then I’ll take you back to
the house for now. One step at a time. I’ll talk to my packmates. You’ll never have to say or do or act
any way other than the way you want. If you want to stay on suppressants, we can do it the legal way.
Thane can sign off on them, and you won’t have to chase around a dealer every few months. Besides,
I think the legal stuff is stronger, not to mention safer.”
I nod. It’s all I can muster as he takes my hand again, drawing me close to him as he scans the
rapidly darkening street around us for any sign of a threat. “This way.”
I let him tow me along, blinking as we pass the book shop window, its warm orange glow
radiating from the windows, beckoning me back inside. Aching to confide in my friend.
Twenty-four hours ago, I would have kicked and screamed at the thought of going home with an
Alpha. But right now, I just want to scrub myself raw and then lock myself away some place warm
and dark to ride out the suppressed heat until the pills properly kick in. Going with him is the safest
way for me to be able to do that. Even in a Betas only building, Alphas often walk the halls, leaving
their Beta booty calls in the middle of the night. I know because I’ve scented them and then spent
hours praying that they didn’t scent me in return.
“It’s going to be okay,” Miles says and I wish I could believe him.
SIX
 —
RILEY

MILES DRIVES A MID-SIZED BLUE HYBRID, and if I couldn’t figure out his personality in
the bookstore, the car would tell me everything I needed to know. He has to move a file folder as
thick as a soda bottle from the passenger seat before I can sit down. In the back, I count two laptop
bags leaning against a stray computer monitor. A stack of books balances precariously on the seat next
to the computer equipment, sure to slide from side to side every time he takes a turn.
The guy is some sort of heroic, sexy, computer nerd, and if I hadn’t learned the hard way to be
wary of Alphas, I’d be so into his Clark Kent persona.
Once I’m squished into the seat between his clutter, Miles reaches over me, securing the seatbelt
over my lap. Any other day, I would make some smartass comment about feeling like a little kid, but it
honestly feels good to be taken care of, even with something as banal as my seatbelt. I offer him a
sheepish smile as he secures the belt as gently as he can while still ensuring the latch catches.
“Where are we going?” I mumble as he slides into the driver’s seat, his nearness spurring the last
dregs of adrenaline through my veins.
“Our Pack house,” he says, starting up the car and turning back onto the main road where this
entire afternoon went sideways. “It’s up near the university, on the edge of town.”
“That’s not too far,” I say with a loud yawn, sinking deeper into the seat. “I like the coffee shop
near there. Good iced coffee.”
“You like iced coffee?” he says, perking up. “I can make iced coffee. I can make iced coffee for
you every day if you like.”
I bite my lip to hold back a smile, talking through another yawn. “That’s… that’s really sweet, but
totally unnecessary.”
“Right.” His face flushes an adorable pink, and he swallows, his throat bobbing. “To be
completely honest, I’m a little nervous about bringing you home.”
My head lolls to the side, and I look at him straight on. “To be completely honest, I don’t want to
go. But here we are.”
He recoils, but recovers his expression quickly, leaving only a small knot between his brows.
“We won’t hurt you,” Miles repeats again, as if saying the same four words over and over will
make them any truer. “I promise you. I’ll keep on promising you until you believe me.”
“That’s what you say now,” I murmur, letting my heavy eyelids close. “But you won’t mean it in
the end. No one ever does.” The last thing I hear is the soft whisper of his voice before I fall asleep
completely.
“I do.”
I WAKE up with a start when a warm hand touches my upper arm, shaking it slightly. The pressure
against my arm is soothing, like the hot water bottle I would sleep with as a kid when it was cold at
night. I blink my eyes open to meet Miles’ sweet but shy smile as he leans over me from the driver’s
seat.
“We’re here,” he says before ducking out of his seat and coming around to open my door. “Here,
take my arm.”
I blink, my eyes burning at being so rudely forced to open.
“Such a gentleman,” I tease as best I can with the energy I have left. He helps me stand on wobbly
feet, and I gaze up at the Pack house.
But ‘house’ isn’t really the right word.
“This is a mansion,” I stammer, tired eyes pried wide. “You said it was a house.”
It’s ginormous, easily the size of a small luxury hotel. It looks more like a manor or estate in a
BBC drama than anything else. On the outside, the four-story building is constructed of bright red
brick, with Grecian columns painted flat black surrounding the entrance.
What catches my attention the most isn’t the grandeur of the mansion, but the gardens that surround
the exterior. There are rose bushes, hydrangeas, azaleas, tiger lilies, and the biggest lilac bushes I’ve
ever seen. After years of being cooped up in a stuffy apartment with not even a fern to keep alive, I
just want to curl up in the flowers and go back to sleep with the smell of lilac in my nose.
“Well, Pack mansion sounds too pretentious,” Miles says with a shrug, but there is a mischievous
glint in his eye. “It’s home, and that’s all that matters.”
I stop short in front of the door. “Wait a second. I don’t have a suitcase. Or anything, really. I don’t
even have a toothbrush. It’s just… me.”
I’m starting to regret not allowing him to take me back to the apartment. The exhaustion clinging to
my bones is wearing off, being replaced with a sharp unease.
“And just you is just fine for us,” Miles says, chipping away at the solid wall I’ve built around my
heart with another round of kind words. Beating back the unease with an easy swat of his gentle
hands.
“We will get you anything you need, and if there’s something at your apartment you have to have,
one of us will go and get it. We can take a trip to pick up all of your things once you’re ready.”
I swallow back a heavy lump in my throat, trying not to burst into tears in the middle of his
driveway. He’s being so sweet, and I can’t stand it, knowing that he could flip the script any second,
or reject me just like everyone else once he knows my deepest secret. I wish he would just throw me
out now, instead of giving me these morsels of kindness that will only be yanked away.
“It’s okay, Riley,” he repeats, taking my hand again, believing my reticence to be in regard to my
lack of personal items. I let him tug me into the oversized house into a beautiful foyer with cream-
colored paint and a massive crystal chandelier that turns the sunlight into rainbows that dance on the
walls.
It’s like an enchanted castle.
“Not quite,” chuckles Miles, and I realize I said that last part aloud. “Not many enchanted castles
have Wi-Fi and a year’s supply of Cocoa Puffs in the pantry.” I raise an eyebrow at him, and he
clarifies. “The cereal boxes are Fox’s, not mine.”
Fox. That’s an unusual first name. It sounds a bit like—
 We turn the corner into a grand living room, and any musings I have about the name Fox go up in
smoke because it’s that Fox. Fox Anderson, the star of the Rogers City Ravens football team. Fox
Anderson, who is one of the most beautiful people I’ve seen in the magazines, on television, on social
media. Now right there. Live without a screen to separate me from him.
Fox Anderson, who I’ve based half my romance book heroes on, simply because of his charming
good looks and aloof bad boy attitude on camera.
“I take it you know who Fox is,” says Miles, tugging me into the room and right up to Fox.
There’s no way this is happening.
Fox’s eyes crinkle. A brow lifts. “You must be Riley?”
He’s just as beautiful as I imagined he’d be up close. Big and tall, with thick muscles perfect for
his football skills. His long, golden blond hair is tied up in a messy bun. Swirling tattoos run down
his arms like rapids in a cascading river. And when I meet those silvery eyes with my own, he winks
at me with the charm of a regency-age rake.
“It’s you,” I say faintly. He lets out a low laugh that makes me want to jump into his arms just so I
can feel the vibration of that laugh against my own skin.
“It is me,” he says with a tip of his head. “If that’s a good thing. If not, then it is totally not me.
Blame it all on Miles.”
“It’s a good thing,” I blurt, squeaking like a teenage fangirl, realizing he already knew my name
which means Miles must’ve called to warn them we were coming while I was passed out in the car.
I catch Fox’s scent and inhale deeply, growing woozy at the delicious aroma. He smells like an
herb garden, spicy and sweet, with hints of thyme and mint and basil. Crisp and thick all at once.
Earthy.
At the steep rise and fall of my chest, his eyes darken, searching my dilated eyes until my toes
curl. A small sound escapes my lips, and he rushes forward, hands clasping my hips possessively. I’m
hauled against him as he scents my neck, a low growl starting deep in his chest before he nips at the
crook of my shoulder. His teasing bite shoots down my limbs in a shock of electricity that stops low
in my belly, simmering with excitement and heat.
I stiffen, unable to move as his hard muscle presses into me and his chest vibrates again.
“Oh, sugar,” he breathes out, pulling away enough that I can look up at him. “What is that? Your
scent is…” He presses his nose into my hair and inhales again, his grip on me tightening once more.
“Fuck.”
“I… I…” I can’t think, I can’t breathe, overwhelmed by the waves of desire that pulse through me
at his proximity. My panties no match for the slick starting to drench them.
“Take it easy, Fox,” I hear Miles warn gently.
“That’s enough,” says another man, coaxing me away from Fox as I whimper at the lost
connection. “You’re acting like a literal fox, Fox. Give her some space, man.”
Before I pull away from the man who has his hand wrapped around my arm, I catch his scent, and
the scintillating process begins again. I both loathe and love how it feels to be wrapped up in the
scent of another Alpha. What it does to my body.
This man isn’t as tall as Miles or Fox but has a broad stance and a sense of confidence that makes
him seem just as big as the others. He has dark hair and eyes, and a curious scar that hooks through his
left eyebrow before fading into his hairline. I want to trace it with my finger, and maybe my lips. I
need fresh air and solitude before I completely lose it. I swallow hard, trying to get control of myself,
breathing in a short breath through my mouth.
“This is Levi,” introduces Miles from his spot next to Fox. “Levi Stark. Levi, this is Riley.”
 “It’s good to meet you,” he says, but his expression is tight and his breathing shallow. Like Fox
and Miles, he’s just as much under the Omega-Alpha spell as I am. I can’t help myself. I close my
mouth and take a small sniff, finding his scent is just as thick as the others. Levi smells like cedar and
pine, fresh and clean.
My body tilts forward of its own accord and I close my eyes, leaning in to scent him on his neck.
He trembles with the effort to hold back before gently placing his arms around me, holding me in a
gentle embrace. His tentative touch brings the sting of latent tears to my eyes. Before today, I couldn’t
tell you when the last time was that someone held me like this. With so much care.
The atmosphere in the room shifts as someone else enters behind me. A chill rolls up my spine.
Levi pulls back, his soft smile dropping as his gaze fixes on someone over my shoulder. “Riley, this is
Thane Woods. He’s the head Alpha of the Pack.”
I turn slowly, and it’s as if time stops. Where Miles is kind and gentle, Fox is sexy and sinful, and
Levi is warmth and comfort, Thane is beauty itself, cold and unyielding.
He has wide shoulders that taper down to a fit waist. His jaw and chin are sharp, as if he were
carved from marble. His hair is dark and curls around his ears, and I feel compelled to run my hands
through it just to see how it looks messy. But his eyes are the most striking feature of all, a silvery
blue that seems ethereal in the soft light of the living room. I lock into that blue gaze, but where I feel
warmth and desire pulsing through me, his gaze only returns chilling disinterest.
I tilt my head back, close my eyes, and inhale, his scent enveloping me with its intensity. Thane
smells like oranges and jasmine, the sort of scent you’d experience lying in a garden while stargazing
under the summer sky. It makes my mouth water with desire, and my heart beats faster with a need so
intense it shakes me to my core.
I wait for him to step forward, to run his nose and mouth and teeth against my neck, to learn my
scent as well as I’ve already learned his, but he remains still, merely staring at me with barely
concealed disdain. My face falls and I work to conceal the way his nonverbal slap has stung.
It takes several seconds before I fully realize what’s happening, and a piece of my heart shatters.
He doesn’t want me here. A small, pathetic whimper crawls out of my throat, and in an instant, Miles
is at my side, taking me in his arms. Then, he growls at Thane, teeth bared in challenge. Thane’s eyes
widen, but he doesn’t move.
“Miles, really?” he says in a cold voice that pulses with power. When Miles’ muscles slump and
his embrace loosens, I realize that Thane is using his Alpha persuasion on the less powerful Alpha.
Something about seeing Miles submitting to him brings out my protective side, even though part of me
also admires Thane’s strength. I take Miles’ hand firmly in mine, and he perks up again at the contact.
“Let’s all sit down to talk,” suggests Levi with a cautious look toward Thane, as if the stronger
Alpha is a powder keg ready to explode. After a second, Thane grunts out his agreement and stalks to
a burgundy armchair by the marble fireplace that serves as a centerpiece to the entire room. Miles and
I take our place on a matching loveseat, though Fox starts toward us as if to squeeze his muscular
frame onto the tiny sofa with us. Levi smacks Fox on the arm and drags him toward a long sofa on the
other side of the fireplace. I take a moment to peer around the room, seeing it for the first time since I
walked in.
“Look, I know this is unorthodox,” says Miles, ignoring Thane’s snort of disbelief as he continues.
“We haven’t talked about having an Omega in the Pack for a long time, and we’ve proven that we
don’t exactly need one.”
“We don’t,” growls Thane, his hand clenching into a fist against the armrest. “We’re a small
enough Pack that we do just fine without one. Our bonds are as tight as can be. We don’t need to bring
in someone else to mess with that delicate balance.”
“I understand,” says Miles slowly. “However, there is another factor at play.” He begins to tell
the story of this afternoon, leaving no part untold. I drop my gaze to the floor, embarrassed at the
passive part I played in the events, at how weak I was in the face of trouble. Only a squeeze from
Miles’ hand keeps me from breaking down into tears.
“So, you’ve taken legal responsibility for her,” summarizes Levi, leaning forward with his
elbows on his knees and his fingers tented. “We really can’t turn her away, even if we wanted to.”
My throat catches at the last part of the sentence. Is he saying he doesn’t want to turn me away,
that he wants to keep me in the house? Or is he saying he would if he felt he had a choice?
“No,” sighs Thane, rubbing at his temple. “We really can’t turn her out, not without risking Miles
getting into trouble. Not to mention his reputation.”
“It would be okay,” I say softly, and all four Alphas’ attention turns to me. Their stares press
against me, the feeling both enjoyable and loathsome at the same time. “I don’t need a Pack. I was
doing fine before.”
“Were you, though?” asks Miles. “Or were you just biding your time until you got caught?”
I freeze at his words, cursing how well he already knows me after only a few hours. I wasn’t fine
in the apartment. I was surviving, but I wasn’t fine. I was lonely, and sad, and heartbroken in so many
ways that I didn’t know how to put myself back together. I still don’t, but I feel like staying here even
for a day or two would give me the courage to start assembling myself back into something whole.
“That’s my problem, not yours,” I argue, but my voice is weak even to my own ears. “You can just
delist yourself as my pack.”
“And let you be turned over to the Omega Placement Police? You know the sorts of packs who
sign up for wayward Omegas, right?”
I cringe and that says it all. He squeezes my hand again.
“I won’t let that happen. Not a chance.”
“Fine,” says Thane, throwing his hands in the air. “The Omega can stay here for one week. We
will all re-evaluate our needs at the end of that time.”
He stands, striding toward the window and gazing out into the red and pink sunset. “Put her up in
the blue room. She’ll have privacy and an en suite bathroom there.” He turns, fixing me with a hard
stare that makes me bow my head. “You’re on heat suppressants?”
“She is,” Miles confirms.
“Good,” Thane says. “You’ll stay on them while you’re here. Are you familiar with scent
blocking washes?”
“Yes,” I all but squeak. “I-I have one back at my apartment.”
“You will shower using the wash at least once per day.”
“Thane…” Miles trails off, but it’s my turn to give Miles’ hand a squeeze. What Thane is asking
for I can give. And to be frank, it’s the only way this will even work. I can’t live in a house with four
Alphas if I’m not on heat suppressants and actively using the scent blocking body wash. We wouldn’t
be able to coexist without our instincts getting the better of us. He’s being careful.
I can appreciate caution, even if his tone stings.
“It’s okay,” I assure Miles. “I’ll do as he says.”
“Then the matter is settled for now.” With that, Thane leaves the room, disappearing into a
hallway and out of sight.
I want to go after him, to chase him down and ask him what the hell his problem is, but I don’t. I
can’t, not if he’s repulsed by me. Instead, I turn to Levi with a tired smile. “The Blue Room?”
 “Yep,” he says with a strained grin, cocking his head toward a nearby staircase. “We’re like
Buckingham Palace. We’ve got fancy names for our bedrooms.”
“Yeah, like yours is ‘the Blue Room,’” says Fox, already running up the stairs two at a time, “and
mine is called the Fuck Palace of–”
“Just ignore him,” Miles interrupts, leading me upstairs with an arm around my shoulder. It feels
so warm and comforting, but at the same time, I’m so tired that I don’t think I could’ve made it up the
long flight of stairs without support.
The three Alphas lead me to the Blue Room, which is aptly named. The walls are a soft cerulean
blue, and the rest of the room is accented in pinewood and silver. A king-sized four poster bed stands
in the middle of the room, facing a set of floor-to-ceiling windows that look out onto the woods
outside of the house. A window panel is slightly ajar, letting in a cool breeze that smells like pine,
warm earth, and the flowers in the garden. But under the obvious scent of the outdoors lingers
something far more powerful.
Even if it’s muted, the scents of all the Alphas in this house are imprinted on this room, and that
somehow just makes it all the more delicious. My skin tingles, prickling with goosebumps that make
my hairs stand on end and my core tighten.
The Pack is named after their head Alpha of course–the Woods Pack–but even if Thane weren’t
part of it, I’d still call this the Woods Pack. There’s something mysterious and strong about the forest
outside my window, and I want to learn all its secrets, just like I want to learn the secrets of every
Alpha in this house if I’m being honest. Even Thane.
“Would you like anything to eat?” offers Levi as Miles leads me to the bed, and I sit down,
suppressing a groan at the pillow softness of the mattress.
“No thank you,” I say, trying not to laugh at the way Levi looks instantly dejected at my refusal.
I’m just too exhausted to even think about eating right now. “But I’ll want something in the morning.”
That perks him right back up again, affirming that some Alphas just want to take care of an Omega
the very best they can. They aren’t all power-hungry assholes who can’t control themselves. I just
never thought I’d find one, let alone three. Unfortunately, they aren’t very common.
Fox bends to his knees at my feet, startling me, making me bite my lower lip with apprehension as
his hands skate up my calves. “Don’t worry, sugar,” he says with a crooked grin. “Just taking your
boots off. We can explore other ways you can have me on my knees another day.”
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from moaning at the thought. There are so many things I could
do with Fox Anderson and still never be satisfied. And yes, many of them would have him on his
knees in front of me. I try to force the thought away, taking small swallows of air as I curl my hands
into the plush covers to keep from plunging them into his hair.
“I’ll go get you some clothes to sleep in,” says Miles.
Fox finishes with my boots, surprising me as he bends to press a hot kiss to my ankle before
placing my foot back on the ground.
“Come on, Fox,” Miles says with an exasperated smile even though there’s a genuine smile on his
lips now. He’s glad his brothers have taken a liking to me. Even if his pack Alpha hasn’t.
“I’ll go grab her some water,” Levi offers, hesitating at my side like he might reach out, but thinks
better of it, following Fox and Miles out of the room.
I sag into the mattress, curling onto my side with a sigh. I try to stay awake until Miles returns
with my sleep clothes, but my eyelids grow heavier and heavier until they shut completely, and I’m
lost to warm Alpha-scented sleep, the ghost of a purr on my lips.
SEVEN
 —
FOX

BY THE TIME we came back with some sleep clothes, Riley was already out cold. I blame the
others for making what should’ve been a quick chore into an overthought-out discussion. We wound
up settling on sweats from Levi since he had the smallest waist measurement, a t-shirt of mine that she
would be swimming in but was the softest one I owned, and a robe that belonged to Miles in case she
got cold. I knew what it was really about, but none of us said it. We were offering our scents to her.
Tempting her. Trying to lay claim.
I was fine with Miles just grabbing her something from his room… at first.
Then Levi offered his sweats and something curled tight in my chest. Hot.
I wouldn’t have her cocooned in their scents and entirely without mine. They saw the way she
reacted to me.
Me to her.
Fuck.
She smelled like…
Mine. That’s what she smelled like.
We’d all done our best over the years to keep our distance from Omegas. Easily done since the
majority were tucked away from society in Omega academies, or by their families. The others were
already claimed and therefore less tempting.
We weren’t ready for an Omega.
Thane wasn’t ready.
We trudged slowly downstairs back to the kitchen, our offerings left on the edge of the bed where
Riley slept.
Thane waits for us, arms crossed over his chest, a stern dad look on his face.
This is not going to be fun.
I walk right past him to the liquor cabinet, grabbing the Maker’s Mark bourbon inside with one
hand and four crystal glasses with the other. I bring everything to the kitchen island, where the others
are huddled around, all of us avoiding Thane’s eyes.
Oh, yes, alcohol is definitely going to be needed for this meeting. I pat my pockets, wondering if I
can find a joint as well.
“Miles, explain.” The Alpha command in Thane’s voice rolls out like thunder before a summer
storm. “Explain to us why you brought an unmated Omega into our house, on the verge of heat, without
talking to the rest of us.”
“Yeah, you’re supposed to be the smart one,” I joke weakly, and both Thane and Miles glare at
me. Okay, apparently not the time for jokes. Really wish I had that joint right about now. I swallow
down the first ounce of bourbon, even though the others haven’t touched theirs, and fill it back up
again.
“I’ve already explained,” he says meekly. “I’m not sure what more there is to tell.” Miles
swallows, cracking his neck from side to side. He is unnerved, rattled even, and I don’t think it’s from
Thane going all Alpha on him. I think it’s from being around the Omega.
Riley.
I like the name.
I like her. I think. If I don’t sit here and overthink everything she could ruin about our pack, then
yeah, I like her.
Thane stares at Miles as though he can will him to say something that will make this easier for
him to digest.
Miles sighs, stuffing his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans. “Honest, I thought she was a
Beta first,” he begins with a head shake, as if he can’t believe his own words. Of all the things I
thought he would say, that wasn’t it. “We were at the bookstore, just talking, and I was attracted to
her. Like, full-on, Alpha-to-Omega attraction. I thought I was going crazy. Like something was wrong
with my hormones.”
Huh. I’ve never heard of that before. I’ve had my share of Betas—I mean, come on, the cock
wants what the cock wants—but I’ve never confused them with an Omega.
“She’s on heat suppressants,” Thane supplies in a rush, his patience already wearing thin, but I
can almost see all the science-y shit whirling about in his brain. Stuff I don’t and will never
understand. “Clearly combined with a scent blocker of some kind. And I highly doubt either are the
legal types.”
“Yeah,” agrees Miles. “She left the store acting kind of… off. I didn’t think to follow her because,
again, I thought I was going crazy. I’m not into one-night stands with Betas.” A pointed look in my
direction makes me scoff and brings out a small smirk on Miles’ lips.
“A few minutes later, I heard sirens outside the store,” he continues. “There was some sort of big
arrest going on down the block, and she was running right back toward the bookstore with two cops
on her tail.”
“They caught her scent,” Levi implies, cocking his head to the side. “The run in with you in the
bookstore had her hormones in overdrive and then the exertion from running must’ve almost
completely nullified the scent blocker. Right, Thane?”
Thane nods and I picture the pretty Omega curled up on the guest bed afraid and alone, running
from the authorities. My stomach sours, and I pour another bourbon.
“She shouldn’t have run,” I pipe up, shaking off the urge to fight and protect, letting it all get soft.
Go numb. I flick some hair back from my face and sniff. “That never goes well. You just have to stand
there, smile at them, and ask them if they want an autograph from the world’s greatest footballer.”
I wink, but no one’s laughing.
Tough crowd.
“What? It always works.”
Miles shakes his head and continues. “I didn’t know what else to do. It was clear at that point she
was an Omega. I’d been attracted to her, and she looked so scared... I acted on instinct. I said she was
mine but I just hadn’t claimed her yet. The cops bought it, but they did issue me a citation and register
her as my Omega.”
He bites his lip nervously. “You know what they do to stray Omegas, guys. And I was pretty sure
one of those cops was gunning to take her to the back of the police car for more than an arrest, if you
get me.”
We all stand in silence for a moment because we know exactly what he means. Omegas are
thought of as property, at least to some Alphas. The cop would’ve used her in the most awful way
possible, and then thrown her in a cell until a pack was ready to claim her.
“Drink,” I say quickly before the mood darkens any further. I pass around the glasses, and Levi,
Miles, and I all down ours immediately. I relish the sweet burn as it goes down my throat. Thane, on
the other hand, stares into the amber liquid of his tumbler, deep in thought.
Finally, he addresses us. “As difficult as the situation has become, you did the right thing, Miles. I
can’t say that any of the rest of us wouldn’t have done the same.”
Miles nods, visibly relaxing save for his fingers still drumming on the island.
I realize the muscles of his biceps are actually twitching, and he keeps shifting from side to side.
All of his ‘tells.’ I hide a ferocious grin. Miles needs to be taken care of, and quickly.
The Omega’s got him more riled up than I’ve ever seen him.
“So, what now?” asks Levi, looking around nervously. “I mean, we are all obviously attracted to
her, more so than any other unmated Omega we’ve been around.”
None of us object to his observation. Through the pack bonds, we can feel each other’s emotions,
and right now, I’d say we are all in a state of confused arousal, even Thane, though his is punctuated
by wariness and he’s working to hide his true feelings from the rest of us.
Sometimes I wonder if he regrets allowing himself to be bonded to this pack. Since the bonds
between a pack naturally occur over a period of time together, it would’ve been difficult to prevent,
but not impossible if he’d wanted to remain separate from the rest of us. He likes his privacy, but I
know he loves us more.
Our pack Alpha finally drinks his shot of bourbon, swallowing hard. He puts the glass down on
the island with a clunk. “She’ll have to stay here,” he says like he’s sentencing himself to a life
without parole. “Otherwise, we’ll be throwing her to the wolves. But we’ve talked about this, guys.
We all agreed we don’t want an Omega. We aren’t ready. Besides, we can’t force her to be ours.” He
palms his jaw, inhaling shakily. “There are ways around registration issues, if it comes down to that.”
He means money, and lots of it. His family has so much money that this whole house could be
plated in gold and diamonds, and they would still have an overflowing bank account.
He purses his lips, nods as though he’s made a decision. “We’ll talk to her when she wakes up.
But no one touches her, not without her permission. No one bonds with her. We all need to agree on it,
unanimously. We’ve made it this far together that way. We all agree, or none of us do.”
I nod in agreement. It is only fair, and it’s how we’ve managed the pack—and our friendships—
the entire time we’ve known each other.
“I know it will be difficult to have an unmated Omega in our house. If you get worked up—”
Thane shoots a knowing glare at Miles. “You know how to take care of it. “
“Lube and a close friend,” I offer with a wink. Miles’s jaw works at my suggestion.
Thane rolls his eyes and backs away from the island. “I’m going back to the study. Come get me if
she wakes up.” With that, he disappears down the hall, back to his secret lair or whatever he has back
there. I know it’s just a library, but he spends all his time back there doing mopey, Thane things, like
some sort of endocrinologist Batman.
I wrap a hand around Miles’s bicep and tug him toward the stairs. “Come on,” I say in an overly
eager voice that doesn’t fool him at all. “You need Foxin.’ ”
Miles doesn’t protest my rough handling. He follows me up the stairs and into my room. His body
is thrumming with tension, his pheromones wafting off him like cologne.
 As soon as the door closes behind us, I place my hands on Miles’ chest and shove him onto my
king-sized bed. His brown eyes widen as he looks up at me. “Fox, I’m fine,” he says, but he isn’t
fooling anyone. I can already see the gleam of lust shining over his eyes.
I flash him a feral smile. “You’re too worked up. You’ve been around an unmated Omega for
hours and anyone can see you’re losing your damn mind. Even if she’s not in heat, the attraction is
there, and it’s strong.”
His eyes flare, full of pent-up lust, frustration, and a little bit of anger. We Alphas have an innate
sense that when we want something, it should be ours, no matter what, and if that gets denied? You
don’t want to be around us. It makes us selfish bastards. Horny ones, too.
“Oh, yeah? What are you going to do about it?” he challenges with a head jerk toward his groin.
Everyone thinks Miles is the mild Alpha just because he likes books and knowledge and shit. But
none of it’s true. Miles is just as Alpha as the rest of us if he needs to be. And if we weren’t such
good friends, I’d be a little intimidated by the look in his eyes, all fury and lust. But we’ve done this
dance before. We know each other inside and out, emotionally and physically.
“I’ve got you,” I say, but the evil grin I give him is nowhere as sweet as my words. I toe my boots
off and lean over him on the bed. Miles growls, low and deep in his chest, and I return it with one of
my own growls that vibrates my lungs.
I kiss him mercilessly, biting his lip hard enough to leave a bruise. He fists my t-shirt, pulling me
closer to him. Already, his cock is tenting his jeans, ready to burst. I work my tongue across his lips,
invading his mouth. His hands reach around and grab my ass, fingers like claws as he digs into the
denim. When I pull back to examine his face, his eyes are wild and frantic. This isn’t a romantic
coupling, not with his pheromones so stirred up like this. Hell, I don’t even know if Miles is Miles at
this point. He’s more unfettered than I’ve ever seen him.
I wriggle down the bed as he tears off his own shirt. God, he’s gorgeous. He doesn’t have the bulk
like I do, but his muscles are defined and cut. A trail of whisper fine hair travels down his abs,
leading right to my next destination. I rip open the button of his jeans and yank down his zipper,
jerking down his pants and boxers enough to let his cock spring out.
“What have we here?” I tease before I lean in and swipe my tongue around the head. We groan in
tandem like a fucking choir. He tastes amazing: salty and heady. When I look up at him, his normally
gentle eyes are intense on mine, and he waves an impatient hand. “Don’t tease,” he growls, and I have
to fight my laughter.
“So impatient,” I mutter before I swallow him down whole. I flatten my tongue as best I can and
lick up the prominent vein that swirls down his length. His cock twitches, the head throbbing and red.
“Fox,” he gasps, his hands tangling so tight into my hair that the leather tie holding the bun there
comes loose and the wavy sun-stained strands drop, tickling against his groin as I bob my head. “Just
like that. Keep… keep going.”
I could be truly evil right now. I could tease him with short fluttering licks, edge him over and
over for hours until he’s begging me to let him come. But the wild look in his eyes and the way he’s
grinding against my lips makes me think that’s not a good idea.
I pull my mouth up his length, lapping the sensitive underside of his cock as his knot begins to
swell.
I revel in his moans and how his fingers clutch at my messy sheets, working hard to suppress my
own need to take him. To flip him onto his stomach and drive into him to find my own release.
Not now.
When I slide back down him again, he hits the back of my throat, gagging me, and his groan nearly
shakes the bed. He thrusts his hip upward, fucking my mouth, bruising the soft palate at the back of my
mouth with his strength. I wonder if he’s picturing the Omega.
Wondering what her mouth would feel like. How it would feel to force a knot into her sweet
little…
Fuck.
I lift up to my knees, my mouth still wrapped around his girth, and undo my own jeans to pull
myself out.
I have a certain persona to the outside world, but Miles knows me better. He knows I get off on
the force, the thrill of being used. There’s nothing that gets me so hard as when a man or woman uses
me as their own tool for pleasure. I grip my fist around my stiff cock, and tug at it quickly. All the
while, Miles thrusts into my mouth over and over again, wet noises echoing across the room.
I glance up at him and meet his heated gaze right before I swallow around him, taking his knot into
my palm to squeeze gently. He groans as his whole body shudders, and he empties himself down my
throat.
As soon as his twitches stop, I rise up onto my knees, and quicken the speed of my strokes on
myself until I’m shuddering. Miles rushes to spin himself around, parting his lips for me to plunge into
the heat of his mouth just as I come.
“Shit,” I curse as he sucks me dry, massaging my hard knot until I collapse on the bed next to him,
gasping for air as my head spins with the force of my orgasm.
Eventually, our breathing slows, and I feel him start to shift on the bed, ready to make his exit to
his own room. “Nuh-uh,” I say, burying my face into his thigh. “Fucking cuddle me, you shit.” Miles
barks out a short laugh, and I crawl up the bed, jerking him against me.
“Better?” I ask, and he lets out a long sigh.
“For now. Thanks for that,” he says.
“The feeling is mutual,” I say. “I was barely around her and I was hard as a rock. You were nearly
bouncing off the wall.”
“Can you imagine Riley joining us next time?” he says, glancing down at me with a crooked
smile. “I bet she’d like it. I bet she’d like to watch, too.”
I let that thought percolate a bit, imagining Riley watching Miles and me jerk each other off until
we turn all of our attention to her and that delicious body. My dick starts to plump just thinking about
it and I readjust my legs.
“Yes, please,” I mutter, palming my cock as it readies itself for a second round.
“I can’t stop thinking about it. I’ve never felt like this, man,” he says. “But she may never want to
be with us. She didn’t even want to come here.”
He’s right of course. Despite how she reacted to our scents—our presence—Riley may not want
anything to do with us. And even if she does, the idea of changing things around here makes me
uneasy. It’s always been the four of us. That’s all we’ve ever needed.
Or maybe we just didn’t know what we needed. And maybe what we needed just showed up at
our doorstep.
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Meleager
This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States
and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no
restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it
under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this
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you are located before using this eBook.

Title: Meleager
A fantasy

Author: Herbert M. Vaughan

Release date: November 22, 2023 [eBook #72198]

Language: English

Original publication: London: Martin Secker, 1916

Credits: Charlene Taylor, Graeme Mackreth and the Online

Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
(This file was produced from images generously made
available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MELEAGER

***
 MELEAGER
A FANTASY
BY H.M. VAUGHAN

F.S.A.

"Wilt thou know how farre the

Starres work upon us?"

Anatomy of Melancholy
(Part I., sect. ii., sub-sect. iv.)

LONDON
MARTIN SECKER
NUMBER FIVE JOHN STREET
ADELPHI
First Published 1916
CONTENTS
PAGE
PROLOGUE 7
PART ONE 15
PART TWO 199
EPIGRAPH 308
 PROLOGUE
(By the Editor of the Original MS., the late Edward Cayley, F.S.A.)
In giving the following narrative to the Press, I feel, as its editor, I am
bound to write a short preface of apology or explanation to such of
the public as care to read these pages. But I shall be as brief as
possible.
The manuscript, which is here produced in printed form, came into
my personal possession through the kindness of Sir W—— Y——,
the eminent traveller and mountaineer, who chanced upon it under
the following circumstances. Whilst engaged in some work of
exploration in the Andes, at the height of 12,000 feet or thereabouts
above sea-level, he and his party had to traverse a dry stony ravine.
On their passage upward one of the attendant guides chanced to
espy amongst the loose stones and rubble a plain white metal
cylinder sealed at both ends. Except for a conspicuous dent,
evidently the result of a heavy fall, the cylinder itself appeared
uninjured, and it was immediately brought by the finder to Sir W——,
as the leader of the party. Sir W—— stopped for a moment to
examine this strange treasure-trove, and, though much pressed for
time, was able to loosen the cover and to ascertain that the cylinder
contained a large scroll of fine vellum closely covered with minute
writing. In the fading light, Sir W——, who had many matters of
professional importance to think of, gave only a cursory glance at the
manuscript itself, which he fancied must be connected with some of
the ancient inhabitants of Peru. Without examining the parchment
closely, he thereupon packed away the cylinder in his baggage and
made no further effort to elucidate its nature until his return to Lima.
My friend was here considerably astonished to find that the MS.
which had so strangely fallen into his hands was written, not in some
antique or unknown language and characters, but in neat though
exceedingly small English script, with the sole exception of one short
sentence in Latin—added apparently by another hand and in a
different ink—in which the Latin writer begged the finder of the
cylinder to take the enclosed scroll of vellum to the nearest English
or American consulate. But for this Latin request, which was inserted
at the beginning of the manuscript in a most prominent manner, the
whole was written in fair nervous English, which it became easy to
decipher, so soon as the reader had grown accustomed to the
crabbedness of the writing, that had evidently been produced by an
exiguity of space.
By one of those curious but happy chances which sometimes occur
in life, Sir W—— was still more astonished to discover that the name
of the author was not only familiar to him, but that he actually had
once owned a slight acquaintance with him. More than this, Sir W
——, who is one of my dearest and oldest friends, knew that I had
been intimate with the writer of this parchment, who (as he thought)
had been dead for some years. Sir W—— therefore, though greatly
puzzled by the whole inscrutable occurrence, very wisely made no
further mention of his discovery, but on his return to England brought
the manuscript direct to me at my room in the British Museum. After
a long discussion between us, Sir W—— voluntarily made over all
arrangements in the matter of publishing or suppressing the contents
of the scroll to myself, and indeed, so to speak, washed his hands of
all further responsibility in the matter, which had apparently
somewhat affected his nerves or his spirits. I have only to add, with
regard to the original owner of the MS., that Sir W——, when at
Lima, showed the metal case to various persons employed at the
museum there, and that all these experts unanimously declared that
this object itself could never have been produced by any of the
aboriginal inhabitants of Peru; whilst the metal, a species of
platinum, was, so far as they were aware, unknown on our planet.
And this verdict of the officials at Lima is, I believe, perfectly correct.
As to the authenticity of the MS., I may at once state that the account
contained therein coincides in every particular with the evidence that
was produced at the time of its alleged author's mysterious
disappearance. I have had for many years an intimate acquaintance,
amounting to a cordial friendship, with the writer, A—— B——. I do
not necessarily concur with all that he states later on as to his
exceptional mental gifts; nor do I consider his close self-analysis as
altogether a correct one. Still, I think his own views on his
attainments, his natural genius, his complete failure, and his outlook
on life are sincere. Though highly nervous and sensitive by nature,
and a prey to constant fits of depression, neither I nor any of his
friends, would ever have suspected him of a tendency to suicide. We
were indeed, all of us, fully as surprised as we were grieved to learn
through the newspapers of November ——, 19—, the details of what
we most assuredly at that date considered to have been his own
deliberate act of self-destruction. For there can be no question but
that A—— B—— had made beforehand plans for his contemplated
disappearance; the letter of instruction he wrote to his brother, the
careful packing of his valuables at his lodgings, and the sudden
payment on the morning that he was last seen of certain outstanding
bills clearly point to this surmise. We are however now confronted
since the strange discovery of the manuscript with two theories as to
his end; did A—— B—— really perish on the beach at Dover; or did
he evanish from his own world of men in order to start a new life
under new conditions? His clothing, we know, was found lying on the
bare ground carefully held down by stones and boulders, and in his
pockets were some money and a few personal trifles of value.
Nevertheless, it is just possible he may have changed into some
other garb, and thus disguised have made his escape whither none
could trace him. This second theory is however highly improbable,
seeing that his age was over forty, his temperament on the whole
normal, and his health indifferent; so that I merely mention it here to
show that the suggestion has not escaped my own inquiring mind.
The conclusion however which both the police and his relatives held
was that A—— B—— had in some fit of frenzy or despair plunged
naked into the sea, wherein he had been speedily drowned; for it
was a cold stormy night. It is true the actual body was never
recovered, but professional and amateur alike were agreed on the
point of suicide whilst of unsound mind. That the manuscript is a
literary jest perpetrated in the name of A—— B—— is also most
unlikely, for though he was an author of some talent and repute, his
mere name certainly had not the glamour requisite to draw special
attention to any posthumous publication. At the risk therefore of
being considered credulous, or even crazy, I have come to the
deliberate decision that the whole marvellous story as set forth on
the parchment is essentially true; and that the events described
therein are not the figments of any imagination, sane or insane. If
this is the case (which I do not for one moment doubt), then we
possess an inestimable account of a planet other than our own. On
the other hand, were it a fraud of an elaborate nature, as has been
suggested, we have simply a treatise dealing with a Utopia in the
stars, just one of those sterile semi-descriptive, semi-political
effusions that the speculative human mind has produced from time
to time. The record of Meleager and of its unique Secret, of which
the author claims to know the existence but not the working details,
is either a matter of surpassing interest, or else it is but a literary
trifle, a jejune compound of material borrowed from Plato, Sir
Thomas More, Rabelais, James Harington, Dean Swift, Samuel
Butler, H.G. Wells, and Heaven only knows how many other
inventors in a similar vein, both ancient and modern, English and
foreign. Once more I repeat my full belief in the writer's veracity and
in the substantial truth of all his many adventures. As I write this, I
have lying on my desk before me that same strange metal cylinder,
and that exquisitely prepared roll of vellum; and whenever I take
these objects in my hands I really feel that I am fingering a message
in a tangible form from a friend and fellow-mortal who has passed
hence to another planet.
I have only to add that in editing the MS. I have deemed it expedient
to omit here and there a few passages which might perhaps tend to
prejudice the reader against A—— B—— himself; the fact being
patent to me that the author, after some years of residence in
another and a wholly diverse moral and physical atmosphere, has
somehow imbibed notions and theories that may clash with some of
the recognised conventions and standards of this our world, which
was also once his own. These omissions do not however mar the
general trend of the narrative; and if any authorised persons may
conceive a serious desire to peruse these excerpts, I shall willingly
acquaint them with what is missing from the text.
 PART ONE
I
I begin my manuscript in the palace of the Child of the Sun in a
distant world, thus relieving a mind that is apt to grow weary of mere
splendour and adulation by imagining the possibility of
communicating on some future day with those who were not so long
ago my fellow-men and fellow-mortals on the planet I have left, never
to return. Though brightness and beauty are around me in my new
abode, yet a constant longing for the drab unattainable past grips me
with a feverish eagerness, so that I find some small solace in placing
on record from time to time my impressions of a place and a people
whose existence I had never suspected until a few hours before I
was hurried, a humble subject out of the Earth, to dwell as ruler of an
alien sphere. Whether or no I shall ever gain the opportunity of
committing this message to its desired goal I know not; but at the
present moment it suits my fancy and soothes my unquiet brain to
believe in the ultimate feasibility of such an event. So I shall open by
relating with the utmost brevity the earlier and earthly, and therefore
less interesting, portion of my career.
I had already passed by some few years the age of forty, at which
landmark of life, so Count Alfieri discovered long ago, man ceases to
cherish illusions, and seeks to look back upon the irredeemable past
with feelings of self-satisfaction or of regret, as his case may be. My
own reflections after passing this Rubicon of time were anything but
agreeable, when I paused to consider the years that had slipped by
between my period of youth and that of middle age, and had to
confess that all my early ambitions had petered out in nothingness. I
had signally failed in all things; I had plainly proved myself
"too weak to put my shoulder to the wheel
Which Fortune offers all to push or leave."
And yet, despite my laziness, my lack of initiative, my sacrifices to
dull Convention, my timidity and my vacillation, I could not help
harbouring a dull dim fury of resentment against Fate itself. I realised
that I was the owner of high and original genius, yet this had omitted
to imprint its proper mark in the world; and further, I argued that it
was not wholly through my own fault that my latent virtues had never
developed. The finest and most useful piece of machinery remains
valueless and inert unless there be a skilled workman to set its
mechanism in motion, to oil its cogs, and generally to supervise its
action. So in my own case, the mental mechanism was all there
ready to perform and needing but the touch of a sympathetic human
hand to inspire its dormant possibilities. Some of the foremost
characters in history have owed their fame and their success to the
judicious but unappreciated help of persons of an inferior calibre,
whose very names are often unknown to posterity; then why could
not I have been permitted the service of some exterior force, some
understanding coadjutor, to awaken the gigantic strength that was
slumbering in myself?
Thus in my case a boyhood full of promise, yet a boyhood ever
repressed and misunderstood, ripened into an early manhood of
diffidence and irresolution. The golden years glided by unprofitably,
until at length they reached the grand climacteric, when I found
myself straying in a barren and deserted portion of the plain of life. A
mental and physical weariness began to enfold me; the sense of
failure at times was certainly keen and cutting as a razor, still I
contrived by various devices to blunt its edge. I had indeed obtained
some slight distinction in the sphere of literature, so that I was fain to
feed my hungry disappointed soul with such crumbs or stale food of
gratulation as fell to me from the small circle of those who admired
my works, concerning which I myself can honestly say that I neither
professed nor felt the smallest pride. A few trifles from my pen may
possibly live in the general literature of Britain, mostly in verse, for
poetry is often less perishable than prose in such instances as mine.
Nevertheless, I recognised myself as a partial failure in the domain
of letters, as I was admittedly a complete failure in the departments
of politics, of thought, of influence, of philosophy.
Naturally, with such bitter matter for reflection, my equanimity was
liable to serious disturbance what time the sharp edge of this
haunting sense of a life's bankruptcy pricked my all-too-sensitive
skin. At such periods long-drawn fits of depression would invade me.
Though at first these would dissolve and would often leave a marked
flow of gaiety and hopefulness behind them, yet such attacks grew
stronger and more frequent, whilst the subsequent recovery was less
ecstatic in its nature. It was during one of these temporary
obsessions of brooding care that I encountered the one and only
adventure of my life, the adventure indeed that, in one aspect,
terminated it, as I shall presently relate. For I have only written thus
much concerning my interior state of mind and my physical health to
impress on the reader that, apparent failure as I was and void of all
worldly success, yet I still possessed the clear inner consciousness
of mental powers that far exceeded those of all my more fortunate
acquaintances, and were perhaps equalled amongst very few
contemporary persons whatsoever. My call to action came at last;
the master hand at the eleventh hour put the rusty machinery of my
unique mind in motion; and I have answered to that call, and am now
employing for a worthy purpose those superior talents that, not
altogether by reason of my own laches, had so long lain idle.

One November evening in the year 19—, whilst under the shadow of
one of my recurring moods of melancholy, I made my way to the
Café Royale in Regent Street, where I sat down and ordered a glass
of absinthe. And here I may as well state that I am no drunkard, and
that I have never sought to dispel my fits of depression by the aid of
the wine-cup. Occasionally, however, I used to drink a glass of
absinthe, as an excuse for visiting this foreign tavern, this latter-day
Petty France in London, whose alien quality always tended to reduce
my misery, for I found relaxation in the gruff Continental voices of the
guests, in the sight and scent of the foreign liquors, in the garish
Parisian decorations of the long low room, and in the unceasing
chink of the dominoes on the marble-topped tables. I had already
poured the ice-cold water upon the thin tablet of sugar reposing on
the silver sifter that I had placed across the goblet, and was watching
the clouded liquor below assume the yellow and green tints of the
peridot, when I noticed a stranger enter the doorway, glance quickly
round at the noisy crowd assembled, and then seat himself
deliberately in the vacant chair opposite to me. With a languid
interest I observed the new-comer, trying to recall his face, which
somehow seemed vaguely familiar to me. As this personage is to
figure presently as my liberator, my mentor, my particular deus ex
machinâ, I may as well describe him here to the best of my ability.
He was short, and a little inclined to stoutness; he was apparently
about my own age, and was fashionably but quietly dressed; he was
also obviously not an Englishman. His complexion was swarthy,
even hinting at some possible admixture of Oriental blood, but his
features were small, regular and far from unpleasing. His dark hair
and moustache were grizzled; he had intelligent brown eyes and
regular teeth; his voice showed an agreeable intonation as he
ordered François to bring him some coffee. Having given his order,
the stranger looked fixedly at me for a moment, the while stroking his
chin with a delicate well-kept hand. Suddenly he addressed me, only
to offer me the evening paper which he had brought with him. I
thanked him, and seeing him thus anxious to converse, I made some
commonplace remark on the badness of the weather. He replied with
alacrity, and by the time the waiter had returned with his coffee the
stranger and I were chatting affably. He spoke excellent English, but
with an accent that caused me to speculate on his possible
nationality. After we had indulged thus in small talk for ten minutes or
more, my neighbour, assuming a graceful hesitation of manner,
inquired of me whether my name were not A—— B——. Greatly
surprised, I assented; whereupon the foreigner, with a well-bred
apology for what he called his liberty of attitude towards me, stated
that he was a sincere admirer of my books, and then proceeded to
allude to them in a manner which showed plainly enough that at
least he had read them. He praised my work warmly, complimented
me on the subjects I had chosen for research, on my lucid style and
on other points. Now, there are few persons who are not susceptible
to praise or flattery, and I am no exception to the general rule,
provided only that the praise (or flattery) be applied with a delicate
brush and not with a trowel. The discriminating approval therefore of
this distinguished-looking foreigner acted like a sedative to my jarred
nerves, so that the cloud of depression hanging over my head began
rapidly to disperse. We talked and argued with animation over my
books and their themes, with which my unknown companion seemed
to possess a most intimate acquaintance. Time raced rapidly during
this congenial duologue, the clock above the bar denoting the flight
of a full hour before my comrade broached the matter of his own
identity, which could scarcely in politeness be withheld much longer.
Taking a leather case from his breast-pocket, he produced a visiting
card, which he handed to me, explaining to me at the same moment
that he was of Italian parentage though born in the Argentine, where
he followed the occupation of a merchant in connection with a large
English commercial house holding concessions in Peru and Bolivia.
The card bore the name "Signor Arrigo d'Aragno," and an address in
Buenos Aires. Then, glancing hastily at the clock, he made some
remark about an important business appointment and expressed
deep concern at this abrupt ending of our agreeable conversation.
With some slight hesitation however he ventured to ask whether I
would not give him the extreme pleasure of my company at dinner
that night, provided I would excuse such an invitation from a
complete stranger after so short an acquaintance. I happened to be
disengaged that day, with the uninviting prospect of a solitary
evening at my club before me; and my alacrity in accepting his
hospitality caused obvious satisfaction to Signor d'Aragno, who
named one of the large London hotels for our trysting-place. We
shook hands cordially, and separated with a warm a rivederla.

Arrived punctually at eight o'clock at the —— Hotel, I was shown

upstairs to my host's private apartment, and a few moments later we
two were sitting at table and resuming our interrupted discussion of
the Café Royale. By the time we had reached the stage of dessert,
and the waiters had retired, this topic had somewhat flagged, and
the conversation now took on a more personal complexion. The
praise that had hitherto been lavishly accorded to my books was now
deftly and tactfully—though of course I was unaware of the change
at the actual time—shifted to myself and my exceptional gifts of
mind. Leading skilfully from one point to another, d'Aragno finally
stated his opinion that my inherent genius, my political views, and
my remarkable culture were altogether such as marked me out as a
person born to rule, as a Homeric anax andrõn. The generous wine I
had swallowed, the intoxicating but judicious adulation and
insinuating personality of my host alike operated to arouse in me that
keen desire for power I had ofttimes secretly indulged in; whilst at
the same time they generated an indescribable sense of bitterness
against the world at large for its neglect or ignorance of so
marvellous a genius as mine. I am certain now (though at the time I
was quite unconscious of its employment) the will of my companion
was working with every force at its command to communicate with
my brain and to instil therein the full appreciation of the special
object he had in view. We proceeded to higher and higher planes of
argument; the famous names of history fell frequently from our lips,
as we spoke of the ideal Prince of Machiavelli, of the demi-god of
Corsica, of the super-man of Nietzsche, of the mystical powers
wielded by the Pope of Rome and the Dalai Lama. The hours flew by
on rosy wings; midnight had passed, and the gong of Big Ben had
just hurled its solitary stroke of one o'clock booming through the
dank foggy air without that enveloped a London grown at last
comparatively silent. How well do I recall that precise moment! The
reverberation of the clanging knell had scarcely subsided when my
host, making a brusque movement in his chair, bluntly placed the
great proposition before me, and offered me a kingdom, though not a
kingdom of this world!
II
Before attempting to give a short and, I hope, a tolerably coherent
account of my lengthy nocturnal interview with Arrigo d'Aragno, of
his amazing statements and proposals, and of my own half-hearted
and intermittent struggles against his invading powers of persuasion,
I must state first of all that the whole incident rises before me at this
moment with crystal clearness. Even now, in these exotic
surroundings, I can see with my mind's eye that commonplace hotel
parlour with its ugly luxurious furniture and its flamboyant wall-paper
of scarlet patterned with a design of raised and gilded vine-leaves. In
this room for several hours my host continued to address me with
scarcely a pause, except at one or two points when I feebly ventured
to stem the torrent of his extraordinary discourse. The open
allurements, the veiled warnings, the cynical wisdom, the biting
indictments of our own existing conditions of society, together
composed a strange medley of arguments, which were intended to
convince me of the absolute necessity of my immediate and
unconditional submission to his carefully prepared scheme. And this
scheme was no less than the complete surrender of myself, mind
and body, into his keeping for the purpose of being transported whilst
in an unconscious or comatose state and by some hidden means to
another planet! I cannot of course recall the whole of that prodigal
information, nor all the astonishing things he confided in me; but I do
remember vividly throughout the whole of this mental ordeal that I
always remained fully aware of my host's sanity. He talked the
dreams of madmen, as judged by our conventional standards of
science and belief; yet I knew, instinctively knew, all his bizarre
statements to be fact and not fiction. Was some irresistible hypnotic
force, I wonder, emanating from that will and besieging my own
overwrought brain, to compel my full credence in the apparently
incredible? In any case, believe I did absolutely. I grew to realise
also, dimly at first, but with increasing clarity, that a refusal on my
part was now practically unthinkable. Of a truth my choice lay
between a swift and certain death on Earth and a new career in
another planet; and as the ties that bound me to Earth were neither
very strong nor very dear, whilst my curiosity was boundless, I was
filled with tense excitement but not with real alarm at the prospect
opened before me. With hardly an attempt at opposition, therefore, I
allowed myself to become permeated through and through with the
psychical current of my companion's will to power, ignoring my
shrewd presentiment of intense danger ahead in the event of my
seeking to decline that which I most ardently longed for despite a few
passing qualms. Beyond a doubt I was completely in the toils, but I
experienced no anxiety to escape thence.

Directing his eyes full upon my face with a concentrated stare that
held my attention fixed and unwavering, d'Aragno started, and his
harangue proceeded with scarcely a break for four hours, of which
here I can only inscribe a few disjointed fragments. "You progressive
and enlightened peoples of the important planet known as the Earth
have in your own estimation acquired an immense store of
knowledge, not only of things terrestrial but also of the entire scheme
celestial. Your astronomers talk glibly of the presence of various
metals in the Moon, of the luminous rings of Saturn, of artificial
canals in Mars; you reckon with accuracy on the times and seasons
of the wandering comets which you christen by the names of their
discoverers—and yet, and yet you have not learnt our secret, The
Secret!...
"On your aerial charts there is marked a tiny planet belonging to our
solar system which your scientists, following an absurd method of
nomenclature from the venue of classical mythology, have dubbed
Meleager. Being small, it is held of no account by your star-gazing
wiseacres, whilst the average layman of intelligence has probably
never so much as heard its name. Is not that so? Have you yourself
any knowledge of its existence? (I shook my head.) Now let me tell
you that Meleager is an Earth in miniature; its inhabitants, its natural
features, its vegetation, its fauna have all developed under identical
conditions in the past, so that, were any traveller from Herthus to be
unexpectedly translated thither, he would almost certainly imagine he
had only found his way to some hitherto unexplored subtropical
region of his own Earth. I am a native of Meleager, and I am
moreover one of its small band of citizens who possess its secret,
which has been handed down from its original inventors to their
successors through countless centuries of time. How, when and by
whom The Secret came into existence I know not; and did I know, I
should not inform you; but this much I am empowered to say; there
is intercommunication of long standing between our small planet and
your larger one; or rather, to use exact language, a limited knot of
persons in Meleager own the power of visiting your Earth from time
to time for certain purposes, one of which I shall presently disclose to
you, as it concerns intimately our meeting and conversation this
night. It is now five years and more since I have been dwelling in an
alien world, making a careful scrutiny in connection with the mission
that has been entrusted me by the innermost circle of the ruling
caste which alone controls the polity of Meleager. I am, as it were, an
ambassador to the Earth, but one whose credentials have never
been presented, who has no staff of legation, no chancellery, and
whose position is one-sided, for it is unknown to, and
unacknowledged by, the countries to which he has been sent. I have
been commanded to inquire into and report upon many terrestrial
matters of concern to us, but my leading task is being brought to its
termination to-day....
"My supreme duty is to choose an earth-born King for our planet.
Our constitution, which is the logical outcome of the most deliberate
and far-seeing policy for many generations, requires the presence in
our midst of a sovereign drawn from another sphere, and that sphere
is of necessity the Earth, for we in Meleager hold no communication
with any other planet in Cosmos. At intervals, as expediency or
necessity may dictate, a new king has to be sought and found by the
Meleagrian envoy on the Earth, whose task presents, as you may
suppose, extreme, well-nigh insuperable difficulties. I am tied down
by certain stringent rules, and to those rules I must strictly adhere.
We demand a man of intelligence, a man of good birth and breeding,
one of fine presence, and last of all an individual of a fair complexion
and with blue eyes. This final condition may strike you as absurd, but
then the Meleagrians are a dark race with dark skins and dark eyes
and hair, as you may perceive in my own person; and in their fixed
opinion their extraneous ruler must be the scion of an immortal
stock, a member of the family of the Sun, who alone is worshipped in
Meleager. Our priests by the aid of cunning devices and mystical
potions, as also by means of the waters of a certain Fountain of
Rejuvenation, whose exact locale is only known to our Arch-priest
and a few chosen colleagues, can improve both mentally and bodily