Chapter Thirty-Four

Eve

The five-month check-up is everything I could've hoped for. Healthy pup. Happy alphas. And, amazingly—

"Your vitals are looking much better, Eve," Doctor Perez informs me with a cheery smile. "Whatever you're doing, keep up the good work."

A couple of my alphas shoot me sly looks. I try not to blush.

"And the pup's spinal growth?" Marcus asks politely.

Too politely, my inner omega chastises. If he'd joined us in the nest last night, maybe the tension would've passed, but he ran away the second things started heating up.

Do I repulse him now? Does he still think I'm being selfish? Asking for more than my body can handle?

The doctor massages his wand around my stomach, getting a clearer picture up on the monitor.

"Looking good," he confirms. "Heart, head, and spine all growing as they should be."

Marcus nods, but he doesn't loose his breath, like the relief is only surface level.

It takes Baxter squeezing my hand for me to realize I'm on the brink of tears. He looks down at me, a crease between his brows. "Omega?"

"Sorry." I sniffle, smiling. "Hormones."

Doctor Perez hums understandingly. The air is filled with comforts—my alphas' scents, pumping out, reminding me who I am, and who I belong to.

Only Marcus's remains sterile.

Like he's drawing further away.

***

It's quiet for such a vibrant café. I look around the square tables, colorful stools, hanging lights, and various potted plants. It's peak brunch hour on a Friday. A place like this—specials scrawled across a blackboard, teas and coffees of every possible variety—seems like it should be much busier.

"Thorn," I say, cautiously. "Doesn't something look wrong with this picture?"

A hint of knowing lights up his black eyes. "You think so?"

Frowning, I glance around the table. Baxter is examining the menu intently, avoiding my look.

My eyes widen. "Hang on. Did you—?"

"Booked out the entire place," Riley realizes. "I know it's been a hot minute since I last saw my parents, but, uh …" she glances around. "This seems a little extreme."

Baxter turns the menu over. "Just being cautious."

I'm not sure whose face I should be studying. Despite everything, Riley seems surprisingly relaxed. Maybe it's just as well we postponed catching up with her parents—at least we had a chance to really talk it out first.

Baxter and Thorn, on the other hand, are blank slates. Marcus is fidgeting too much for me to get a lock on him. And Red keeps bumping Riley's knee under the table. Eventually she bumps him back.

"Problem?" she demands.

"No," he returns. There's a beat of silence, then he asks, "And … you?"

My heart warms. I guess he's just trying to make sure she's okay, in his own boyish way.

Suddenly Thorn straightens. "They're here."

The door opens. Two male alphas enter, flanking an omega female between them. They must be in their mid- to late sixties, all greying but equally sturdy. Dark, weathered skin. Simple jeans and flannel shirts. I also can't help but notice the omega's keen grey eyes.

Those are Riley's eyes .

Riley swallows. She glances at Baxter, who nods, before standing.

"Dean, Killen," she greets the alphas, then looks at her mother. "Mavis." Her jaw tightens. "It's been a while."

They all seem so … ordinary. Judging on Riley's descriptions, I thought they might be prim and proper, like other city packs. But I guess all those years of running a garage is bound to strip back some of the polish. If they were anyone else—as in, anyone who hadn't rejected my beloved alpha—I'd probably find them charming.

Dean speaks first, leading me to assume he's their head alpha. "Thank you for agreeing to meet with us."

Apparently this is Baxter's cue to stand. He reaches across the table to shake Dean's hand.

My other alphas also stand. I try to join them, but Thorn's grip on my shoulder keeps me planted.

They're shielding me , I realize grumpily.

"An honor to see you again, Baxter," Killen puts in. "You look well."

"Why wouldn't he?" Mavis speaks up, her voice shriller than I'd expect. "With all the good news?"

Just like that, all eyes are on me. I fight the urge to fiddle with the hem of my shirt, or cover my stomach—suddenly regretting that I'm not wearing something more loose-fitting.

Baxter invites everyone to sit. Almost automatically, Riley pulls out a chair for her mother, only to let go like she's burnt her hands, registering what she's done.

Mavis smiles. "Thank you, dear."

Thankfully, the peppy young waiter chooses this moment to take our orders. When it gets to Baxter's turn, he places an order for me as well, at which point I realize I still haven't spoken. Is that rude? Where I come from, an omega doesn't speak unless she's spoken to, but Mavis didn't need an invitation, so maybe I should—

"I have to say, Riley," Dean says as the waiter walks away, "your omega is even lovelier in person."

Someone growls. Probably Red. Maybe Thorn.

"I–it's nice to meet you," I get out.

Dean beams. The expression doesn't quite match his face, burrowing into unused smile lines.

Killen chuffs. "Polite, too."

There's another growl, louder this time. Mavis heaves a sigh.

"Please," she says, "she's sitting right there." She looks at me dead in the eye for the first time. "I hope you'll forgive my alphas. It's not every day we get to meet a new omega—or such an important one."

I can't help it. A little part of me warms at the words.

But then I catch Riley's scent—stark, singed caramel—and I remind myself what we're really doing here.

"That's kind of you to say," I answer, taking care with every word, refusing to let myself stutter. "But, with all due respect, I'm not here for you."

At least they have the courtesy to seem taken aback. Mavis's grey irises are piercing, getting to the heart of everything I stand for.

So that's where Riley gets it .

"I'm afraid there's been a misunderstanding," Dean says. "We reached out to Riley because of you ." He smiles that unpracticed smile again. "To welcome you to the Pack Jordan family."

Defiance streaks through me. To welcome me to the family, after they were so happy to kick their own daughter out? Is he serious?

Instinctively, my hand goes to my stomach, offering a silent vow: No matter what, I will never do that to you. Never reject you. Never cast you out. You will always be mine.

"Eve," Baxter says softly. "Are you okay?"

For a second I worry I've started crying, but no. My eyes are clear.

The waiter returns with our orders. Normally I would take this excuse to shut my mouth and pretend I haven't spoken, but the way Riley is sitting next to her mother—slouching like she's trying to make herself smaller … I can't let that slide.

"Did you know," I glare into my mug of ginger tea, "that's the first time I've ever heard that name?"

Across the table, Dean and Killen frown.

"‘Pack Jordan'," I explain. "First time it's ever come up."

Something like anxiety, or maybe anticipation, warbles through Riley's bond. "Eve …" she murmurs.

"There's never been a need." I force my gaze up to Dean. "Since you cast her out."

Riley's parents shuffle in their seats. On either side of me, Baxter and Thorn have gone completely still, assessing their moves with laser-like intensity.

"That is … unfortunate," Dean says at last.

"Understandable," Mavis adds, "but unfortunate. Especially considering, as we've tried to explain to Riley, how eager we are to put the past behind us. After all—" she smiles, gesturing to my stomach, "there's a bright future ahead."

No . My inner omega rages. Not for her. Not for any of them .

Not until they do what needs to be done.