20. Jasmine

I just roll my eyes at them and head back out to the main floor. There's probably a dancers' bathroom somewhere, but I want to check back in with the guys. They're still at the booth, Erik's shoulders noticeably relaxing when he sees me heading his way. When I reach the booth, Xavier runs a curious eye over my rumpled gown, his arm pulling me close. "You smell like Dec," he murmurs, careful not to brush me with the sharp edges of his mask as he nuzzles my cheek. "Mmm, and Casper. It's intoxicating."

Erik makes a rumbling sound and I try to read his face behind his mask. "Are you jealous?"

The two alphas exchange an amused glance. "Green to the bone," Erik admits, "but as long as you're happy, we're happy."

I grin, because orgasms that don't require batteries are my new favorite pastime. "I'm going to fix my makeup," I tell them, pulling both a lipstick and my panic button from my clutch. I laugh at the way they both zero in on their article of choice, their scents spiking with heady pheromones. "Won't be long."

Xavier mutters something under his breath, but I just turn and slip through the crowd. I have to admit, there's something intoxicating about knowing they're watching my every move, and when I reach the bathroom, I'm not surprised to find my face flushed and my eyes glittering with excitement.

I wash my hands and fix my lipstick in a happy daze, running my tongue over my teeth when I'm done. I can taste the lingering flavor of both alpha and omega, and I doubt the best wine in the club's cellar could beat it. With a smirk at my reflection, I head back out, stopping sharply when I realize Declan is already on stage.

I'm not sure what magic Casper wrought in the dressing room, but Declan looks perfectly put together as he croons into the microphone. He's a vision of masculine beauty with the stage lights on his golden hair, his neck muscles taut as he sings a slower, more sinful version of Van Morrison's Moondance. Every eye in the club is fixed on him, and even though I'm a long way from the stage, I can feel the potency of his allure. If I didn't know him, and if I hadn't been wrapped in his arms only moments ago, I can imagine doing almost anything to have that magnetic pull directed my way…

"They call him the Siren of San Antonio back in Texas," a voice says behind me, and I almost stumble as I turn to face a huge alpha. Uber, I correct myself, taking in his stylish black tuxedo and matching velvet mask. His hand shoots out to steady me, and when he removes the mask, brown eyes frown down at me in concern. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to frighten you."

"I'm alright," I tell him quickly, although being so close to an alpha of Garth Rose's power still leaves a jittery tingle on my skin. "I didn't know you were coming to the party. Is Grace here, too?"

He pauses for a beat, then shakes his head. "I wanted to acknowledge the invitation from your alphas, but this club still holds some unpleasant memories for my pack."

I'm tempted to correct him about my relationship with the Volks, but who knows where we stand after tonight? I'm covered in Xavier's marks and drenched in Declan's scent, and no doubt Erik is watching me either in person or via a surveillance feed. They seem to be acting like a pack intent on claiming me, and now that I've had a taste of their attention, I definitely want more.

When I glance back at Garth, he's studying me closely, although his scent is warm and comforting. It's a good reminder that this man commands a workforce of thousands, and he's had a lot of practice putting people at ease. "I never thanked you for orchestrating Grace's interview," he says, as if he knows exactly what I'm thinking. "If you hadn't used your connections to get her foot in the door, we might have never met. And my pack would be a shadow of itself without her."

I tilt my chin up, a spark of resentment flaring inside me at how hard Grace had to fight to be noticed. "I lied to your recruiter," I admit. "I said I was my uncle's assistant so they'd take the call."

He studies me for a moment, then gives a slow nod. "We weren't the pack we are now, so I'm not surprised you had to force our hand." His gaze drifts back to the stage. "Sometimes a push is necessary."

I give a tight nod, although I'm glad he didn't ask how I managed to lie to a senior alpha in his company. "I just wanted her to have a chance. Grace is too talented to be overlooked because of her designation. Everyone should be judged on their merits, not their biology."

Those deep brown eyes swing back my way. "I agree. And my company is committed to upholding that principle, I assure you."

It's a relief to hear, and maybe a small vindication as well. I haven't done much to improve the lives of others – and certainly nothing on the scale of the Volks – but I feel a glimmer of satisfaction that my white lie might have helped the powerful House of Omega rethink its ways.

"But Grace has been very worried about you, Jasmine." Garth's tone is darker, a thread of steel that reminds me he's a powerful uber under his immaculate tuxedo. I shuffle uneasily on my feet, turning my attention back to the stage. Declan is asking – almost pleading – for one more moondance, and I just want to block everything out and soak in the temptation of his voice. But Garth is persistent, his hand coming down gently on my shoulder. "Next to my pack, you're the closest thing Grace has to family, and I know she won't rest until she believes you're safe."

"I'm fine." I keep my focus locked on the stage, as much to drink Declan in as to escape the intensity of this conversation. While lying is literally imprinted on my DNA, Garth Rose isn't your average alpha, and a prickle of warning ripples over my skin. "We're working things out, but I think I might have a future here."

"With the Volks," Garth says slowly, his scent sharper in my nose. He's removed his hand, but I'm still tempted to take a step back. Except I know better than to retreat from an apex predator, and that's what Grace's mate smells like to me now. "And that's of your own free will?" he demands. "They haven't unduly influenced your decision?"

I blink at him, suddenly more confused than intimidated. "What do you mean?"

He nods back towards the stage where Declan is wrapping up the song, his spellbound audience pressing forward for more. "I don't blame you for being drawn to him, Jasmine. But Declan Rusk uses that incredible voice to do more than just entertain. That's why he's known as the Siren of San Antonio. Ever since he sang his first note, his family used him in the alpha wars to get their enemies to do exactly what they wanted."

The last note of Declan's song is shimmering on the air, rich with promise, but it suddenly makes my blood run cold. "How? Do you mean commanding people?"

It's the alpha's greatest weapon, the ability to drop us to our knees with a single grunted syllable. But when I think about it some more, what Garth is implying doesn't make sense. Declan is the least dominant alpha in the pack, and he barely even whistles when he's in the residence. If he was trying to influence me, wouldn't he be crooning love songs in my ear at every opportunity?

Although, it's hard to deny the impact his impromptu song had at the tasting event. He lured everyone into the lobby with his serenade, giving Erik time to whisk Stephanie to safety. "He's distracting," I murmur, "but that doesn't mean he's dangerous."

Garth looks unconvinced. "His family weaponized his gift, using it for their own political gain. And I'm assuming it's how he helps his pack take over these clubs with minimal fuss. But if he's been using it on you, to get you to do what they want…"

I shake my head, shooting Garth an annoyed glance. "It's not like that. They don't want anything from me except…"

A kaleidoscope of memories flash through my mind, each fragment brought into stark focus by Garth's revelation. The guys have admitted they put on a face for their alpha peers, pretending to be one thing so they can shape the world to be another. Lies and deception are their tools of trade, all wielded to make others bend to their will. It's for a good cause, to balance the lopsided scales of power. But how well do I really know the men behind the masks? Flirty Declan, intense Erik, possessive Xavier… Are they real, or is it just another disguise?

"You don't need to tell me, Jasmine," Garth says quietly. "You're covered in their scent. Things have obviously progressed between you, but it's not too late. You don't have any bonding bites yet."

His glance flicks down to my wrists and I wrap them around my waist, tucking them out of sight. Wrist bites are an insult. Is that really what he thinks of the Volks? Of me? "No. We've talked about making a plan, but it's only been a few days. We're taking things slow."

But are we? I tasted Erik's knot in his office and just sucked Declan off like a groupie in the green room. And Xavier. I handed him my submission like I was begging to be claimed. I've given them more than I've ever given another man…

And I barely know them.

I don't need to say that either, because Garth is giving me a sympathetic look. "I think it's best you come back with me to the tower so we can talk about this some more. It will give you space to clear your head, plus we both know Grace will be thrilled to see you."

His hand is on my arm, his mind clearly made up. But I dig in my heels. "I can't just leave. My – my sister is here. Upstairs, in the residence."

He doesn't look surprised by the revelation. Maybe he already knew about Violet. He seems to be a lot more clued into things than I am, that's for damn sure.

"Then just come for a couple of hours." He's leading me towards the members' entrance and this time I don't resist. "If you decide you want to stay longer, I will come here personally and get your sister. I don't think they're a bad pack, Jasmine, but they're used to getting their own way." He pulls a face, at least acknowledging that's rich coming from him. "They provided you sanctuary when you needed it, but whether you choose to stay should be wholly your own decision."

That makes sense – every word out of his mouth makes sense – but my gaze snaps back to the Volks' private booth. Xavier is standing with his arms wrapped around Casper from behind. They're swaying to the music, their entire focus on Declan. But as Casper smiles and leans back against him, Xavier's mouth drops to his ear. Is he singing to him? Whispering sweet nothings? Or is he telling him he wants to mark him with his scent and keep him forever?

I stumble, and once again Garth's hand shoots out to steady me. But this time when he pulls me against his side, I let him, the fight draining out of me. "Okay, but I need to text my friend. I promised I wouldn't take off without telling him."

Garth nods, and I shoot a text to Casper as we take the members' elevator down to the street. Now that we're away from the party – and maybe free of Declan's haunting voice – my mind seems a little clearer, and I give Garth a cautious look. "Just for a couple of hours, okay? If the guys want to talk to me after the party, I'm not going to ignore them. I owe them too much for that."

Plus, I can't think of any excuse I can give Casper that won't leave him confused and upset. And that pinches my heart so sharply, I can barely draw my next breath.

Which is even harder when we reach the street, the cool night air tempting me to turn back around. Garth slows his steps to match mine, but I can see a black town car heading in our direction. I clench my hands together, glancing up at the imposing fa?ade of the alpha club.

Was it really only a few weeks since I was delivered to their doorstep in a room service cart? I pull a face as I recall how Xavier commanded Darren Morgan to strip naked and give up his secrets. As far as I'm concerned, the Sawyer Third deserved to be pushed around for a change, but I never thought to ask what happened next. Did Xavier give in to his blackmail and help him escape Kayden's wrath? Or did Declan scramble his brain with a song, convincing Morgan to skip out into rush-hour traffic?

I snort at my own ridiculousness. If the Volks want to turn anyone into roadkill, they don't need the Siren of San Antonio to do it. Xavier and Erik are both ubers, with the power to command anyone other than an even more powerful alpha. Darren Morgan definitely doesn't make the grade, and I'm not even sure Garth Rose could resist them. Although he gives me a confident smile as he opens the car door. "You'll be safe at the tower."

"Just a couple of hours," I say again, and we slide into the back seat, Garth keeping a respectable distance between us despite his size.

But before we can pull away from the curb, the front passenger door pops open, and Erik folds himself into the seat, his gaze fixed warningly on the driver. "Leaving early?"

"Hello, Volk," Garth says with that sliver of steel back in his voice. "We decided to grab some fresh air."

Garth turns and looks at me. "You're still wearing your mask, sweetheart."

The endearment is like another pinch to my heart, but I pull the disguise off, dropping it on the floor. "I want to go see Grace."

Erik nods, but the gesture is stiff and his jaw flexes as he watches me. "All you had to do was ask."

There's no missing the injured note in his voice and I swallow hard. Despite my misgivings, I'm pretty sure Erik has always been honest with me. "I know. I'm sorry I didn't tell you, but it was a spur of the moment thing."

"And I take it we're not going anywhere unless you come with us?" Garth asks, edging forward in his seat.

The movement puts his shoulder in front of mine, and I watch the glimmer of eyeshine creep into Erik's gaze. "Our pack doesn't go anywhere alone."

The two ubers study each other for a moment, and as the air prickles with their dominance, I realize that Erik has swapped his tuxedo and wolf mask for his usual combat-ready gear. Was he anticipating trouble, or did he always plan to change once we made our entrance into the party? Another thought worms its way into my head and I lean forward to clutch his shoulder. "Is Casper okay?"

His hand immediately covers mine, his palm warm and comforting. "He's fine. Xavier is with him. But you should text to say we're stepping out for a while." His dark eyes flick to Garth. "We don't want them to realize we're missing and send out a search party."

I'm pretty sure Erik is permanently wired into the Volks' entire security team, but I just nod and take out my phone again. As I send another text – this time to Xavier's number - the guys must come to some kind of silent understanding because the car pulls away from the curb. As soon as we settle into the late-night traffic, Erik turns to study the driver. He's a good-looking guy in a stylish uniform - no doubt designed by House of Omega – but his face slowly pales under the intensity of Erik's stare.

"Don't freak him out, Erik," I huff, scrolling back to the text I sent to Casper's phone. There's no reply, and I wonder if Xavier will update him, or if my messages will go unnoticed until it's too late. I suddenly picture Casper searching the crowd for me, terrified that I've been snatched by the Sawyers.

Fuck, I'm the worst pack companion ever!

I stifle the groan that's clawing at my throat, pushing back against the wave of guilt. I mean, it's not like I'm trying to sneak off in the middle of the night. I'm just stopping by to see a friend and to grab a couple of hours to clear my head.

And don't I have every reason for wanting some space after Garth's revelations? If they're true, it means I've been living under the same roof as a master manipulator. I've never heard of a siren before, but I know all about alpha commands. They can make you do anything, and Garth said Declan's family weaponized him. What does that mean? And what did it do to Declan? Can I even believe the feelings that are starting to build between us, or is it all just a lie?

I try to shrug off the flash of hurt, but it's hard. The logical side of me knows that when you're fighting a war against powerful enemies you need every weapon in your arsenal. And there's no doubt in my mind that the Volks are at war with the worst of their kind. But… couldn't they have told me about it? Don't they trust me to keep their secrets? Or is there more to Declan's deception? Do I have some reason to not trust them?

The thought makes acid bubble in my stomach, and it's not helped by the looks Erik keeps throwing over his shoulder. Thankfully, it's only a couple of blocks before we pull into the private garage of Rose Tower. "Back again," Garth says with a touch of amusement in his voice. "I'm assuming there's no need to draw weapons this time?"

Erik's face is like flint. "I'm always prepared for the worst."

Garth just lifts his brows, but as we climb out of the car, Erik's words hit me hard. Not because he's witnessed enough trauma to keep him permanently battle-ready, but because it's like he's the other side of my coin. We both anticipate trouble, but where I seem to always be running from it, Erik strides willingly in its direction.

It makes me wonder if the same can be said for Declan. I know all about family manipulation and power abuse, after all. I think of the alluring man we just left back at the club and have to wonder if he's a victim too. Or am I just looking for some common ground because I want to believe the best of the Volk Pack?

As we cross the garage, two men in dark suits are waiting by the elevator, guns on their hips. They watch Erik with unblinking eyes, but he just gives them a cool look, pressing his hand to my back as we step into the elevator. One of the security guys moves to follow, but Garth waves him back. When we're on the move, Erik asks in a flat voice, "You seen Kayden Sawyer hanging around here?"

Garth's lip curls like he's tasted something bad. "Why?"

"We heard he's still after your mate."

The flare of eyeshine is so bright, I take a hasty step back. When Garth glances in my direction, Erik gives a warning rumble, his body angled to keep me out of his line of sight. Garth's gaze instantly dims, and he turns to the mirrored doors, studying us in their reflection. "My apologies, but we were under the impression Sawyer had moved on. What's the source?"

Erik tightens his grip on me. "Kayden's packmate, Darren Morgan. He visited us recently and had a lot to say on the subject. I'd treat the threat as ongoing."

Speak of the devil…

Garth gives a tight nod. "Well, as you said, we're prepared for the worst when it comes to the Sawyer Pack. Now, if you don't mind coming into my office, we have some information to share with you as well."

I look at him curiously, but he's already stepping out of the elevator and into a room that could be the backdrop to a House of Omega photo shoot. One of their most popular product lines is their Alpha Abroad range, and unsurprisingly, Garth's office has the same masculine flair as Xavier's. He points to a pair of leather visitor chairs in front of an elegant mahogany desk. I sit, but Erik takes up position behind me, his knuckles brushing my shoulder blades. "What information?"

"I think it's best if Patrick explains it to you."

I sit up curiously, twisting to watch the Rose Pack's head of security stride into the room. Erik isn't the kind of guy to fade into the furniture, but Patrick barely glances in his direction as he comes to sit in the visitor chair next to me. He's wearing black jeans, scuffed boots, and a thick cable knit sweater. His copper-red hair is tangled around his pale face, and he smells like salty air and bonfire nights. It's as alluring as the last time we met, and I wrap my arms tightly around my waist. I'm pretty sure he notices, because his strange amber eyes haven't looked away from me since he sat down.

"Patrick," Garth says when the silence has stretched well beyond my comfort zone. "Can you explain what you've learned about Crenshaw Pharmaceuticals?"

My spine stiffens, a metallic flavor souring my mouth. "What about it?"

"We all know they're in bed with some bad bastards," Patrick says in his lilting Irish accent, "but now they've taken up with some new scumbags."

"We know about the Sawyers," Erik interrupts him, sounding annoyed.

"Aye, but it's not just them, is it? According to my intel, they're now in cahoots with Eamonn Quinn. Seems he's running an off-the-books operation for them, hiding all the nasty shit from the FDA."

I scowl, because that name keeps turning up like a bad penny. I know that Quinn ran the Boston club and Erik considers him such a special case, he planted a fist in his face when they took it over. Well-deserved, since he was holding Casper and other omegas hostage in the club's basement.

"What are you basing this off?" Erik demands. "We took Quinn's operation apart and closed the Boston club down. According to my intel, he's still on the run."

Patrick squints up at him, a sneer on his lips. "Eamonn's a cockroach. Shut him down in one place and he comes scuttling back to life in another."

"That still doesn't explain how you connected him to Crenshaw Pharmaceuticals," I interject, earning a strange look from Patrick. He sits back in his chair, and I can almost see the cogs turning behind those eerie amber eyes. They're so clear, like sunlight through honey. I should be able to read his every thought, but all I can see is my own reflection – small, lost, and confused…

"I know ‘cos I got it from the horse's mouth," he says softly, breaking me out of whatever trance I was just in. "When you acted so hinky around me, I decided to hunt your da down and ask a few questions. Seems he's a real chatty fella once you get him going."

My heart gives an unpleasant jolt.

He's been talking to my father?

And what the hell does he mean by ‘hinky'?

I squirm uncomfortably in my chair. "You shouldn't have done that. And you can't trust anything he says, anyway. My father will do anything to protect himself."

"I know." To my shock, Patrick slides to his knees in front of me, his hands balled into fists. It's as if he wants to reach out and rest them on my thighs, and I can feel Erik looming over us, ready to pounce. But Patrick's gaze never wavers from mine. "I hated prying into your private business, but not knowing was killing me. Were you just gaslighting me? Trying to let me down easy? Or did your prick of a father do something so you couldn't recognize what we are to each other?"

I stare at him, too shocked to speak. But now that he's right in front of me, something is unfurling in my hindbrain. A tiny suggestion, like a wisp of perfume you catch in an empty room. It's enticing, a thread I want to chase. But when has my hindbrain ever done me any favors? "I'm sorry," I say stiffly, "but I don't know what you're talking about."

Patrick leans forward, those glassy eyes suddenly engulfed with amber flames. "You're my scent-mate, Jasmine. And if you'll have me, I'll make sure no fucker ever lays a finger on you again."