Page 7 of Pack Plus One

Zoe nods approvingly. “Minimal damage, maximum dignity. I like it.”

“It’s the best I can do,” I say, trying to convince myself as much as her. “At least I won’t have to endure the bouquet toss. No way I’m catching that curse.”

Two days later, I’m standing outside the venue, gripping my clutch like a weapon. The pre-wedding cocktail party is already in full swing, the sounds of laughter and clinking glasses drifting through the open French doors.

I smooth down my black dress—simple, elegant, short enough to be interesting but not desperate—and adjust my pearl necklace. My hair, recently cut into a sleek bob, feels strangeagainst my neck, but the stylist assured me it was “fierce,” which isexactlythe energy I need tonight.

“One hour. Smile. Escape,” I whisper to myself as I climb the steps to the entrance.

The venue is obscenely lavish, dripping with crystal chandeliers and white roses. Eric’s fiancée comes from money—old money, judging by the guest list. Everyone is paired up, packs mingling with an ease I’ve never experienced. Immediately, I feel like someone’s pinned a “Single Omega” sign to my back.

I grab a champagne flute from a passing waiter and take a fortifying sip, scanning the room for familiar faces. There are a few. Distant friends from college, mostly. But no one I’m close enough with to use as a buffer.

And then I see him. Eric. Looking infuriatingly handsome in a tailored suit, his blond hair perfectly styled. He’s surrounded by his pack members—old friends I used to know—and they’re all laughing at something he’s said.

He spots me before I can look away, and the smirk that spreads across his face makes my stomach drop. He excuses himself from his group and makes his way toward me.

Shit shit shit. But there’s nothing to duck behind. Plus, he’s already seen me.

“Leah,” he says, his voice exactly as I remember it. His gaze scans the big space ofno onebehind me. “You came alone? Some things never change.”

I open my mouth to deliver a cutting response—I’ve rehearsed several—but before I can speak, a deep voice cuts through the air from behind me.

“There you are, doll. We’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

I freeze, champagne halfway to my lips. Who the hell?—?

I turn slowly, my confusion morphing into shock as I find myself face to face with four devastatingly attractive strangers—all staring at me.

The one who spoke—tall with chestnut brown hair and eyes so intensely green they can’t possibly be real—steps forward, a possessive hand settling at the small of my back.

Beside him, a strawberry blond with a lazy, dangerous smile winks at me. “Found her, Cale. Told you she’d be fashionably late.”

The third alpha—golden-haired and broad-shouldered with a gentler expression—offers me a slight nod. “You look beautiful.”

And slightly behind them, a fourth man—shorter, with jet-black hair and watchful eyes—studies me with undisguised curiosity.

“I—” I stammer, but the green-eyed one—Cale?—cuts me off with a subtle squeeze to my waist.

“Sorry we didn’t wait for you at the entrance,” he says, his eyes conveying a message I can’t decode. “You know how these venues can be. Easy to get lost.”

There’s an awkward pause as I try to process what’s happening. Are they... here for me?I’ve never seen these men before in my life.

Eric clears his throat, looking between me and the four strangers with narrowed eyes. “I didn’t realize you were... bringing guests, Leah.”

The strawberry blond steps forward, holding out his hand to Eric with a grin that’s all teeth. “Jude Le Roux. And you must be the groom.” His eyes flick to me, then back to Eric. “Pleasure to meet you.”

Le Roux. The name rings a distant bell, but I can’t place it.

Eric shakes his hand, visibly thrown off-balance. “I thought you were packless, Leah. This is...unexpected.”

The green-eyed one, Cale, steps closer to me, a low rumble emanating from his chest that’s just subtle enough not to draw attention but clear enough for Eric to hear. “She’s with us.”

I choke on my champagne.

The golden-haired one steps forward, placing a steadying hand on my shoulder. “Easy there,” he murmurs, and I get a whiff of his scent. Something like old books and rain.

Eric’s expression has gone from smug to confused to wary in the span of seconds. “Well,” he says stiffly, “I should get back to my guests. Nice to meet you all.” He gives me one last look—one I can’t quite interpret—before retreating.

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