"Ugh! How on earth is this any better? Dusting? DUSTING! How is this an improvement?"

Molly, who has been leading me to the billiard room—because apparently, the pack house has a billiard room—finally stops in front of a set of double doors. Everyone else was assigned better, real jobs.

"You will start here," she says, gesturing to the room. "Dust everything, especially the wall ornaments and shelves. Then, continue to the other rooms in this hallway. Don't break anything."

"That's it?"

"Yeah." She turns on her heel and leaves.

I stare at the feather duster in my hands. "This is so stupid," I mutter. "At least in the gardens, my work mattered. It benefited the pack. This... this is just busywork."

"So, you don't like it?"

I squeeze my eyes shut and sigh before turning to face Colt, whose voice I instantly recognize.

"I haven't even started, but no—I don't think I like it," I admit.

He stands with his hands in his pockets, watching me. "Give it a chance. This will benefit many. Some people are stuck in roles they despise, and I want to change that." His words surprise me.

"You... want to change things?"

He nods. "This pack is divided, and I believe it's the reason we can't move forward. If we ever want to defeat the Dark Fang Pack, we need to evolve."

"People say our pack and the Dark Fangs are similar, which is why we’re both so feared."

"No," he counters. "My father hasn't been running this pack correctly, but we are nothing like them. We are feared because we’ve been fighting them for so long and held our own in battle. But the way we manage our pack? That is a different story altogether. Trust me..." He trails off, his expression distant, as if haunted by memories.

"Well, if you want to unite the pack, you could start with how the Omegas are treated. Most of us don't feel like we belong."

The sudden intensity in his gaze snaps back to me. "Exactly!" he says. "That's why I want to integrate the Omegas with the Gammas and Betas. But it has to be done one step at a time. I won't rule the way my father has. I’m no saint, but I want the pack to follow me out of loyalty, not fear."

I stare at him, feeling a sudden surge of admiration. He wants to do things differently, and I truly hope he succeeds.

I nod. "I get it. A slow transition... but—" I look down at the duster and mutter, "I still hate this stupid job."

I don't know why I keep forgetting he’s the next Alpha; I’m talking to him as if we’re old friends.

"Hmm. I have another job you might find more interesting," he says, his eyes raking over my body. "But it would require you to be on your knees."

"My knees?" My brain stalls for a second, failing to register the insinuation. I may be a virgin, but I'm not an idiot. I know how the world works—mostly thanks to Lauren—but I always feel a bit dim-witted around him.

When the meaning hits, I narrow my eyes at him. He just smiles, winks, and whispers, "Just a playful thought."

I have no idea how to respond.

Yes, please?

The thought flashes through my mind, fueled by pure impulse. I bite my lip, terrified I might actually say it out loud.

What is wrong with me?

Just yesterday, I was trying to convince myself to hate him, but how could I?

As I battle my own mind, he reaches past me and pushes open the double doors. His broad frame blocks my view until he steps aside, revealing the room. There is a massive billiard table in the center, a liquor bar along the right wall, and tables scattered to the left.

I’d never been in this room before, but what catches my attention are the people inside: Colt’s three brothers—including Ezra—and his sister, Bryn.

Ezra, who was leaning over the billiard table ready to take a shot, straightens up and stares at me with wide eyes.

"There he is. Time to celebrate," Kaecy says.

"Celebrate? Is that why you called me here?" Colt asks, sipping from a glass of amber liquid.

"We needed a reunion away from Mom and Dad," Kaecy explains. "We wanted to celebrate your return like old times."

Bryn notices me standing there. "What are you doing here?"

I lift the duster. "Dusting." I put on my most miserable expression, catching Colt’s eye; he just smiles at me.

I retreat to the wall to dust a collection of plaques and trophies. It’s spotless, but I have to look busy.

"I can't believe it, man. To think you're really back." Kaecy pats Colt’s shoulder. "I thought... I’d accepted that you were gone." He chokes up.

Kaecy always admired his older brother. He took it hard when everyone assumed Colt had died. But I don't think it’s "like old times." I can see clearly that Colt is a different person now.

"How did you find your way back? And why now?" Ezra asks, turning his focus back to the pool table.

"I thought you guys wanted to celebrate, not interrogate me."

"Of course!" Kaecy exclaims. "We’re celebrating. He’s already had this conversation with Dad. I’m sure he’s exhausted by it."

"Yeah... I guess," Ezra mutters.

"You don't sound too excited to have me back," Colt observes.

"Not at all. It's a miracle you're alive," Ezra replies.

"Well, my friends are excited to see you," Bryn says to Colt. "Remember Stacy, my best friend? She’s always been fond of you. She’s thrilled you're back."

Colt stares out the window, looking utterly bored—bordering on irritated.

"I mean, now that you don't have a mate, you'll be choosing one, right?" Bryn presses.

"Geez, Bryn. The man just got back. Let him be," Kaecy sighs.

"Yeah, you sound as pushy as Mom," Miles, Bryn’s twin, mutters from the billiard table.

"Besides," Ezra adds, finally looking up, "I’m sure your friend has a mate somewhere else."

"You know, wouldn't it be better if we could choose our own mates?" Bryn says, her voice turning snooty. "I mean, what if I get settled with one of those lowly Omegas? Do you know how embarrassing that would be? Ugh! I’d rather die."

"Your mate is Goddess-given," Colt says sharply. "Betraying a good mate is the most disgusting thing you could ever do, regardless of their status."

For a second, I think he’s talking about Ezra, but when I look at him, he seems distant—consumed by a cold, simmering anger.

He looks at Bryn. "You are a child, Bryn. You clearly haven't experienced anything of the real world."

The room falls deathly silent. The air feels like it’s dropped ten degrees. I’ve never seen this side of him—cold, mature, and deeply authoritative. I decide to abandon the room and scurry out before the tension snaps.

I move to the next room, my mind still racing. I’m glad he said what he said, but he looked so furious. It was clearly about more than just Bryn’s comment.

This house is creepy. I end up in a room filled with taxidermy—deer, hogs, bulls—all staring at me with fake, glassy eyes. Why display this?

"What are you doing, Angel?"

Colt’s voice makes me jump. I turn and squint at him. He chuckles, clearly amused by my reaction.

"I am still dusting because this house is full of never-ending, insignificant crap."

He bursts into a hearty, genuine laugh.

"Yeah, laugh it up," I mutter, turning back to the shelf. "I’ll be damned if I have to do this every day..."

Suddenly, I’m pulled back and scooped up into his arms.

"What are you doing?!" I shout.

"Taking a break. I think you need one."

He carries me to a table and sets me down. He walks over to a cabinet, pulls out two glasses and a bottle of something amber, then pours two drinks. He slides one toward me and sits down, watching me expectantly.

I lean in to smell the drink. He smiles.

"What is it?"

"Tequila."

I’ve never had it, though I’ve sneaked drinks from James’s stash before. I take a large, confident sip.

My eyes bulge.

Motherfucker!

He didn't warn me!

I gasp as the burning liquid hits the back of my throat, missing my esophagus and heading straight for my lungs. I start coughing violently, and some of the liquid even sprays from my nose. He pats my back, offering a napkin.

"Shit. That was bad," he mutters.

I want to punch him so badly. After a few minutes of hacking, I finally catch my breath. He reaches over and takes my drink away.

"This is not for you."

"On that, we agree," I wheeze, refusing to look at him.

"So, you don't drink?"

"Not often." I sit up straight, regaining my composure.

I summon the courage to glance at him, only to find him staring intensely at my lips.

Oh boy...