Page 1 of Building My Pack

Prologue

Bryce

“I don’t understand,” I tell him. My chest feels tight and I’m thinking there’s a good chance I’m going to throw up.

George, my boyfriend of five years, who’d invited me to what I’d hoped was going to be a proposal dinner, grimaces with an expression of pity. “I’m sorry, Bryce. I really am. It’s just that you know what they say about finding your pack.”

Choking down the sob, I whisper, “But I thought we’d said that we’re the only pack we’d need for the rest of our lives.”

“Okay,” he snaps, losing the nice-guy act he’s been sporting since dropping the second biggest bomb my life has ever seen. “I tried to make this an easy break and be as amicable as possible, but you’re just not going to let me. Even if I hadn’t found a pack, look at you, babe. Sure, you’ve got the career down, but you’ve really let yourself go since college.”

His words cut deep like I’m sure he intends, making the pain in my chest intensify. What’s worse is that he’s not wrong. I’ve put on about twenty pounds over the past few years, choosing to focus more on building us a nest egg to live comfortably. As part of my job, appearances are important, so I’ve always made sure to keep a face of fresh makeup and the nicest clothes money can afford. What it all boils down to is my weight. I can always try again to shed the extra pounds, and I tell him such.

He’s already shaking his head before I’m finished speaking, “You and I both know nothing will help. Like all the other times before. Besides, it’s more than that now. I love Stephanie and her pack. They’re my pack now.”

Glancing around for our waiter, he motions him over as to me he says, “I’m going to go ahead and grab the check. I think we can both agree that we don’t need dessert.”

“What was the point in bringing me here?” I ask as the waiter makes it to our table. “So that there wouldn’t be a scene that you had to deal with and could just walk away a free man?”

The poor waiter tries to ignore the rise in my voice, asking how he can be of assistance. George politely asks for the check, slipping a few bills into his hand as I fight tears of anger and humiliation. Impatient to be somewhere I can let them free, I don’t wait for him to pay before getting to my feet. There’s a moment or two as I make my way to the front door where I wobble on my stiletto heels that I only wear for George. Caught between the devastation of my perfectly constructed world coming unseamed and the betrayal of a man I thought I wanted to spend the rest of my life with, it’s so awfully tempting to take the walking hazards off and throw them at his face.

By the time we’ve got our car from valet, the dam has finally broken. George sighs in exasperation at my crying and doesn’t bother to open my door. The ride home is silent other than my barely contained sobs. What could I possibly say to try and make him stay anyway? Would I even want to, knowing what I do now?

The entire situation hits hard when he doesn’t bother parking in the garage, choosing to leave his car running in the driveway. He grabs a couple bags out of the coat closet behind the front door when we walk inside. I’d been a few minutes late coming home today, trying to finish a contract with a client, so I hadn’t even noticed any of his clothes missing from upstairs in my hurry to get dressed.

“I’ll come back another day for the rest of my stuff,” he tosses over his shoulder before leaving me standing in the foyer with a broken heart that feels like it’ll never heal.

Chapter 1

Bryce

As I wait, staring at the elaborate, lavishly-styled tables around me, I can’t help but think back over the past couple months and how I found myself sitting here alone tonight. The ambiance of the room is a warm glow that makes me wish I was home snuggled down on my couch instead of being here in an all-too-expensive dress that I honestly could’ve bought one size larger. With sandy-colored tablecloths trimmed in gold and crystal chandelier centerpieces, it’s eye catching to say the least. If I ignore the stage and microphone set up in front of me, the tables would most certainly be the center focus of the room.

Nothing speaks of loneliness more than sitting in this large of a room all by yourself either. Being the guest of honor and having to drive five hours to get here, I’d shown up before anyone else and been shown to my place-card setting. I’d gotten so accustomed to having George attached to my hip since the end of high school that it’s thrown my life into a spiral without him, and I can’t figure out if I’m going up or down at the moment.

Born from two betas, imagine their horror when I’d hit puberty and perfumed like an omega. Not that they have personal vendettas against omegas. They just didn’t want the responsibilities that came with raising one, or as they’ll say it, they didn’t want that life of only being viewed by my designation for me. I had welcomed their plan with open arms. A lot of girls that were my age wouldn’t stop talking about how badly they wanted to be an omega, but not me. I’d heard the scary stories of overbearing alphas and how they weren’t allowed to have any kind of life. Most of which came from the lips of my own parents. Honestly, though, I don’t see how being with George was any different at all. He never allowed me to have friends that I could leave the house to do things with. I hardly ever saw my parents. And the one time I’d mentioned not wanting to take omega suppressants for the rest of my life, he’d thrown the biggest fit a grown man his age could and said I’d keep taking them or else. So, I had. I’d held up to my end of the bargain, yet he’d still made good on his threat. With no one other than the petite blonde-haired beta intern that started at our office two months ago. Which explains my status alone here tonight on what has to be the biggest accomplishment of my career.

Between the nerves of having to give a speech and thinking about George, I’m already nursing my second glass of champagne, which will be my lightweight limit, as people start arriving. The first few are quick to find their seats like I did but are out of them almost just as fast when more show up. Knowing I’ve got no choice but to be social tonight, I take another sip from my glass before hoisting myself to my feet and making my way over to one of the small groups.

Jenna Dannings, one of the beta ladies from a competing agency who’d been in the running with me for this award, is trying her best at schmoozing the pants off the men around her.

“And here, gentlemen, is our shining star of the night,” she announces rather loudly with a flourish of her hand toward me. Even as competitors, neither of us have ever been hostile with the other, and this is no different. If I wasn’t already aware of her personality, I’d swear she was trying to make me look like an ass. As it is, I do still sense a sliver of jealousy in her tone.

“Hi, Jenna,” I reply in my best sales-pitch voice as I plaster that fake smile as big as I can get it.

We share a quick cheek-to-cheek kiss before I turn to her audience. It’s no surprise she’s surrounded by alphas. Let’s just say good ole Jenna has a reputation for being an alpha hunter. Personally, I think she’s bananas for it. Even through the cloak of omega suppressants, their scents are strong enough to make me internally cringe.

The biggest one to my right holds out a hand. “The name’s Ralph.”

I slip my hand into his so as not to be rude, but his scent of mildewed newspapers makes my nose twitch. He’s good looking for an alpha with a slim, muscular build and dark bedroom eyes, but I don’t see how anyone could make it past that smell. When he releases me and the much smaller man beside him introduces himself, I can feel Ralph’s gaze from the top of my head all the way down to my toes, and it makes me feel exposed.

I’d never consider myself a looker, but I’m not ugly either. At least in the face anyway. I’ve always hated my figure and the way I carry all my extra weight in my hips. I’d chosen tonight’s dress to try and hide that very fact. The white underlayer of the dress dips into a sweetheart neckline and doesn’t hug my stomach, leaving the sides to show some hip roundness but not all. On the top layer, it’s a peach-colored lace that covers my shoulders and blankets the white underneath all the way down to where it stops just before my knees. Any brighter and it would’ve clashed with the strawberry blonde of my hair.

The other three alphas around us I recognize from Jenna’s office, so a polite nod and glass raise is our greeting. We make civil conversation about houses we’re in the midst of selling, but never the ones we’re putting on market. Can’t have someone sweep in and take the listing out from under our noses. Honestly, it’s like swimming with sharks with one of those fake dorsal fins on, hoping they don’t realize you’re the prey instead. Of all the agencies, ours is the only one I’m aware of having an omega in office, and that’s only because I wasn’t openly honest with them before I was hired. Since it was never asked, I didn’t see fit to offer my designation. Besides, that would’ve opened an entirely new conversation that I’m not comfortable sharing with just anyone. Jobs should be non-discriminative, but omegas are considered a liability seeing as we’re susceptible to alpha influence. The entire idea mixed with present company makes the champagne bubble the wrong way in my stomach.

Finding an opening in the conversation between Jenna and the shorter alpha, Ian, about the legalities of divulging information to clients, I excuse myself and go off in search of the restrooms. Shaking my head slightly, I muse over the fact that it almost sounds like they’re lying to people to get their properties sold. If that’s the case, then it’s no wonder they didn’t stand a chance against me and Santiago.

My unwitting rival who took second place by a mere couple thousand dollars in sales. I’d gotten a huge jumpstart on him all year. Then George pulled his stunt and I’d found myself lost more than once over the previous months. Passing a few more clusters of my peers, the best I’ve got for them is a small wave and fake smile.

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