Page 3 of Claimed By the Feral Wolves

“If I’m being honest, sir,” I begin, struggling to speak. I’m unable to meet the ultima’s eyes, so I talk to the floor instead, praying Brock doesn’t tell me to speak up. “I think I have a very strong connection with Cayson and Ezra.” I glance at Kurt, whose hands are gripping the edge of the table tightly, his knuckles a ghostly shade of white. “But I don’t think that Kurt and I have a connection.”

Glancing beneath my lashes, I study Brock’s face, but it’s impossible to read. At least, unlike with Hector, he doesn’t seem shocked that I don’t want to be tied to the man I accused of killing my brother and Serra. Yet, he still doesn’t seem to have accepted that there’s nothing in this world, or any other, that could make me want Kurt as a mate.

“While that may be true,” Brock says, as if choosing his words carefully, “remember that it’s important to explore your connection toallof your alphas. It will give you the chance toensure you really understand the bond. Our goal here at The Selection is to forge bonds that will last lifetimes, and unless you take it seriously, we can’t begin to do that. Surely, Kurt must have felt something, some sort of forming connection, or he wouldn’t have claimed you. Honor him by giving that a chance.”

As Brock speaks, a lump forms in my throat, and I just nod, unable to say anything back.

“What about it,Jelly Bean?” Kurt drawls, his voice dripping in loathing and sarcasm. “Why don’t you come and sit onmylap for a while?”

The thought of it makes bile rise in my throat, and I tighten my arms around Cayson, who sends a threatening glare across the table at Kurt. Both Ezra and Cayson are glaring at the other alpha. Ezra’s arms come around my shoulders protectively, and it comforts me a bit to know they’re on my side. Remembering the presence of the ultima, I try to speak, to say something intelligible, but my words come out garbled, and, to my horror, a single tear slips down my cheek.

“I—I?—”

“That’s alright,” Brock says, holding up a hand, his brow wrinkling, like he doesn’t understand what an omega would have to lose by exploring her mating bond with an alpha. For everyone else, the worst that could happen is that it wouldn’t work out. I’m not that lucky.

I picture the dead, staring eyes of my brother, and the same of the girl we found in the woods. The worst case scenario for me isn’t just that Kurt and I don’t bond, it’s that he grows tired of playing with his food and finally just kills me the same way he’s killed others.

“Perhaps this mating bond is just going to take extra time,” Brock says, putting his hand on Kurt's shoulder. Kurt continues glaring across the table at the three of us, and I place myforehead against Cayson’s chest, not wanting to see Kurt’s icy stare. “Try to be patient, Kurt.”

“Oh, I’m trying,” he says, and when I glance up, I see him smirk at me. “But an alpha can only be patient for so long.”

2

Faye

Cayson’s room does not atallreflect his personality, which is no surprise, since it’s only his room while he is here at The Selection. The decorations are dark and formal, looking like they belong to a much older, much more serious, lord of a castle. It makes me wonder if all the alphas’ rooms in the castle look like this. Fortunately for him, the area that matters most isallCayson.

His closet.

“Cayson,” I say, while rifling through his clothes, “you have more clothes than I do, and that’s including all the clothes the wardrobe ladies have been sewing for me!”

“Well, what can I say?” he drawls from his spot on his bed. “I’m a man of fashion.”

I glance at Cayson as he lays back on the pillows, looking completely comfortable. His sleeves have been rolled up, and he has his hands behind his head, showing off the large muscles in his arms. He’s wearing a dark purple shirt and black slacks, but the buttons are undone halfway down his chest, giving far too much of a show of his delicious chest.

It’s strange to me how he can be so big and strong, and also so unthreatening.

“A man of fashion?” I repeat, then lift a dark shirt with a brilliantly colored peacock on it, showing it to Ezra and Cayson with a questioning glance.

“A man of fashion, or a man with no self-control?” Ezra asks, giving Cayson a look.

Ezra’s sitting at Cayson’s desk, tossing a ball up in the air and catching it over and over again, patiently passing the time while I go through Cayson’s things. Cayson throws a pillow at him, trying to derail his ball-tossing, but Ezra just catches both the pillow and the ball.

That’s the thing about alphas: they’re hard to surprise.

I push past a gray suit and think about the announcement they’d made just after breakfast:Today’s activity is a fashion show, in which omegas dress alphas. Use this exercise as an opportunity to explore your creativity and have fun with your matches and potential mates.

“Gods,” I say, pulling a purple suit with crystals from the closet, “why do you even have this?”

“Oh, I can't believe I brought that,” Cayson says, laughing at the atrocity. “Thatwas for a Halloween party, and it was itchy as hell, and just terrible in every way. We weren’t supposed to dress as anything. The theme wascolor.”

I keep holding it out, a smile spreading over my face.

“What are you thinking?” Cayson asks suspiciously.

I grin at him.

“Get him,” Ezra says, followed by a rich laugh that only makes me smile harder.

---