Page 37 of Storm
"I'm working on it," Jonathan replies.
"Not good enough." The first father's voice cracks like a whip. "Where is your brother? Why isn't Alexander here handling this with you?"
Jonathan's expression doesn't change, but I notice Reed shift slightly, almost faintly. There's a flash of something in Jonathan's eyes—concern? Fear? It's gone so quickly I can't be sure. "He's indisposed."
"For four months now?" The second father raises an eyebrow. "The public is starting to notice his absence, Jonathan. That, combined with this omega lottery fiasco, it’s raising questions we don't need."
"And where is your pack beta?" demands the first father, slamming his hand down on the marble countertop. "A proper pack has a beta to tend to the omega's needs. The press will expect to see a complete pack structure if you expect this claim to be taken seriously."
I lean forward a little too far, and the door creaks. Five pairs of eyes snap toward the sound, and I freeze like a deer in headlights.
"Come out," the third father commands, his voice deceptively soft but layered with alpha authority that makes my skin crawl.
Ah, fuck.
I consider retreating into my room, but that would only delay the inevitable. Better to face this head-on. I push the door open fully and step into the hallway, lifting my chin in defiance despite the anxiety churning in my stomach.
"Well," the first father says, his cold eyes assessing me from head to toe with blatant disapproval. "So this is the beta-born causing all the trouble."
I bristle at his tone but say nothing as I walk forward into the living room. The collective scent of all these alphas is overwhelming. My omega instincts scream at me to submit, to lower my eyes, to shrink into myself. A traitorous shiver runs through my body, my dark chocolate scent spiking with involuntary notes of submission that I hate myself for producing.
I tell those instincts to fuck off and meet each gaze directly, though it takes every ounce of willpower I possess.
"You didn't tell us she was anuntrainedbeta-born," the second father says, his lip curling as he turns to Jonathan. His tone makes ‘beta-born’ sound like a contagious disease.
Jonathan’s eyes flick to me briefly before returning to his father. For a fraction of a second, our gazes meet, and I catch something unexpected—a warning, but not a threat. Almost like he's trying to tell me something.
"Everything about this omega is relevant now," snaps the first father. "With her status as your claimed omega, she's tied to the Kingsley name. Every detail will be scrutinized."
They're talking about me like I'm not even here. Like I'm a piece of furniture they're arguing over. The familiar rage bubbles up inside me, the same fury that's kept me fighting for four years. My hands clench into fists at my sides, my nails digging painfully into my palms.
"Excuse me," I interrupt, my voice sharper than intended. "I'm standing right here."
The room goes silent, all eyes turning to me with varying degrees of shock and displeasure. Reed's expression clearly saysshut upwhile Jonathan's has gone carefully, dangerously blank. My chest tightens, a cold weight settling in my stomach as I realize I might have just made a terrible mistake.
"It speaks," the second father says.
"It has opinions," I shoot back, folding my arms across my chest. "And it has a name. Storm. Not 'this omega' or 'beta-born.' And while we're introducing ourselves, who exactly are you three?"
The temperature in the room seems to drop several degrees. Jonathan's fathers stare at me like I've grown a second head. Reed closes his eyes briefly, as if waiting for the explosion. I feel sweat breaking out across my skin, my body understanding the danger my mind is too stubborn to acknowledge.
"This must be a mistake," I continue, unable to stop now that I've started. "I don't belong here. I didn't want to be claimed by your son. There's been a misunderstanding that?—"
"Silence." The word cuts through the air like a knife, uttered by the third father, the one who's been watching me with a calculated assessment. His voice doesn't rise, yet it has the effect of a shout. "It is not your place to speak when an alpha is talking." His cold gaze shifts to Jonathan. "Teach her that."
Jonathan's eyes meet mine, something unreadable flickering in their depths. For a moment, I think he might actually try to use his alpha bark on me, might try to force my submission right here in front of his fathers. My chest tightens, breath catching in my throat as I prepare for the weight of the command.
"Storm," he says instead, his voice firm but not unkind, "go back to your room. Now."
I open my mouth to argue—I'm not a child to be sent to her room—but something in his expression stops me. It's not anger, not exactly. It almost looks like... concern? A silent plea to not make this worse?
Before I can decide how to respond, the first father speaks again. "This is what we're dealing with? An untrained, disrespectful, beta-born omega who doesn't know her place?" He turns to Jonathan, dismissing me entirely. "She needs to be brought to heel immediately. The public expects a certain standard from a Kingsley omega."
"I am not—" I begin, but Reed steps forward, cutting me off.
"Storm," he growls, "go."
I glare at him, at all of them, fury burning in my chest. But I'm not stupid. This is five against one and I won’t win. I can’t even win against one. Fighting now won't help me, won't help Rook, won't get me any closer to freedom.
