Free Web NovelChapter 3: Pack Spade
Oril
Nothing is better than waking up to the scent of cinnamon buns. It never fails to get me hard. Walter is lying on my chest, half‑covered by a blanket. The sun peeks through the curtains, brushing over his fluffy curls. His body, still marked by the fruits of last night, makes me smile. I really love this man.
Walter is mine and Augustus’s scent match. We’ve been bonded for five years, though we’ve known each other since kindergarten. The six of us were inseparable all through high school, and when Walter turned eighteen he presented as an Omega. The best part was that Augustus and I were matched to him. We already had feelings for him, so we bonded and formed a pack. Keion was crushed that he wasn’t matched to Walter, but that didn’t stop them from falling in love and bonding with each other. My twin brother Oracle and Torin, our pack leader, haven’t been matched or mated with Walter, but they still see him as family. He is the heart of our pack. He is our Omega.
Buzz. My phone vibrates on the nightstand. Seriously, who is disturbing me this early? I shift carefully so I don’t wake Walter, unplug my phone from the charger, and squint against the brightness as I open the messages.
Of course, it’s Torin going off in the group chat.
Torin: All of you need to get your asses in the office. Emergency meeting.
Every day I think about leaving that chat, the same way Walter did. He said it disturbed his beauty sleep. He made another group with one rule, no business talk.
Keion: Why? What happened now?
Torin: This isn’t a phone conversation.
Me: Should I wake Walter?
Torin: No. It’s better he’s not here for this.
I turn off my phone and kiss Walter’s cheek before slipping out of bed. Something tells me this is going to be a bad day. I close the door quietly, careful not to wake my Omega, and pace down the stairs.
Our pack lives in a sleek double‑story penthouse in the middle of Prone, a city founded by Alphas and home to the Omega Council and the Omega Institution. The penthouse is massive, designed by Walter himself, with one‑way windows overlooking the city. The open‑plan kitchen flows into the living room, all marble cupboards and a long island that looks like the meeting of sea and sand. Sunlight pours in, filling the space with warmth.
"There’s the prince clad in silk," Keion mocks from one of the high chairs opposite the island. He’s a delta in our pack of Alphas, the shortest at six‑foot‑one, with light blue tips in his hair, monolid brown eyes, and muscles that look carved from stone. As usual, he’s shirtless, wearing only boxers, showing off the full eel tattoo that runs the length of his right arm. He shivers slightly as he sips his morning hot chocolate.
"Perhaps I should get you a pair of these silky robes," I say with a tight smile. "Then maybe you’d have something to wear instead of shivering half‑naked." freeweɓnovēl.coɱ
Keion rolls his eyes and takes another sip. I open the fridge, grab an energy drink, and crack it open. The first gulp slithers down my throat, refreshing. Energy drinks hit the spot every time. If they don’t, the brand is trash.
"You’re seriously drinking that in the morning? That can’t be good for your health."
I jump at the sound of my brother’s voice. Oracle is at the end of the island, sorting through a stack of letters. I’ve lived with him my whole life, yet I still can’t get used to his habit of appearing out of nowhere.
Oracle looks exactly like me. We both stand at six‑foot‑three, with crystal blue eyes and lean, athletic bodies packed with muscle. Same gym routine, same short wolf‑cut black hair. Even our parents struggle to tell us apart. Our pack can, though. Keion says it’s because of our personalities. Oracle is closed off, always in the shadows, while I’m outgoing.
"What are you doing?" I ask, watching him sort the letters into six piles.
"Sorting. Our mailbox was flooding over," he says without looking up.
"Aren’t most of those fan letters for Wals?" Keion asks, reaching toward the largest pile—the one obviously meant for Walter.
Of course they are. I’d expect nothing less from one of the leading Omegas in the city’s modeling scene.
"Don’t touch, it’s not yours." Oracle slaps Keion’s hand away.The front door opens, and it doesn’t take Torin long to appear, his dominant musk filling the kitchen. He’s tall and the reason our walls are so high is because he stands at six‑foot‑five. His black eyes are sharp, his muscles defined, his features carved like stone. But today he looks wrecked. His brows are furrowed deeper than usual, his jet‑black hair is a mess, and his suit tie hangs undone. All of it spikes my nerves. This isn’t Torin. He’s supposed to be the one who always has his shit together. Always.
"Yoh, you look like you got hit by a bus," Keion blurts, saying what we’re all thinking.
"I had a meeting with my father this morning. He requested my presence," Torin says, trying to regain composure.
"Ah, that explains it. What did old man Spade want now?"
Torin’s family is difficult. The whole lot of them. He comes from the kind of pack whose money goes back generations, unlike mine, which is more new money. They’re wealthy, powerful, and impossible to deal with, especially his father. The man means well half the time, but his way of showing it is insane. Now that we’re the ones leading the Spade pack, his father has made it his mission to interfere in every decision we make, including who we choose as our Omega.
"Oril, remember when I told you to shut your fuckass mouth about that whole baby thing?" Torin snaps, glaring at me.
Lately Walter has been down. He wants a baby, but it’s not possible for male Omegas to carry children. We’ve tried surrogacy, but it’s nearly impossible for a beta or alpha to carry a child belonging to an Alpha or Omega. Every attempt has failed or ended in miscarriage. Using an Omega surrogate would have been ideal, but it’s illegal. The government says it’s a waste of Omega potential and puts them in danger. So I’ve been working with Torin’s father, who’s desperate for an heir, to find another way.
"I don’t know why you’re bringing this up now, but I have no choice. Walter is depressed as hell, and your father is willing," I say, raising my hands in defense.
"Damn well he is." Torin looks like he’s about to attack me.
"Torin, we’re not mind readers. You need to talk. What happened?" Keion demands, his patience thinning.
"Well—"
"Why are there entrance passes to this year’s annual Omega debutante gala in the mail?" Oracle cuts him off, waving five passes in his hand.
"What?" Keion leaps from his chair and snatches one of the passes. "This one has my name. What the hell is happening? We already have an Omega."
"This is what I was trying to tell you." Torin sighs, pressing his fingers to his furrowed brows. "My father has taken matters into his own hands. He RSVP’d for us. He told me this morning he’s already gotten us another Omega."
"What the fuck? How did he do that? The gala hasn’t even happened!" Keion shouts, confused. ƒreewebɳovel.com
"Keep your voice down. Last thing we need is Walter waking up," I warn, trying to calm him.
"Sorry," Keion mutters, nodding.
"My father has a connection in Alma. Apparently he’s a donor. Alma has promised to give him—well, us—an Omega. But the Omega has to agree to be with us. Alma values consent. Father wants us to make a good impression so she likes us."
"Why would he do this? We already have an Omega," I say, forcing my voice low.
"It’s illegal to use an Omega surrogate, but it’s not illegal to have two Omegas. We’re supposed to take this girl into our pack, give her the status of Omega, have all the kids we want, and then make up some wild excuse to cast her out. His words, not mine." Torin leans against the island, looking defeated.
"That’s messed up. It’s the most evil shit I’ve ever heard. This would ruin the Omega," Oracle says, and the rest of us agree.
"I know. And we won’t do it. We just have to make the girl say no. Remember, Alma’s Omegas are treated like royalty. Alma takes their consent seriously. If she says no, this union will never happen."
A lump forms in my throat. Torin’s right. The girl just has to say no. It can’t be that hard.
"Wait—why are we even going to this damn gala? We can just skip it. Problem solved," Keion says. Torin looks at him like he’s the dumbest person alive.
"My father has already RSVP’d. Our pack is on the public list of packs attending. If we don’t show up, it will be seen as disrespect to the council, the Omega Council, the government, Pack Moon, and every single pack in attendance. Mind you, this event is only for the best and most powerful packs from all over the world. Do you understand now why we have to show up, or should I draw you pictures?" Torin growls, irritation sharpening his voice. He’s always mean when stressed.
Keion scoffs, rolling his eyes, about to say something that would make the situation worse when Oracle speaks instead.
"Fine. We’ll just have the girl reject us. That should be easy. We won’t even try. There are going to be so many exceptional packs from all over the world, even Pack Moon itself. They’re political, probably winning this year’s presidential election. All the attention will be on them, not us. After all, we’re a pack of fuck‑ups with a very public history everyone knows. Keion was a raging alcoholic with public meltdowns. Augustus gambled half our assets away, and now instead of giving away our things, he’s playing badly at his hockey games and raging at spectators when he loses. I don’t even go to his games anymore, it’s embarrassing to be associated with him. My own brother peaked in high school and can’t get over it, trying to start a music career with his strained voice. Do you know how many videos of you singing badly have gone viral? Half the city clowns you, the other half pities the star you were. As for me, I don’t even exist in this pack or in the world, and that’s not by choice. And our head Alpha, Torin, can’t control his pack. He’s never home, always working. Our only saving grace is money and Walter. He’s the only light in the darkness of this pack of failures. So I’m sure the girl won’t pick us."
With that, Oracle leaves the room, leaving us stunned.
"What prompted that?" Keion asks, shocked.
"Not a clue," I mumble. I knew our pack’s condition was bad, but is it really that bad?
"I’ll call our therapist, see if she can take him. He’s clearly going through something," Torin says, just as confused.
"Oh, yeah. Before all of that happened, I wanted to ask, do you know the girl’s name, or are we supposed to guess?" Keion asks.
"It’s Lorali. Apparently she ranks sixth. Father wanted number one—Arabella, or Ara‑something—but the Headmistress values that girl too much."
"So Lorali is the scapegoat," I say. That must be hell.
"Yeah, but it’s not like she can’t say no. I wouldn’t call her a scapegoat. In fact, she’s a favorite. She already has a pack before the gala. That’s an advantage," Torin explains.
"Anyway, I need to go. I have a couple of meetings. This held up my morning. Don’t wait up for me. I won’t be back tonight, tomorrow, or next week. I’ll sleep in the office." Torin pushes off the table.
"Cool," Keion and I say in unison.
I just hope we get rid of this problem before Walter finds out.
