Page 11

11

F aye

The men atop the horses are rough around the edges, their hair not in the current styles, but instead grown out longer, loose around their shoulders. I’ve never seen a feral before in real life, only heard about them from my brother. For some reason, the sight of them makes me feel strange. I can’t seem to stop my eyes from darting around, taking it all in at once—how they’re shirtless, how their chests are covered in tattoos, how their hands are big and callused and clearly very capable.

“They make them come in riding like this,” Addilyn whispers in my ear. “Because it’s traditional. Because this is how ferals used to look, even though only some groups live… so differently now.”

It’s weird. I have trouble picturing these men dressed up in suits, their hair carefully cut, but I’ve also dealt with the council myself. They’re traditional to a fault, so I believe Addilyn.

My eyes lock with one man in particular, and I feel that same clicking, focusing, the tug in my chest like inevitability when I look at him. He has long black hair and strong, unwavering blue eyes, bright and intelligent, which contrast with his overall rough appearance. Even from this brief glance, he seems like the epitome of don’t judge a book by its cover . There’s just something deeper there that begs to be uncovered.

When I realize we’re staring at each other, I tell myself to turn away from him, but I don’t. His eyes flare possessively, and I finally manage to look away, not wanting to seem like I felt it too, whatever it might be. Only, I meet another feral’s eyes, my gaze snapping onto his like a force of magic. That same tugging feeling radiates through my chest, and uncertainty fills me. I search for that wall around my heart and soul that usually keeps me from connecting with others too deeply, but find it decimated.

Damn Cayson and Ezra.

This feral has long, auburn hair, which is braided in some places and loose in others. His beard is the same color, but a shade darker, and his tattoos line up and down his chest, locking into each other. When he winks at me, I realize I’ve been staring for far too long.

Shit, shit, shit . I look to the ground, not wanting to risk another meaningful moment of eye contact with a single other male in the area. Is it because of last night? Because I had sex? Am I suddenly aroused by every man who gets near me? And why do I feel the same strange connection I feel with Ezra and Cayson with them, when they’re complete strangers? Maybe it is normal after sex. After opening yourself back to the world.

Except, I didn’t feel this way about the other alphas or ferals. It’s unsettling.

I feel Ezra and Cayson looking at me curiously, and decide that it’s just safest to keep my gaze trained on the ground. There’s something different inside of me, something that was closed before. And it feels like the two of them have opened it. I just don’t know if I’m happy about the way they’ve changed me.

“You.”

My gaze jerks up. It was the man with the black hair who spoke, his deep voice washing over everyone, and he’s pointing right at me, his eyes intense, focused. All consuming.

I feel myself shrinking into myself. My heart is beating so loudly that it fills my ears. Why is he pointing at me? What does he want?

He speaks again, his voice loud, his tone aggressive. “You are my mate,” he says.

I shrink back, away from him, and Ezra wraps an arm around me. My mind chants over and over that this can’t be happening. I’m supposed to have no mates. I already have three. One who I don’t want. Two who don’t want me. What the hell am I supposed to do with another man?

“I claim her as well!” the man with the auburn hair says, dismounting from his horse.

When the man with black hair sees that, he dismounts too, and the two of them push through the crowd, making their way straight toward me. They radiate absolute confidence, like now that they’ve claimed me, it’s done. I’m theirs.

Which isn’t right… right?

“Slow down there, buddy,” Cayson says, that joking but threatening tone sharp enough to slice through a man. He steps further in front of me, crossing his arms as the two ferals come to a stop. “That’s my Jelly Bean you’re talking about.”

“Jelly Bean?” the man with the black hair asks, wrinkling his brow.

“My woman,” Cayson clarifies.

“ Our woman,” Ezra says, coming to stand at Cayson’s side. “And you may want to slow down before claiming anyone.”

The two men exchange a look, but they don’t look deterred as I stare at them between Cayson and Ezra’s shoulders. If anything, they look like they’re putting the pieces of a puzzle together.

“Well, she’s soon to be our Jelly Bean,” the feral with the auburn hair says, squaring his shoulders as he stares Cayson up and down, as if assessing just how hard they’d be to take down.

I start to feel hot, flustered, my brain turning to mush, the sound of running water too, too loud in my ears. They can’t be claiming me. They can’t be. All because of a look. A feeling. I don’t believe it.

When he tries to step past Ezra, Ezra holds his hands up, and there’s something strangely threatening about the gesture. Tension sings between the four men, and I wonder if this is about to turn into a fight.

“Give her some room,” Ezra says, his voice low but strong. “Faye can get overwhelmed easily.”

“We won’t overwhelm her,” the feral with the dark hair says, “She’s ours to take care of.”

There’s a tick in Cayson’s jaw. “Maybe just go take a walk inside. Get a snack. Take a break.”

“We want her,” the feral with the dark hair and incredible blue eyes says.

I put a hand on Ezra’s back to try and steady myself, but my knees are feeling weak. Two more men are claiming me? No. No. This can’t be happening. I have my cabin. I have my quiet woods. My plan was perfect. All I had to do was get out of here without a mate.

When both ferals move at the same time, trying to rush towards me, Ezra jolts forward to stop them, and I sway, feeling faint, only to be caught by a large hand, which sends a jolt through me. A jolt of power unlike anything I’ve ever felt before.

It’s Brock. The ultima. Touching me. His power is too much to be near. His presence is the last thing I want right now.

I might just throw up.

“Don’t stop us from reaching our mate,” the auburn-haired feral says, his gaze blazing with anger.

“She’s not yours,” Ezra snaps back at him.

“Don’t tell us who our mate is,” the feral argues back, breathing hard, fists clenched.

Ezra, Cayson, and the two ferals are suddenly shouting at one another, shoving and cursing and generally getting ready to fight. Muscles are tense. The air sizzles with testosterone. And I’m just standing there, trying not to faint.

“Stop,” Brock says, and they immediately halt what they’re doing, turning to him and lowering their heads in deference. “There is a process to this,” he says, finally releasing me when he realizes I can stand on my own. “Feral or not, you are to follow our directives. Is that clear?”

“Crystal,” the auburn-haired one says, while the one with black hair just grunts his agreement.

Brock draws himself up taller. “The rules of The Selection are clear. Alphas and ferals are encouraged to take their time claiming their omegas, because declaring an omega is as good as making her your mate. That is why we give a long Selection period, so alphas, ferals, and omegas can get to know each other. So males can be absolutely sure before claiming an omega. But after a claiming, the only way a bond will not work is if all the males claiming the omega cannot bond themselves, which is why even after you claim a mate, you will remain here until the end of The Selection. So, are you certain you want to claim this omega within moments of meeting her? Are you that certain that she’s your fated mate?”

“Yes,” the dark-haired feral says without hesitation.

The one with auburn hair looks at me and smiles. “Absolutely.”

Brock sighs, then continues, “Then we should go on to the next important part about males interacting with females here. Omegas are the most delicate of us. Easily frightened. Weak constitutions. We are to cherish and protect them, as they are the backbone of the family—our means to continue our bloodlines successfully. If you don’t honor them, you’ll be removed from this Selection. Understood?”

All of them, including Cayson and Ezra, mumble their agreement, and I can’t help but wonder where this attitude was from the ultimas when I had bruises from Kurt’s hands around my neck. If only he had come after me in broad daylight, like the ferals, but Kurt is far too clever to do something like that.

The four men’s gazes are swinging from Brock to me, like no matter what Brock is saying their goal is to still get to me, or to keep the two men from me. Brock might be able to command them into obeying him, but it’s clear the problem isn’t really solved.

Brock continues, “This omega may be your mate, but she is to be handled like a person, and not as an object. Do you understand.”

There’s something in the air. A warning or a threat, I’m not sure.

“ Oye ,” the auburn-haired one says. “We’re feral, not deaf, man.”

The entire field goes silent as everyone waits to see what Brock might do to someone who dares to speak to him that way—and especially a feral. After a tense moment, Brock just lets out a low chuckle, which makes a few others let out stress laughs.

“Now, all of you, including the omega, come with me.”