Page 3 of How to Lose a Pack in 10 Dates

Aimee

I arrive at the overpriced brunch place early on Friday, scanning the room and preparing for what might end up being a hostage situation.

Two exits. Three windows. One umbrella stand I could weaponize if needed.

I was going to look good today, just to rub it in Wes’s alpha-hole face.

I picked out a killer outfit last night—a silk camisole and high-waisted trousers that screamed effortless omega allure—but then I leaned over to re-tie my laces twenty minutes ago and split the back seam clean open.

As a result, I’ve triple-sprayed scent blocker everywhere and ended up wearing what might just be the ugliest gray sweater that I own.

Perfect .

The door opens and I glance up, already braced for disaster and humiliation.

And then he walks in, dressed like death in designer form.

He’s head-to-toe in black with that unmistakable sharp jawline and those dark curls pushed back from his face. He’s broader than I remember. Bigger. If I didn’t know him, I’d think he looked hot; but unfortunately I do know him, so all I see is danger. And rage.

And a very expensive car I definitely did not slash the tires on. ( Allegedly .)

He spots me instantly and walks over. He doesn’t smile, or nod;in fact, he doesn’t even glance at the barista who stares at him the whole way through. He reaches the table and drops into the seat across from me with a heavy sigh.

“Erm, hi ?” I frown at him. “Hello? Social skills? Sound it out.”

Also—where the hell is the rest of his pack? There’s no Cam, or Jace: just Wes. Alone. Grim, growly, and still annoyingly good-looking in that whole my-therapist-gave-up kind of way.

He exhales through his nose. “Let’s not pretend this is a pleasant surprise for either of us.”

Ok- ay . So that’s the tone we’re setting.

“Wow,” I say, sitting back. “Starting strong. Did you practice that in the mirror, or does it come naturally with the superiority complex?”

He doesn’t react. Four years have passed since the last time we were this close, and he still has that same unreadable expression.

Those same deep blue eyes that once used to look at me like I was oxygen and sin rolled into one, now barely flicker.

The worst part isn’t that I’m already annoyed: it’s that I’m disappointed .

Some tiny, delusional part of me actually thought there was a chance he might smile.

That maybe— just maybe —he’d be glad to see me.

That he’d be excited. That he’d remember what it felt like the last time we were this close.

That he’d say something , anything, that didn’t sound like a cease-and-desist.

That part of me is now being buried in an unmarked grave.

“You matched with my pack,” he says, low and flat. “Seriously, Aimee?”

“Oh, sorry—did I forget to tick the box that says avoid emotionally constipated exes who ghosted me after scent-marking my throat ?” I roll my eyes. “I didn’t do it on purpose. Trust me, you’re the last person I wanted to be matched to, never mind your full pack.”

He doesn't so much as twitch.

“Cam’s excited about this. So is Jace,” he says, sounding almost bored . “I already told them it’s a bad idea. They didn’t listen.”

My smile wobbles, just a little. “So where are they?”

“I came alone.”

“Right. I can see that,” I roll my eyes. “What, did Cam finally realize you’re the worst possible spokesperson and decide to let you tank this one solo?”

He folds his arms across that unfairly broad chest as he levels me with a look. The one that always came right before he said something awful, or kissed me like he couldn’t stop.

“ No .” He leans forward, and my traitorous instincts twitch. “I’m here to deal with you myself.”

My mouth opens, then closes. “ Wow . Okay, terrifying lone wolf with a martyr complex. You’re sure the rest of your pack didn’t stage an intervention and send you as tribute?”

He doesn’t rise to the bait. “They’re giving you a chance, and I’m telling you not to take it.”

My jaw makes a cracking sound from how hard I clench it. “You’re telling me not to?”

“ Exactly . This is a warning,” he says coolly. “You and I? We’re done . And I’m not letting you drag my pack into… whatever this is.”

Okay: who the fuck does he think he is?

He hasn’t seen me in four years— four years —and now he’s here with that same judgmental face and unjustified alpha arrogance, talking about ‘ telling me’ and ‘ letting me’ as though he has any right or say in anything I do.

I bite back the heat rising in my throat. “Whatever what is?”

“This whole performance,” he gestures vaguely at me. “The drama. The chaos. You know; the part where you keyed my car and paid a gardener to mow the word asshole into my front lawn.”

“That was a very well-executed mow,” I mutter.

He doesn’t even blink. “You glitter-bombed my steering wheel.”

“It was festive. And eco-friendly.”

“You superglued a scented candle into my mailbox.”

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic. You loved that scent.”

His expression turns dark as he sighs through his nostrils. “Cam doesn’t need to get caught in your emotional fallout.”

I bristle. “Cam is a grown man . If he wants to get to know me, that’s his choice.”

“This isn’t about dating, and we both know it,” Wes snaps. “You don’t date. You detonate .”

My spine straightens. “That’s rich, coming from the alpha who went into ghost-mode after scenting me all through my heat.”

I can hear the grind of enamel as his jaw tenses. “It. Wasn’t. Working.”

“Yeah?” I sneer. “Well, if that’s really how you felt, you never told me.”

“I didn’t owe you a bond,” he scoffs. “We weren’t that serious.”

Something cracks, and I laugh—loud and sharp and not even close to okay.

A few people glance over. Whatever. Let them.

Let the whole damn place watch the implosion.

“ Not that serious ?” I spit. “Wes, you nearly claimed me.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Oh, it mattered. You told me I smelled like home. ”

He exhales as though I’m the one who’s exhausting. “I’m not here to rehash it,” he mutters.

“Right,” I say, folding my arms and trying not to flinch as his gaze drops briefly to the curve of my throat. “You’re just here to give me orders. So very alpha of you.”

His nostrils flare. He’s scenting, hard. Not that he’ll get anything through the blockers I’m wearing along with the spray, but the way his jaw tenses tells me he’s trying.

Trying and failing and furious about it.

“I’m telling you to walk away,” he continues, his teeth clenched. “You’re not right for this.”

I stare at him. And I mean really stare—at the way his hands are fisted under the table, at the rigid tension in his shoulders, at the way his pupils have started to dilate just from sitting across from me.

It’d be flattering if it wasn’t infuriating. Even just slightly better if it didn’t make my thighs clench.

“Let me get this straight,” I say. “You ghost me after scent-marking me so thoroughly I needed two showers and a salt scrub to be able to be seen in public. I retaliate like any self-respecting omega with rage issues and access to the internet. And now you think you get to play gatekeeper and tell me what to do?”

His eyes lock on mine. “Yes.”

“Absolutely not.”

I smile slowly, sweet as poison.

“I didn’t ask to be matched with your emotionally constipated little alpha trio, but I’m not going to sit here and listen while you try to tell me who I can and can’t date.”

His jaw tightens. “You don’t know what you’re getting into.”

“Oh, I know exactly what I’m getting into,” I say, leaning over the table until we’re practically sharing breath, close enough to see the vein in his neck twitch.

“If I want to go on ten disastrous dates with ten scent-drunk alphas, I will . If I want to make your sweet little packmates fall in love with me using nothing but eye contact and unhealed trauma, I will .”

Wes’s nostrils flare.

“And if I decide I want to fall into bed and bond with your little brother ?” I add, sugar-sweet. “Then. I. Will.”

His chair creaks with tension, and his large hands curl into fists on the table.

He looks like he might flip it. Or me.

God, he’s so alpha, and I hate that it still works on me.

“You wouldn’t touch Cam,” he says through gritted teeth.

“Wouldn’t I?” I raise an eyebrow, taunting him now. “He’s adorable . I remember him, you know. He’s the kind of alpha who’d ask how you’re feeling and go down on you without making it a big thing. Honestly, he’s dangerously close to becoming my favorite already.”

“Aimee—”

“Jace is pretty hot, too,” I continue. “And alphas like that? They love a challenge.”

Wes growls. It's a low, involuntary sound that comes from somewhere deep and primal in his chest. It vibrates right through me and settles in the lowest part of my body, and I blink, stunned at myself.

“Did you just growl at me?”

He doesn’t try to deny it, or explain it away. “If you think I’m letting you anywhere near him—”

“You’re not in charge of me, Wes.”

“I’m not letting you bond with him.”

I almost laugh. He seriously thinks I want a bond ? I can barely commit to a plant, no thanks to him. Bonding with anyone is at the very bottom of my to-do list.

Still:

“Oh, don’t flatter yourself,” I say sweetly. “You don’t let me do anything. I do what I want, Wes. Always have, always will.”

The silence between us crackles. His eyes drop to my mouth for a beat too long, and I catch the exact second instinct wins.

I can practically feel my scent trying to pull at him, even through the blockers.

I’d bet good money on the fact that if I took off my scent patches right now, he’d lose whatever self-control he’s barely clinging to.

“You’re not serious about this,” he says, voice rough as gravel.

I smirk. “Guess we’ll find out together.”

The server appears with water and menus, poor thing. She freezes halfway through her sentence, taking in the tension and eyeing us with the kind of concern you'd expect to see from someone who'd stumbled upon a live mating ritual.

“Will anyone else be joining you?” she asks, eyes flicking to Wes. I have a feeling that she’s still deciding whether to flirt or flee.

“No,” he says, standing so abruptly his chair screeches. “I’m leaving, actually. This was a one-time thing.”

I raise an eyebrow, determined to torment him even more before he scurries away.

“ Huh . That’s weird, because Cam actually invited me to the pack house tomorrow. I was hoping to talk to him about it here, but... guess I’ll save it for cocktails and emotional intimacy night.”

Wes freezes, then practically vibrates with rage.

“Cam doesn’t understand what you’re capable of,” he snaps. “And Jace—he’s a walking erection with no survival instincts, so of course he’s all in.”

I gasp. “Wow. Jealousy and implied slut-shaming? You really know how to make a girl feel wanted, Wesley.”

“Get real,” he growls. “I told them both that you are a terrible idea.”

“What a glowing endorsement,” I roll my eyes. “Keep talking dirty like that, and I’ll think you missed me.”

He slams his hands flat on the table and leans close. His presence hits hard, all heat and dominance and the same scent that once made me forget every coherent thought I ever had.

“I’m not here to endorse you, Aimee,” he says slowly, his voice dark and unraveling. “And I’m not here to play games. I’m here to make sure my brother doesn’t get hurt. He’s not like me.”

“I know,” I reply sweetly, batting my lashes just to really piss him off. “That’s why I like him.”

His jaw locks, and something dangerous flashes in his eyes.

“I don’t know what sick little plan you’re cooking up, but I know you , and I don’t trust you,” he says. “You want chaos. You want control. You want to get under people’s skin until they snap.”

“Funny,” I hum, tilting my head. “That’s exactly what you’ve been trying to do since you walked in here.”

He looms impossibly closer, his huge arms braced on either side of the table, caging me in. His eyes drop to my neck, and the way his pupils blow wide makes my pulse kick in warning.

I can sense it: the way he wants to pounce, to take, to bite . His scent is wild and uncontrolled as it blooms around me, and I know it’s twisted, but it feels good knowing that I still get to him, that I can twist him up with a few words and a wicked little smile.

“If you think you’re going to waltz in, screw with my pack, and walk away clean, then you can think again.”

I raise my glass of water in mock-toast. “Cheers, then. To the walk-in, the screw-up, and the very dramatic exit.”

His growl deepens, vibrating through the table along with my body.

“If you go through with this,” he grits out, “whatever fallout happens—don’t expect me to protect you. I’ll bring you down myself before I let you drag them through your mess.”

I press my lips together to stop from grinning. It barely works.

“God, I missed your romantic side,” I sigh.

He’s still glaring at me like he’s deciding whether to storm out or drag me out by my throat. My scent blockers are working overtime, but they can’t stop the weight of history between us—the pull of it, the hunger, the bond he chose to ignore.

“Are you done?” I ask lightly, because I think we both know how I've won this round.

His deep blue eyes linger on my mouth before he straightens, stiff and furious and looking very much like he's barely holding it together. He doesn't bother to answer me as he turns around and stalks away, all clenched jaw and rigid shoulders, every inch of him radiating alpha displeasure.

“See you tomorrow!” I call after him.

I sip my water and smile to myself.

He didn’t even stay long enough to order a coffee, never mind anything to eat. Didn’t even sit down again after standing.

Total. Victory.