Page 2

Vargas

“Careful, Wilder.” I laughed, walking up on a scene where my bond brother and best friend was bent down talking to the chickens like they were our children instead of egg-makers. “That’s not really living up to our reputation.”

He turned around, one chicken under each arm. That was his way. He treated our animals like his babies. That was why they were so healthy and thriving. “Gods, if we lived up to the whispers and daggers of others, I’d be drinking her blood or something. How was the honey harvest?”

Penn, our other bond mate, had taken most of this season’s honey harvest to town, in glass jars with stickers on them that made sure no one knew where it came from. Otherwise, we wouldn’t make a dime off it.

“It was good. We had tons to sell with enough to stock our pantry as well.”

Wilder nodded and put the chickens down after a good talking to about fighting amongst themselves. I didn’t know if it was the predator in him, but they seemed to listen, which was weird. “That’s good. I’m done with chores. I’ll see you later.”

Wilder kept to himself a lot, but all of us knew where he spent his free time. One of the first things we’d done after we moved into the homestead was to make our future omega a nest. It was built into the room. It was a true nest, as far as we were concerned. A bedroom with an en suite. A giant bed in the middle. I had built the circular frame look like a bird’s nest. We’d had the mattress custom made.

It had stood empty since then, but I was building a dresser for the room.

Not that we had an omega.

Or even a fucking chance in hell of ever courting one.

Not our pack.

“Have fun,” I called and put my hands on my hips, looking out over our garden. The gods had blessed our season so far, and every day there were more things to pick.

I knelt on the ground and began pulling weeds. Snipping yellow crookneck squash from underneath their leaf umbrellas, I let out a breath. If I had my way, Wilder would give up on the pursuit of having an omega as I had years ago. Most packs courted and mated an omega early in life, as in their early twenties.

Then again, they weren’t referred to as the bastard pack.

We were.

I worked in the garden for hours, plucking fresh produce and putting it all into baskets Penn would deal with after he came back from town. He was the brave one in that respect.

Town meant looks of derision and disapproval, and while we all could take it and were used to it, that didn’t mean we volunteered for the meanness. That was why we chose our pack home here in the country, far away from prying eyes and the judgment.

I’d brought all the produce inside when I heard the crunch of truck tires on the gravel driveway. I didn’t have to look through the window to know who it was. Penn was home and would have supplies with him that needed to be carried in.

We met him as he pulled in, but instead of getting to work, he emerged with a stern look on his face. Lines along his forehead. His shoulders tight.

“What happened?” I asked. Immediately, my thoughts went to the people in town, and I wondered if they’d heckled him. Damn it. I should’ve gone with him.

We knew better.

“Did something happen to the honey?” Wilder came from the side of the house. There were wood shavings on his T-shirt, and his collar and back were soaked with sweat.

“Nothing happened to the honey.” Penn let that relief settle before he continued. “I heard something when I was in town. At the store.”

We tried to be as self-reliant as we could, but there were things we couldn’t produce on the farm. Flour. Sugar. Yeast. And I’d be damned if I was making my own pasta. Rice. The basics.

“What did you hear?” Wilder made his way to the back of the truck where he let down the tailgate and threw a few sacks of sugar over his shoulder.

“Put that down. Just listen. Please.”

Whatever Penn had heard in town, it rattled him.

“Go on, then. Don’t keep us in suspense.” I fucking hated suspense. And surprises. Anything that came at me and my life out of left field.

“The Bronson pack has an omega.”

Everyone had heard of the Bronson pack. They were powerful, and their offspring were always alpha, even the females. “The pack or the family?”

“The family. One of the twins. They were raised as alphas, but one of them presented as an omega when she turned eighteen.”

Wilder shook his head. “And they’re selling her? Like a plate lunch?”

Penn nodded. “The people who were talking…made it sound like they are trying to get rid of her.”

“That can’t be all that messed with you. What are you thinking, Penn?”

He nailed me with those intense eyes of his. “We don’t really meet a lot of omegas out here. And most of them don’t want us because…well because of who we are.”

“You want to buy an omega?” Wilder asked.

“I want us to talk about it as a pack.”

We all sighed.

“We need to do more than talk,” I said. “Wilder, can you get on the computer and find out what you can on social media. I’m sure this rumor is hot in the shifter realm. Find out as much as you can. We need all the information before we even entertain this…idea.”

The fact was, we all had the same idea without any of the discussion. Who we were didn’t really have the omegas fighting over who could be ours. We didn’t go to any of the social events intended to show off omegas to potential packs.

What we did have was money. We took care of our assets and saved like the apocalypse was on its way.

It sounded so barbaric, buying a mate, especially a precious omega, but it was the way of shifters around us.

“Good idea. I’ll get on it as soon as we unpack.”

We got everything inside, and Penn helped me process some of the vegetables for canning and dehydrating. We wasted nothing around here.

I cooked dinner while Penn went to his office. Wilder was in there as well.

I couldn’t get too excited. Excitement gave us hope, and hope was not something we’d been able to afford before.