Page 42 of Knotted By my Pack (North Coast Omegaverse #3)

JULIAN

The room is heavy with the scent of Cora’s heat, even though it’s finally broken.

She’s curled against Elias on the worn-out sectional, barely alert, eyes fluttering every so often like her body is still trying to recover from everything we put her through. She looks soft in the aftermath. Wrecked. Safe.

I sit on the edge of the coffee table, elbows on my knees, watching her.

My body still aches, muscles bruised in places I hadn’t even known could bruise, but I don’t care. We did what needed to be done. We were there for her. And for the first time in my life, I’m not thinking about who deserves what or how messy this is going to get.

I just know I want to protect what’s mine. All of her.

She shifts slowly, and her voice is so quiet it sounds like a thought. “I don’t want to pick.”

That pulls both Elias and me from our haze. He lifts his head from where he’s cradling hers and stares at me across the back of the couch, brows drawn low, jaw working.

I sit up straighter. “You don’t have to.”

She blinks at me, then at Elias, then at Noah, who is finishing his second grilled cheese like we haven’t been through some type of war. Her lips part. “I mean it. I’m not choosing. I want all of you.”

Noah freezes mid-bite. Elias curses softly. And something tight in my chest starts to loosen.

We’re quiet for a while after that. No one tries to dissect it or push her into some neat decision.

We just breathe. Let it hang between us. She’s ours. We’re hers. We’ll figure out the rest later.

But later is coming fast.

The town meeting is less than twenty-four hours away, and while her heat had us tangled in sweat and skin and pheromones, the world outside has only gotten more volatile. My father won’t stop. Not until someone makes him.

“We can’t let Lockwood run the show,” Elias says. He’s pulled back into strategy mode faster than I expected, but that’s Elias. Direct. Relentless. “Not after what you told us. The bribe. The cover-up. If he controls the narrative tomorrow, we lose everything.”

I nod. “We need a counter. Not just a response. A candidate.”

Noah puts his plate down, swiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “No one in that room is gonna trust an outsider.”

Elias looks at him. “You’re not an outsider. You’ve lived here your whole life. You own a local business. People trust you.”

“They know you,” I add. “You’re not tied to the Vances. You’ve never played into Lockwood’s games. You’re the only one who can go head-to-head with him and not come off like a plant.”

Noah snorts, but it doesn’t hide how uneasy he is. “You seriously want me to run for mayor?”

“Assistant mayor,” I correct. “You’re the only one who could win,” I add simply.

He leans back, arms crossed, muscles drawn tight under his shirt. “I want to work. Not pass zoning ordinances.”

“You also don’t want Lockwood smiling in your face while selling half the harbor to Vance’s goons,” Elias mutters.

That gets Noah’s attention. His jaw ticks.

Cora sits up then, slow and dazed, but focused. “We don’t have time to dance around this. If I endorse Noah during the meeting, we can shift the conversation.

We make it about progress. About rebuilding. About leadership that actually gives a damn.”

Elias lets out a low whistle. “You sure?”

She nods. “They’re coming to hear about the bakery. Let’s give them something to take home.”

The plan sets itself. We’ll show up united. We’ll let Lockwood dig his own grave. We’ll use the truth as leverage.

Then she’ll stand and say what needs to be said. Clear. Firm. Alpha-level calm, even though she’s an Omega. She’ll do it with all three of us behind her.

The meeting starts early, just past ten. The town hall is packed. Locals crammed into the old auditorium, folding chairs squeaking under shifting weight, coffee being passed around, whispers flying.

Cora walks in first. Every head turns. She’s still pale, recovering, but she wears confidence like it’s stitched into her skin.

Tight black jeans, boots, a crisp navy blouse. Hair swept back. She looks like she belongs in front of a crowd.

I follow behind her. Noah and Elias take either side, flanking her. There’s a quiet ripple through the room as we move toward the front.

The council members see us coming. Lockwood does too.

He stands from the podium, tapping the mic. “Good morning, everyone. Thank you for being here on such short notice. We called this session to address the recent act of vandalism at Whisked.”

Polite nods. Murmurs of concern.

“But,” Lockwood continues, “there’s been a new development. The individuals responsible have been caught. Local law enforcement apprehended the group late last night. They’re here, in custody.”

He motions toward the side door. A deputy brings in four young men in handcuffs. Betas. One is barely twenty, twitchy and pale. Another stares straight ahead, chewing his lip. They’re all bruised. Tired. Scared.

What the hell?

Lockwood adjusts his tie. “As it turns out, this was not a random act of protest. These individuals were paid. Hired by an outside party to send a message.”

He pauses. And then, like he’s doing us all a favor, he turns to the youngest in the group. “Would you care to tell the town who paid you?”

The Beta stands, reluctant. His voice is cracked from hours without water. “It was Vance Development.”

The room erupts. Gasps. Shouts. Swearing. Some people stand. One woman near the front clutches her purse like it’s a shield.

Cora stays perfectly still.

I step closer to her. Elias and Noah tense on either side. This isn’t just politics anymore. It’s exposure. It’s blood in the water. Why is he doing this now?

Lockwood holds up his hands like a man begging for order, though he’s not fooling anyone. “We will conduct a full investigation into these claims, and if there is any merit—”

Cora’s voice cuts him off. “There’s merit.”

Silence.

She steps forward, eyes burning. “My bakery was targeted. My storefront was destroyed. I was terrified. And I have reason to believe that this was not only sanctioned by corporate interests, but actively covered up by this office.”

Lockwood turns red.

“I’m not here to cause more chaos,” she continues. “I’m here to fix it. This town needs leadership that isn’t bought. That won’t sell off our harbor or destroy small businesses to line their pockets.”

She gestures to Noah.

“I am endorsing Noah Callahan as a candidate for assistant mayor. He’s one of us. He’s stood in this town every day and fought for it. Now we fight for him.”

The crowd shifts. Eyes widen. Someone claps. Then someone else. A few stand. Lockwood tries to speak, but the mic cuts out. It’s chaos in the best way.

Real change, right in front of us. He takes a few steps back, motioning at his guards, before leaving. The prisoners are removed shortly after.

Cora turns, face blank with adrenaline and exhaustion. We surround her immediately, creating a wall. It’s instinct now. Pack behavior.

The applause is short-lived.

“You expect us to believe this wasn’t orchestrated?” someone shouts from the middle of the crowd.

Another voice follows. “This smells like damage control.”

The energy shifts fast, suspicion rolling through the room like a storm front. Eyes swing to me. Not Cora. Not Noah. Me.

An older woman in the front row lifts her chin. “Isn’t that Alec Vance’s son? The one behind the harbor resort? The one who’s been sitting on millions while our fishermen drown in bills?”

Murmurs of agreement. Accusation. Bitter heat rushes under my skin.

“I’m not a part of that anymore,” I say, loud enough to carry. “I’ve cut ties with my father’s business.”

“Convenient timing,” a man near the back mutters. “So what, you vandalize the bakery, buy your way back in with a few sweet words and a mayoral endorsement?”

“I didn’t vandalize anything.”

“You funded it,” someone else spits. “Your name’s on the damn permits.”

“I pulled the permits!” My voice cuts across the noise, sharp, raw. “I pulled them. I stopped everything. The resort deal, the expansion, all of it.”

There’s a ripple. Doubt. But louder than that: disbelief.

“They’re still building,” Fiona says. Her voice is crisp and brutal from where she stands halfway down the aisle, arms crossed over her cherry-red windbreaker.

“Don’t act surprised, Julian. I was at the bluff yesterday.

Backhoes. Concrete. Fencing. And not a single sign that construction was paused.

So either you’re lying to us, or they didn’t listen to you at all. ”

That hits like a blow to the gut.

I blink. Shake my head. “That’s not possible. I made the call myself. I was explicit.”

“Then you’ve lost control,” she says, calm and merciless.

It’s quiet again, too quiet. All those eyes. All that weight.

Elias shifts beside me. “He’s telling the truth.”

“He left that family business. Gutted his trust account for it,” Noah adds, voice cold and even. “You want proof? You’re looking at it. He could’ve run. Instead, he stayed and helped us protect Cora.”

Cora steps forward. The crowd goes still.

“I trust him,” she says simply. “I’ve seen him bleed for this place. For me. For us. He’s not perfect, but he’s trying. If we can’t make room for redemption, then what are we even doing here?”

And then—God—she turns to face the room fully and says the words I never thought I’d hear outside the privacy of four walls and desperate breaths.

“They’re my pack,” she says. “Julian. Elias. Noah. All three of them. And if you cannot trust Julian, then I beg you to trust me. Trust Noah.”

The room is dead quiet.

Some jaws drop. Some eyes narrow. A few older Alphas mutter under their breath, scandal whispered like gospel.

But no one can unhear it.

And me? I can’t breathe. My chest pulls tight, too full. Because they’re standing with me. All three of them. Not just when it’s easy. Not when it’s hidden. But now, when it costs something.

When it matters.

My voice is hoarse when I speak again. “If construction’s still going, then I’ll stop it. Personally. I swear to you—this ends now. No more lies. No more Lockwood control. I’ll make this right.”

Some people nod. Some don’t. But they’re listening again.

The moment ends when the mic crackles and one of the council members calls for recess. The crowd starts to dissolve, buzzing with shock and speculation and something dangerously close to hope.

Cora’s hand slips into mine, grounding me. Elias lays a hand on my shoulder. Noah lingers close, jaw tight.

“I need to make a call,” I say quietly.

They nod.

I step outside into the muggy morning air and dial my father’s private line. It rings once.

He answers on the second. “I was wondering when you’d show your spine.”

“I’m pulling out of the resort,” I say. “Completely. Publicly. The permits. The land. My name. It’s done.”

A pause. Then a short, disbelieving laugh. “Too late, son. Damien’s already replaced you. Signed off this morning. You made your choice. So did I.”

“I’ll go public,” I snap. “I’ll blow the whole thing up.”

“Feel free,” he says, voice clipped. “But no one’s going to care. You’re not the heir anymore. You’re just a footnote. Enjoy obscurity.”

The line goes dead.

I stare at the phone.

Gone. Just like that.

But I don’t feel gutted. I feel free.

I turn around. They’re waiting for me at the bottom of the courthouse steps—Cora, Elias, and Noah. My pack.

They don’t ask what happened. They don’t need to.

Cora slides her fingers between mine and squeezes.

Noah grunts, “Told you he’d be a dick.”

Elias raises an eyebrow. “Now we really need a PR plan.”

And me? I just exhale.

Because I’ve lost a father.

But I’ve found something better… a family.