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Chapter One

“ O h please, you’re just here to check out their butts,” Mari jokes with a cheeky grin, tossing a strand of her pink-tipped hair over her shoulder.

“If they didn’t want me looking, they wouldn’t wear such tight pants,” Emma agrees with a wink.

“Hush. One of those butts belongs to my brother,” I laugh as we make our way through the throngs of people buying snacks before the baseball game. A sea of navy-blue and gray-clad fans hustle about, carrying loads of food and every type of memorabilia imaginable. Children scurry after their parents, waving foam fingers and shaking bobbleheads. It’s pure mayhem, and I love it. My heart does a happy little shuffle while I sniff the air, trying to catch even the faintest whiff of all my favorites, but sadly, nothing. Sigh.

The big gray entrance for our seating section looms ahead, and I grab my girls’ hands, weaving confidently through the crowd until we reach the usher.

The familiar older beta frowns when his eyes flick between me, Mari, and Emma. Since my big brother and his pack play for the team, I’m here frequently—sometimes with friends, sometimes with my family.

“Perhaps we could strive for some decorum today, ladies?” My face flushes bright red at the implication. Yes, occasionally we get a little excited. But this stadium is my home turf. Before my brother played here, my dad was a hall-of-fame pitcher for the Feral Feckers. I practically grew up here, and although, as co-owner, my dad has a luxury box, my parent’s original season seats behind the dugout are my favorite place to be. There’s nothing like the roar of the crowd and the sun on your face. Real baseball happens here.

He steps aside, tracking us with a glower— insufferable old twit. My lips tug down, and I frown right back and narrow my eyes with a huff.

Refusing to give him another moment of my time, I turn and saunter toward our cushy seats.

The team is already out on the lush green field, practicing. A shaft of sunlight peeks through the cloud cover to illuminate home plate, drawing my eyes to the thick thighs of the catcher. He stretches on the dirt, squatting up and down rhythmically. His powerful legs clench with every movement, and my heart pounds. Vivid images of him under me flit through my mind, and slick trickles from my core. Heat flushes my skin.

“Earth to Posie,” Mari cackles, grabbing my hand and pulling me into my seat. “Like something you see?”

“More like someone ,” Emma replies, wiggling her brows. She scoots in behind me, dumping her enormous tote bag on the ground. “But the question remains: Who has caught our fair omegas eye?”

My beautiful beta bestie flicks a long strand of curly black hair over her shoulder, making a show of bringing a purple-polished nail to her lips. She taps three times as though deep in thought as her eyes peruse the veritable hottie buffet stretching for our viewing pleasure on the field.

“Hummmm, well, it can’t be any of the fine man-meat of Pack Moore,” she teases as I gag at the thought. The younger Pack Moore consists of my brother, Owen, and three of his closest friends. Owen, Damien, and Crimson all play for the team. Their final pack member, Niko, is an infamous sneaker designer with no appreciation for baseball. Go figure.

“Please never say man-meat again.” I make a pretend retching sound, which has her rolling her eyes, but they quickly return to scanning the players. They flit from uniform to uniform, getting ever closer to the object of my desire. The stadium squeezes in on me. My heart pounds. Emma always knows when I’m lying. But this is a truth I’m not ready to face. Time to divert her attention.

But how?

Sensing my growing anxiety, Mari leans around me, poking Emma in the ribs. Her messy pink locks tumble across her face, but she brushes them back carefully, ensuring that her crescent birthmark remains hidden. Mari hasn’t perfumed yet, so for now, she’s an omega potential—but that doesn’t stop people from assuming. “Snacks?” she asks, pointing toward the man carrying a tray down the stairs.

At the mention of food, Emma whirls around, and her hands immediately drop to her stomach. The woman eats like an Alpha, always starving. If I didn’t love her so much, I would hate her for being able to gobble down all the goodies and still look like a runway model.

“Wieners. Get your wieners here,” the man shouts, walking our way. As he gets closer, a fit of immature giggles bubbles in my throat. Our eyes meet, and all three of us crack up. It’s like we’ve been smacked by the silly stick. As college seniors, we should all be well past the juvenile ‘dick jokes are funny’ stage, but clearly we aren’t. The laughter rolls through us all, building until tears leak from my eyes and I pitch forward, trying to catch my breath.

My long brown braid swings forward along my shoulders, allowing the crescent on the nape of my neck to see the light of day. As soon as it appears, the sensation of eyes from behind makes me snap back up. A shiver works through me, and I cover the mark before peering around. No one seems to be staring, but the feeling remains.

Being an omega isn’t something I advertise. I love my designation, but the idea of dating is too overwhelming. Vulnerable. And I hate being vulnerable.

“Definitely don’t want that guy’s hot dog ,” Emma jokes with a lusty sigh. She wiggles her eyebrows, turning back toward the team on the field. “I think we all want something sweeter. ”

“Oh, I brought loads of candy.” I reach for my bag, purposely ignoring her innuendo as I haul it onto my lap and begin pulling out gummy candies, trail mix, and enough sweets to put us all in a sugar coma.

“Damn, Posie. Did you clear out the entire store?” Mari teases, reaching out to grab a handful of licorice bits and tossing them into her mouth.

The girls needle me gently, but there’s love entwined in it. We settle in, ready to relax and giggle our way through the game. My gaze drifts back to Miller Phillips. The team’s catcher, my brother’s lifelong best friend, and the Alpha who blames me for his parents’ death…

The sun breaks through the puffy white cloud cover, dancing across his face, stealing my breath. Rugged, handsome, and chiseled; the man has muscles for days.

Too bad he’s an asshole… but he didn’t use to be.

A gust of wind ripples through the stadium, ruffling the grass and cooling my rapidly heating skin. My nostrils flare, trying to catch all the scents in the air. But it’s a reflex, not my reality, and I shove down the spike of disappointment when I smell nothing.

An omega with no sense of smell . What good am I?

The bag of gummy peach rings crinkles when I tear it open, venting my frustration on the packaging, and the force of the tear causes them to go flying.

“Shit,” I moan, trying to salvage a few of my favorite treats.

“You don’t need them anyway,” a voice behind me snickers. “Nothing worse than a fat omega. ”

Mortification flames my cheeks, and fury builds low in my belly. But before I can turn to face him with a scathing retort, a hand clamps on my braid, lifting the heavy rope from my neck.

The harsh tug brings me to my feet, and I raise my hand to seize my captor’s wrist.

What the actual fuck!

“No bite, so she’s unclaimed,” another sharp male voice chimes in. “She’d be hot if we got her into better shape.” Nearby, a small beta male’s eyes widen when he notices my plight. He shifts uncomfortably, unsure whether to say anything, and I wonder if these Alphas are large.

Large hairy goons who need to be taught a damn lesson.

“We can work her out on our knots and give her a steady diet of cum.” Palms slap together, and although I can’t see it, I know they’re high-fiving like pathetic pissants—little boys who don’t have a lick of decency between them.

“Let’s train her to use that mouth for something other than inhaling candy.” A wet, sweaty finger traces the crescent at my neck, and I shiver with revulsion. A bystander gasps loudly, but still no help arrives. Panic claws its way up my throat, but I swallow it down and replace it with a fiery rage. These assholes are ruining my favorite place, and that’s just not going to happen.

“Oh, fuck off,” Emma roars, grabbing her bag. She rifles through it frantically, and knowing my bestie as I do, she’s either going for her pepper spray or a taser.

Either way, if I don’t get control of the situation, this is going to become messy. My breathing becomes choppy as anxiety surges within me. My brain scrambles for the proper course of action .

Do I scream for security? Should I plead for help? Should I try to fight my way out?

Fight. Definitely fight.

“Let go right now,” I demand, digging my sharp nails into his wrist until he grunts with displeasure.

The Alpha-Douche releases my hair long enough that I’m able to turn and face him. Emma and Mari slide closer to me, hissing at the offensive pack behind us. More people arrive, ready to take their seats before the game. They throw strange glances our way, but not a single onlooker stops to check on the bunch of girls being hassled. Cowards.

“I’m barely catching her scent,” whines a medium-sized Alpha with greasy blond hair that’s parted down the middle. There’s a zit on the tip of his nose, which is big, white, and ready to pop.

Not if you were the last Alpha on the planet, buddy.

“Perfume for me, omega,” the second packmate demands. He’s short, plain-looking—with curly hair and a goatee. I’m grateful he didn’t bark because, while the thick scent-blocking lotion I wear should be enough to stop people from scenting me, perfuming is much more potent, and I doubt it’ll hold.

“Not on your life,” I scoff. “I think you should leave before I call security.”

Outwardly, I’m trying to exude confidence and poise, but internally, I’m shaking, and I’m not sure if it’s rage or fear. Trembling, I cross my arms over my belly and glare at these losers, wishing they would just disappear. My eyes flick over to Mari. Her brow is sweaty with anxiety and she keeps checking to ensure her hair is in place. She’s had so many negative run-ins with Alphas that my heart squeezes.

Yeah, this needs to end .

“Get on your knees and apologize for leaving marks on me,” the dark-haired one sneers, inspecting the crescent-shaped divots circling his wrist. My fury breaks, washing away the churning panic.

Fucking Alphas.

I open my mouth, ready to eviscerate this weak little bitch. No one is going to intimidate me on my home turf…

But an angry growl cracks through the air, turning into a roar that makes every hair on my body stand on end. Electricity zips through me, heading straight for my clit. My pussy throbs so hard that I bite back a moan as slick soaks my panties.

My head turns, and my jaw drops to the floor.

It can’t be…