Emiliano Navarro:
The name crashed through my mind like a tidal wave, pulling every ounce of breath from my lungs. For a moment, I forgot how to function, my body locking up as memories I hadn't revisited in years came rushing back. I met him once. Only once. But that single encounter had been enough to cement my sexuality, shaking me down to my damn bones and leaving me helpless against the realization that, yeah, I definitely liked men.
It had been an accident—one of those perfectly embarrassing, life-ruining accidents.
Justin and I had just finished swimming, and in typical older-brother bullshit fashion, he chased me through the house, snapping me with a soaked towel. I ran, laughing, dodging through the hallways, when suddenly—bam. I slammed into a literal wall of muscle.
At first, I thought I was done for. Completely, utterly doomed. I'd just body-checked an alpha. A guest in our packhouse, no less. My father had reacted exactly how I expected—rushing toward me with a look that said he was seconds from throttling the ever-loving hell out of me for embarrassing the pack. But then, Emiliano laughed. Deep, rich, and smooth, his laughter cut through the heavy tension like a knife.
Before I even knew what was happening, he hauled me up like I weighed nothing and ruffled my hair with a smirk that made my insides twist into all kinds of embarrassing knots. And holy shit, looking at him up close had been too much.
He wasn't just massive—he was built like a fucking tank. Sun-kissed skin stretched over hard, chiseled muscle, not overbearingly bulky like some of the older alphas, but athletic, dangerously fast-looking. His jet-black hair was a tangled mess, a crow's nest of waves that fell into his chocolate-brown eyes. And that smile—fuck, that smile. It was effortless, brilliant, cocky, but not arrogant. It made my stomach drop, my face burned, and—unfortunately—awakened parts of me I hadn't fully come to terms with yet.
Let's just say, I shrieked like a banshee, spun on my heel, and bolted out of there, clutching my crotch. For weeks, I avoided the packhouse like the plague, too mortified to even exist within the same air as him.
Of course, Justin, the relentless asshole that he was, eventually dragged me out of my hiding hole. That was around the time my father started pressuring me to play football.
"Fucking ass probably wanted you to man up," Orion rumbled in my head, his tone full of disgust.
Yeah. That tracked. My father always had a twisted way of trying to "fix" me. Too emotional? Train harder. Too defiant? Beaten down until I complied. Too gay? Well, shove me into a locker room with a bunch of jocks and see if that makes me "normal." Spoiler alert—it didn't.
I shoved my hands through my hair, chasing after Justin as he strode through the door.
"Wait up!" I called, heart hammering from the mental breakdown trying to claw its way free. "You're telling me—" I stopped, huffing. "You're telling me that Emiliano Navarro was the asshole who bit me?"
Justin barely glanced at me, continuing down the hall with all the urgency of someone heading to a damn brunch, not the person who just shattered my whole reality.
"Yes," he replied, completely unfazed, "and you should probably avoid calling him an ass. He's not gonna take that kind of attitude from you."
I scoffed, following him toward the elevator at the end of the hall.
"And what? You think I'm scared of him?" My voice dripped with as much sarcasm as I could summon. "I met him once, and the idiot thinks he has a claim on me?"
Still no answer.
The elevator doors slid open, and Justin stepped inside, ignoring me.
"What, you suddenly don't have an opinion?" I grumbled, stepping in after him. "Oh, so now you don't have shit to say?"
Justin pressed a button on the sleek panel, his expression annoyingly neutral.
My frustration reached critical levels.
"What made one of the most sought-after alphas mark me?" I snapped. "He's what—forty already?"
That finally got a reaction. Justin's lips twitched as he side-eyed me like I was the world's dumbest idiot.
"He's not that old, you moron. He's 34."
I froze, blinking. Processing.
And then the realization hit like a semi-truck to the face.
"Wait—wait, hold the fuck up—he's pushing mid-thirties, and he's only marking someone now? What, he couldn't find a mate and decided to just settle for me?"
Justin sighed so hard I thought his soul was about to leave his body. "Emiliano doesn't 'settle' for anyone, Caleb."
"Well, clearly, something changed, because this? This does not make sense."
Justin merely chuckled, the kind of laugh that told me I wouldn't like whatever came next.
"Trust me," he said, stepping out of the elevator as the doors dinged open. "The last time you two met, you left quite a lasting impression on him."
I blinked.
He smirked.
**********
Like an absolute dumbass, I followed Justin, dogging his heels, trying to pry some damn answers out of him about why Emiliano—of all people—decided to mark me. It didn't make sense. It couldn't make sense.
The man had his pick of the litter—hordes of beautiful, submissive omegas and strong, capable alphas practically tripping over themselves for a shot at him. So why me? A rebellious, insufferable, absolute headache of an omega. A mating with me wouldn't just turn heads—it would drag his name through the fucking mud.
Emiliano wasn't just any alpha. He had clawed his way to the top, and built himself into the living embodiment of justice, the right hand of the Alpha King himself. His name carried weight, respect, fear—and now? That name was tied to me.
Yeah. Someone needed to explain this bullshit.
I was so lost in my mental rant that I failed to realize where Justin was leading me.
The moment the doors slammed shut behind me, locking me inside, a terrible chill ran down my spine.
Justin's muscled back, which obscured my view, moved out of my way.
There they were.
The assholes who screwed me over six years ago.
Every single one of them sat around the massive rectangular table, their faces etched into my hall of eternal hatred.
The four elders—wrinkled and brittle, damn near crumbling to dust in their seats. The former alpha, sitting like some washed-up relic, his expression infuriatingly curious, like a kid wondering how babies were made. My so-called brothers, Liam and Luke, looked all kinds of sullen and regretful as if they gave a fuck.
And then there was him.
My father.
His glare was cranked up to max intensity, seething, disapproving, suffocating—same as always.
"That fucker tricked us again!" Orion snarled in my head, his hackles raised, pacing, ready to tear into someone.
And that fucker?
He strolled in like he owned the place, all unbothered and smug, kissed his ever-radiant Luna on the cheek, and then sat his self-righteous ass down.
Katelyn was glowing, wearing another one of her flowery sundresses, her perky breasts teasing Justin—because apparently, alphas are just that simple-minded.
I sneered.
"Why the hell am I here?" I demanded, voice sharp, slicing through the room. My fingers curled into fists. "Is this another attempt to break me? To beat me down until I'm a good, docile omega who wags his tail and barks on command?"
Justin sighed, rubbing his temples like I was already exhausting him. "Not everything we do is some grand scheme to fuck you over, Caleb." His tone was strained like he wanted me to believe that load of shit. "We want to talk. To discuss what happens when your mate arrives."
Oh, so that's what this is.
"Well," I deadpanned, crossing my arms, "you might want to call the morgue and reserve a body bag because once I'm done with that fucker, there won't be much left to discuss."
Liam and Luke choked on laughter, biting back smirks. The elders? Not so amused.
A withered old crone tapped her fingers against the polished wood before speaking in that thin, brittle voice that made my teeth itch.
"Enough of your childish threats, Caleb," she intoned, her words dripping with disdain. "The time has come for you to put aside your foolish rebellion and grow up."
A deep growl rumbled up my throat, slipping past my clenched teeth.
"And who the hell asked for your opinion?" My voice was low-edged, burning with every ounce of rage I had buried for years. "I don't care what you think. I don't care what any of you think. You can sit there, wag your fingers, and act like you have some kind of moral high ground—but I see you for what you are. Cowards. Liars. Traitors." My lip curled. "You think I'm rebellious? Immature? Good. I don't give a fuck."
"Caleb, please," Justin sighed, rubbing his temples again. "Just give us an hour. Then you can leave."
I let out a sharp, bitter laugh.
"And I'm just supposed to trust you? You? All of you?" I scoffed, shaking my head. "The last time I trusted you, you stabbed me in the back."
And no one in that room had the balls to deny it.