CHAPTER 6
Ares didn't say a word at first. He just reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, and scrolled with the kind of controlled calm that made Riven's stomach flip.
"Who are you texting?" Riven asked, trying to sound casual. (He did not sound casual. He sounded like someone about to be told their house was on fire.)
"The others," Ares said simply.
"The… others?"
"My pack."
Oh no.
Oh no, no, no.
Riven was already regretting every life choice that had led him to this moment. It wasn't enough that one Alpha CEO was staring him down like he was both a crime scene and dessert — now four of them would be in the room? And him, a very pregnant male omega with a secret he'd rather yeet into the sun? Yeah. Fantastic plan, Riven. Ten out of ten.
Ares didn't look at him again until he'd sent the message. "They'll be here in a few minutes."
"Cool, cool," Riven said, backing toward the nearest exit like that would help. "I'll just… make myself scarce."
"You'll stay."
Something in Ares's voice hit that deep, primal omega part of Riven's brain that immediately decided yep, we're listening to him. His legs stopped moving. Traitor legs.
By the time the door opened, Riven was sitting stiffly in the chair, hands folded in his lap, pretending he wasn't vibrating with nerves.
Rowan came in first, all lean muscle and that cocky, lazy grin that screamed trouble. Silas followed next, sharp suit, sharper eyes, like he'd already figured out Riven's entire life story just from scenting the air. And last was Jude, who looked like he'd stepped out of a medical drama with white coat, hair pulled back, and the faint, clinical scent of antiseptic clinging to him.
And now all four of them were looking at him.
Oh. Fantastic. He was officially the centerpiece of the "Guess Who Bit the Omega" game.
Ares broke the silence. "He's pregnant."
"Obviously," Rowan said, dropping into a chair like they were discussing the weather. "You can smell it from the hallway."
Silas tilted his head. "And he looks like death warmed over."
"Some taken," Riven muttered.
"But," Silas continued, "that doesn't tell us who the father is."
Ares's jaw tightened. "It's mine. I already confirmed it."
Riven flinched, heat rushing to his face. "Wait—"
"It's mine," Rowan interrupted, smirking.
"Excuse me?" Ares shot him a glare sharp enough to cut glass.
Rowan gestured lazily toward Riven. "I've got a matching bite mark to prove it."
"Oh, for—" Silas stood, walked over to Riven, and without asking, pushed his collar aside.
"Hey!" Riven protested, swatting at him, but it was useless. Silas's gaze locked onto the faint mark under the smeared makeup, his nostrils flaring.
"…That's my mark," Silas said flatly.
Ares folded his arms. "No. It's mine."
Rowan grinned wider. "Hate to break it to you, boys, but I think we all left our signature on him."
"Which is biologically impossible," Jude cut in sharply. His voice was calm, but there was that edge —the tone of a man whose entire medical training was currently offended. He stepped forward, gloved hands already appearing from his pocket like a magician pulling a rabbit from a hat. "Take off the rest of the makeup."
Riven recoiled. "No! This is not a… a public art viewing!"
Jude's gaze was cold. "If you're carrying one of our children, we're confirming it now."
"This is harassment," Riven muttered, but his pulse was hammering so hard it made his ears ring. Four Alphas in the same room, all of them tense and scent-marking the air, their pheromones pressing down on him like a weighted blanket he didn't ask for. It was a miracle he wasn't flat on the floor by now.
Jude didn't wait for permission. He tugged Riven's collar lower, eyes scanning. His expression didn't change, but his voice was clipped. "They match. All of them."
Silas blinked. "What?"
"Each bite is aligned, depth and pattern identical. Which means…" Jude gave them a thin-lipped look. "…during his heat, you all bit him. Probably in quick succession."
Rowan let out a low whistle. "Damn. That's… impressive teamwork."
"It's disgraceful," Jude snapped.
Riven buried his face in his hands. "Why is this my life?"
Silas was pacing now, muttering something about statistical odds and shared paternity. Ares hadn't moved an inch, just stood there watching Riven with that unreadable expression, like he was deciding whether to wrap him in a blanket or lock him in a vault.
Finally, Ares spoke. "He's not leaving."
Riven's head shot up. "Excuse me?"
"You're pregnant. One of us is the father. You're staying where we can make sure you're safe."
"Oh, no, no, no," Riven said quickly, holding up his hands. "I've seen this movie. Next thing you know, I'm locked in a penthouse, dressed in silk, and my only friends are the maids you bribed to spy on me."
Rowan grinned. "Not a bad visual, actually."
"I'm serious!" Riven snapped. "I didn't come here for some weird Alpha harem situation—"
All four of them stiffened slightly at the word harem.
"You think we want this?" Silas asked, tone dangerously low.
Riven opened his mouth. Closed it. "…Yes?"
Ares stepped forward, and the shift in the air was instant. Heavier, sharper. "You came here. You told me you were pregnant. And now you want to walk back out like it's nothing?"
"I was just trying to be polite!" Riven blurted. "You know, 'Hey, by the way, you might have a kid on the way, have a nice life'—"
"Polite?" Rowan snorted. "That's not polite. That's a bomb drop."
Jude pinched the bridge of his nose. "We can't abandon him. Not while he's pregnant. Not while we don't know which of us—" He cut himself off, looking faintly disgusted. "…This is going to be a nightmare."
"You're telling me," Riven muttered.
Ares ignored him. "We'll arrange protection. Medical care. You'll stay close until we know."
Riven stared at him. "And if I say no?"
Ares's eyes softened a fraction, but only a fraction. "You won't."
And damn it, Riven's stupid omega instincts agreed.