Chapter 29: Introduction

Chapter 29: Introduction Kaya Oliver leads me down the stairs, and with every step, my heart sinks lower. He hums a tune under his breath, the occasional lyric slipping past his lips, but I don’t recognize the song. "Don’t be nervous." He taps my shoulder in what’s meant to be a reassuring gesture, but I flinch as if electrocuted. My body is wound so tight that I feel like I might snap if he touches me again. "Sorry," he says quickly, clearly startled by my reaction. As we reach the first floor, a wall of noise crashes over me—a loud, chaotic blend of voices spilling from the kitchen and dining room. My stomach clenches. I don’t need to see them to know there are a lot of people in there. And most of them are men. It shouldn’t surprise me, given what this pack does, but anxiety coils around my ribs all the same. I’m not good with men. Not in the way the rumors claim. And then I see them. My heart stutters, then takes off at a sprint. There must be at least a few dozen—tall, broad, imposing. The sheer size of them could blot out the sun. Some are still in their training gear, sweat clinging to their shirts. Others are already peeling off layers, their sculpted muscles gleaming under the dim, amber glow of the kitchen lamps. There are a few women among them. Smaller, leaner. But the moment my eyes land on one standing by the coffee machine, a flicker of jealousy twists in my gut. She’s stirring her drink with an easy grace, her narrow eyes locked on the swirling liquid. And her biceps are bigger than my legs. I freeze, momentarily captivated by her. She reminds me of Camilla—tall and slender, yet unmistakably strong. Her dark hair is neatly tied back, and she holds herself with effortless poise, shoulders squared, posture impeccable. A few men take notice of me. I feel their gazes crawling over my body like invisible insects, sending a shudder down my spine. I always know when someone is watching me. And I hate it. "Attention, everyone!" Oliver’s voice booms through the room, cutting through the chatter. Dozens of eyes snap toward him. "I’d like you to meet someone. This is Kaya Moon, the newest member of our pack. She’s an omega. Starting today, you are to treat her as your equal." "Moon?" The girl by the coffee machine chuckles, her sharp eyes gliding over my face. Amusement tugs at the corner of her lips. "Really? That’s... lame." A shirtless guy beside her—his dark hair pulled into a short, messy bun—elbows her playfully before stealing a sip from her mug. "Don’t be mean, Daphne. You heard the man—we’re supposed to treat her as our equal." They both snicker, exchanging grins. Then, as if on cue, the man bun guy turns to me, flashing a teasing wink before strolling back to his table. Oliver’s hands land heavily on my shoulders, anchoring me in place. "Would you like to say a few words?" Panic seizes my lungs. Say something? Is he insane? I can barely breathe, let alone form a coherent sentence. My body shrinks under his touch, curling inward like a crumpled sheet of paper. Oliver smirks, clearly aware of my predicament. Then, his phone buzzes, and I catch the slight furrow of his brows as he glances at the screen. "Alright then," he says, giving my shoulder another light pat. "Get some food, let people come to you first. Good luck." And just like that, he strides away, his broad frame disappearing through one of the doors—likely leading outside. I know I should turn around and face the rest of the pack, but every instinct in me screams against it. Oh, how I wish I could vanish right now. Slip out unnoticed and pretend none of this ever happened. But a stubborn voice in the back of my mind refuses to let me cower. Be an adult. Face it. Swallowing hard, I turn on my heel, forcing myself to ignore the curious stares trailing my every movement. With slow, measured steps, I make my way to the kitchen counter, silently praying I won’t trip and make a fool of myself. "Good morning, Kaya Moon." The voice is warm, belonging to a middle-aged man behind the counter. He offers me a welcoming smile, his kind eyes crinkling at the corners. There’s something about him that reminds me of Doctor Ron, and for a fleeting moment, I wonder if they’re related. "Welcome to Blood Moon," he continues, his tone free of malice. The sincerity in his words eases some of the tension coiling in my chest. "Thank you," I manage, forcing my lips into a polite smile. I don’t need a mirror to know it probably looks awkward. Great. I must seem like a complete weirdo. Still, I push forward. "May I ask your name?" Before he can answer, a tanned guy with a buzz cut appears beside me, his voice so deep and gravelly that for a moment, I almost think I imagined it. "Well, Ray, you’ve outdone yourself again. Sky’s the limit, huh?" He drops a half-eaten sandwich onto the counter, still wrapped in parchment paper, his features twisting with open disgust. "Who the hell mixes spicy barbecue sauce with tuna? This crap is impossible to eat!" His dramatic outburst tells me all I need to know—Ray must be the chef here. "No one’s forcing you to eat anything in this house, Sam" Ray snaps back, unfazed. With a flick of his wrist, he slides the offending sandwich across the counter and straight into the trash bin. "Yeah? Well, we can’t exactly function without food, can we?" the buzz cut—Sam, apparently—shoots back, bracing his hands against the counter as he leans in, his narrowed eyes locked onto Ray. The chef doesn’t back down. He mirrors Sam’s stance, their faces mere inches apart. "Then you’re not hungry enough, Sam. If you were, you’d eat." A tense silence falls over the kitchen. I can feel every gaze locked on the two men, the air thick with unspoken amusement and curiosity. Sam holds Ray’s stare for a long moment, the muscle in his jaw ticking. Then, with an exaggerated click of his tongue, he pulls back, muttering under his breath as he stalks away from the counter. "He thinks he works in some fancy restaurant," he grumbles to no one in particular. "We just want some normal damn food!" His friends chuckle, offering him looks of sympathy, and from their reactions, it’s clear—this isn’t the first time Sam has waged war against Ray’s ’creative’ menu. Curiosity stirs in me. Just how bad can Ray’s experiments get? "Barbeque sauce with tuna? I wonder if it can be any good."