They both focus on me rather than the impressive plate of sweets they’ve procured from the large tables along the far wall of the ballroom. Charlotte’s eyes are full of worry. Megan frowns, and her gaze flicks across the room, no doubt trying to figure out why I’m so jumpy right now. We’ve been friends for so long, she can read me like an open book at this point.
The Omegas have been slowly filtering in over the last half hour, wandering the room in pairs or trios, quietly latching onto each other in a need for support in such an overwhelming situation.
Why the Council puts on these things in a way that is sure to stress out every single Omega in existence is beyond me. Maybe they want to see how Alphas respond to their unease?
But what’s making it difficult for me to breathe has nothing to do with the lights and sounds and bodies. I absently rub my chest as I cross the large room.
The bond hasn’t been something I’ve felt overly much for a long time. Years, at this point. It’s something that’s faded into the background of my life, the exact opposite of how the Council describes bonding. Logically, he must have gone on a suppressor to mute it. All I ever feel are the most significant emotions, the ones overwhelming enough to bleed through the suppressor.
And right now? It’s crawling with an unease that has me ready to break down doors. I pant with the effort to hold back the protective rage. A woman with no pin shies away from me at the entrance to the ballroom, her eyes wide. It’s only then I realize I’m growling, a low, rumbling thing that promises violence.
Jesus.
My hands shake as I push open the door to the bathroom, intent on getting myself alone before I make any rash decisions. Whatever the Omega is feeling, it will pass eventually. I just need to keep myself secluded until then.
The bathroom is low-lit with sconces on the wall opposite the sinks. There’s a small anteroom where guys can fix their ties or hair without worry of getting water splashed onto their suits. A man stands there, leaning against the empty counter, his head in his hands.
The bond practically hums in my chest, a sensation I’ve never felt from it before. What in the hell is happening right now? I start into the room, ignoring the man quietly having his own moment. If this doesn’t let up soon, there is no amount of secluding myself that will keep me from having the most primal, feral freak out of my life. Even now, the need to cross this damn bathroom and strangle whatever is causing him panic rides me hard enough to steal my vision for a heartbeat.
The man drops his hands and glances at me.
And then all I can feel is shock.
His eyes widen, his hand palming the center of his chest, skewing his tie.
Before I even realize it, I’m crowding into him, my hands on his neck and my nose pressing into the sensitive space just behind his ear. He shudders in a breath, his body rigid with shock. Disbelief bleeds across the bond, replacing the overwhelming anxiety of a moment ago. That growl starts again at his unease.
I can’t even justify what I’m doing. I haven’t seen him in three years, not since the night I accidentally bonded him. And while I’ve smelled his scent in my dreams more than a few times over that period, remember it so completely I could identify the apple aroma in the middle of Central Park, I don’t even know his name.
“I’m Marcus,” I blurt out.
Jesus, that’s the best you can come up with? I inwardly cringe but don’t drop my hands, don’t pull away. He’s still freaking the fuck out, and I’m helpless to do anything but try and soothe him. It’s such an instinctual, primal drive, it drowns out everything else in me.
There’s a sharp inhale, and then his hands tentatively press into my stomach, his nails biting at my skin even through the shirt. His throat moves with a heavy swallow. Nutmeg bleeds out from me, surrounding the small nook where we stand mostly hidden from view.
“Cole,” he whispers. “How…”
He trails off, and there’s another swallow. His hands tremble against my stomach, and I take another half-step into him, erasing the small bit of space still between us. His body is a heated wall. I close my eyes, willing my rational brain to click back on, but it’s silent as all hell right now.
“Fuck, I need you to calm down,” I whisper, desperation in my voice. “I… Jesus, I can’t…”
I trail off, not able to admit just how out of control I am right now.
Cole nods. There’s a long pause, and then all feelings from the bond disappear, fading back under whatever medical suppression he’s been using. The violent desire to punch something slips away from me, like a layer of grime that’s been washed away. Finally, I can drop my hands and take a step back, can focus on something other than the primal need to protect an Omega—thisOmega.
His hair is longer now, falling across his forehead and into his eyes. There’s a leanness to him that wasn’t there before, the last of the boyish youth gone. His eyes are the same mesmerizing hazel, though. They pull me into him even now. But the emotion that crosses them keeps me from saying a word. He’s… sad?
“I didn’t know your name,” he whispers. “I’m sorry. I know I should have tried to find you, but I didn’t know where to?—”
“It’s okay,” I say, cutting him off.
He nods, his eyes searching mine, the nervousness rising in the bond again.
Jesus, how many times did I rehearse what I would say if I ever found him, if we ever crossed paths? Now he’s standing in front of me, dressed in a suit that costs more than my fucking rent, and I can’t manage to string more than two words together.
In a way, I know him better than anyone ever could. I’ve felt his heartbreaks and fears and desires, at least until he muted the bond. But even then I felt the strongest of them, the ones that were probably life-altering in some way. And yet, he’s a stranger.
My mind short circuits trying to get the two opposing realities to mesh.
