“You’re all right?” I ask.
He runs his tongue over his lip, his gaze still roaming over me. My scent grows stronger, the nutmeg surrounding us fully. His nostrils flare as he scents it, but his apple doesn’t join. I ignore the part of me that’s disappointed. Omegas are required to wear scent blockers to this for their own safety. With so manyAlphas in an already precarious situation, the added stimulus of an Omega’s nervous scent would create violence.
I let my eyes close and breathe deeply.
“Jesus, Marcus, focus,” I whisper.
Cole’s chuckle shoots through me.
When I look at him, a smirk curls his lips, and he’s grabbing the counter behind him in a white-knuckled grip.
“You’re all right?” I ask again.
The column of his throat moves with his swallow. His eyes drop from mine and focus on something on my suit jacket.
“You’re part of a pack?” he asks instead of answering.
Right. My lapel pin that gives the name of our pack, the red background indicating I’m an Alpha.
“Y-yeah,” I say, tripping a bit over the word.
I shove my hands into my pockets to keep from reaching for him again. I need to mark him, need to leave my scent all over him before he goes walking into that room brimming with other Alphas. God, just the thought has a possessive jealousy bubbling under my sternum. I clear my throat and shove down the feeling.
“Sorry, I had always thought I would be all poised if we ever crossed paths,” I say, a wondrous disbelief weaving through the words. A short bark of my disbelieving laughter fills the room before I continue. “But I don’t think I’m actually processing that you’re here. Of all the places I thought I might see you, a Matching Gala was certainly not on the list.”
The corner of his mouth flicks up. “Yeah, it’s not where I would have bet, either.” He clears his throat and runs a hand across his mouth, hiding the flash of amusement. His voice is somber when he continues. “Listen, you don’t have to do anything different just because I’m here. You can?—”
“Why wouldn’t I want to do everything different?”
His eyes search mine again. “You’re here to match.”
He says it like it should be obvious. My eyebrows furrow as I frown at him.
“Well, yes,” I say after a full minute.
His eyes are sad again. “So go meet Omegas. Don’t let me derail your night.”
Confusion twists my stomach.
“But we’re bonded,” I say.
He cringes. “Yeah, I’m really sorry about that. But please don’t let me fuck up your plans.”
In what world would me finally finding the Omega I’ve felt in my chest for three years fuck up my plans except in the best possible way?
“I…” I have no idea what to say.
Cole doesn’t move, his sad eyes soaking me in like he’s trying to memorize everything about me, like he’s convinced he’ll never get a chance to see me again. The thought rips through me.
“Would you like to meet them?” I blurt out the question. “My packmates, I mean.”
His shoulders drop, and his grip on the counter loosens, but his body language as a whole is still wary, like he’s an animal about to bolt.
“You’re sure?” God, he seems so unsure. I want to touch him, give him reassurance and comfort just like Alphas are supposed to for their Omegas.
“Of course.”
He breathes deeply, and I can see him gathering himself, pulling himself together. He runs a hand through his hair and then fixes his tie. The bond is silent, whatever he’s feeling smothered by the suppression medicine.
