Does my omega find him attractive?
Has Kane touched my omega?
The deep, rumbling growl spilling from my mouth has the beta driver glancing at me in the rearview before refocusing his attention back on the road.
I don’t know why I’m surprised Hudson chose to live downtown; he’s really never come off as the outdoorsy kind of guy. I’m sure he would have been fine with the suburbs, too, but definitely not a countryside, isolated type of omega.
That’s fine with me. I’ve never been much into camping or any of that, either. Not that my parents didn’t still make us kids join in all the family adventures growing up.
When the Escalade stops in front of a tall apartment building with balconies lining several stories up, I hit a button on the app for his tip, thank him, and push from the door.
I need to get upstairs. I need to see Hudson. I need to find out why he’s spent over ten hours at the apartment instead of returning home.
Problem is the man who stops me at the entrance, asking who I’m here to see and whether they’re expecting me.
I could lie. I know I can. I can also tell the truth, tell him my pregnant omega is upstairs and I’m concerned about him.
Except he’s not mine.
Mason’s right. Technically.
He’s Mason’s omega. He’s Alex’s omega. But he doesn’t carry my mark.
Yet.
I won’t do like Mason and lose myself. I won’t force my mark on Hudson when he’s completely lost to his hindbrain.
I’ll wait. I’ll follow Alex’s lead, make Hudson want me, make him want my mark on his flesh.
“I’m Desmond Anders of Pack Anders. I’m here to see Hudson…” My mouth does that fish out of water thing as I realize…I don’t know Hudson’s last name. I’m sure I knew it. I’m sure I’ve heard it.
But for the life of me, I can’t remember. And doesn’t that make me feel like a complete and total jerk.
The doorman lifts a phone and hits a few numbers before saying, “Mr. Anders is here to see you, sir.”
Sir? Why does someone calling my omega ‘sir’ make my dick twitch in my pants? That is not a natural reaction to a man simply doing his job and being respectful to one of the tenants of this building.
“Yes, sir.” The doorman sets the phone into its cradle, then waves his hand for me to fully enter the building.
Honestly, though, I could have easily shoved past him. He’s not only a beta, but a small, older man, standing maybe five feet six inches tall and is very thin. Not quite frail, but getting there.
“He’s in apartment 7A. Take the elevator to the seventh floor and his door will be to your right.”
I nod and smile politely, struggling to keep my legs from sprinting for the elevator. I have to keep my cool. I have to remember who I am, remember I’m not the impulsive alpha of the pack.
The elevator feels as though it takes a damn year before the number seven lights up on the screen above the door. Mymovements feel jerky as I continue to fight the urge to run, to shoulder through Hudson’s door.
Instead, I straighten my tie, smooth my button down, then raise my fist to knock three times.
I don’t hear any conversation going on behind the door, but that doesn’t mean much. Could be well insulated walls. Hudson and his friend could be snuggled on the couch watching TV. I’m sure the poor omega is practically touch-starved with as much as we work.
When a shadow passes over the peephole, I make sure my face is fully visible.
Except it isn’t Hudson who answers, but Kane.
My brows slam together, and I step forward, forcing Kane to either move back or end up chest to chest with me.
I’m not sure why him answering the door has my hackles up – it’s his job to watch over the omega. That was part of the deal from the start.
