"I'm fascinated by Alpha lineage," Arabella says, her hand still on my chest, fingers tracing patterns that are definitely not accidental. "Especially strong, dominant lines like yours. The genetics are so compelling."
This cannot be real life.
"I think," I say carefully, "that we should perhaps join the others—"
"But we're having such a lovely conversation," Victoria protests. Her hand slides to the back of my neck, fingers threading through my hair. "Don't you want to get to know us better?"
"Get to know" is clearly code for something else entirely.
"Ladies," I try again, attempting to extract myself from the tangle of hands and bodies and overwhelming scents. "This is all very flattering, but—"
"But what?" Celeste demands, and now there's steel under the sweetness. Fear, maybe. Desperation. "Because our mothers went to a lot of trouble to arrange this. If you're not interested, we need to know why so we can explain it to them."
"There's someone else," I admit, because lying at this point seems cruel.
All three freeze.
"Someone... else?" Celeste repeats slowly.
"Someone your mother doesn't know about," Arabella adds, and now she's studying me with sharper eyes. Less desperate, more calculating. "Someone inappropriate."
I don't answer, but my silence is confirmation enough.
"Oh." Victoria's face goes through several emotions—shock, then understanding, then something that might be pity. "Oh, you poor thing."
"I'm fine."
"You're not fine," she corrects. "You're bonded to someone your family won't approve of. I can see it now—the way you keep touching your chest, the way you flinch when you turn away from Northwood. You're mated."
"How did you—"
"Omega finishing school," she says dryly. "They teach us to read Alphas. To know when we're competing againstbiology versus just preference." She sags slightly, the desperate seductress act dropping. "We were never going to win this, were we?"
"No," I admit. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be." Celeste smooths her dress, composing herself. "At least now we know. We can tell our mothers you were polite but uninterested. They'll be disappointed, but..." She shrugs. "There are other Alphas."
"Good luck," Arabella says, and she almost sounds sincere. "With your inappropriate Omega. You're going to need it if your mother finds out."
"She won't," I say.
"She will," Victoria corrects. "Mothers always do. And when she does?" She gives me a look that's not unkind. "I hope your Omega is worth losing all this."
Before I can respond, Mother appears on the terrace, her smile sharp as glass. "Dorian, darling. Your father would like a word. In his study."
The words every son dreads.
I follow her inside, past the three Omegas who watch me go with varying degrees of pity and relief. Through the house with its portraits of disapproving ancestors. Down the hall to Father's study, where Harrison Ashworth III waits behind his massive desk.
Alpha extraordinaire. Patriarch. The man who erased Julian from existence.
"Sit," he says.
I sit.
And the reckoning I've been dreading finally begins.
thirty-five
