“Watch where you’re going,” Alaric snapped. “You spilled your ice-cold water all over my shoes.”
The other guy shrugged, already turning to leave. “Geez, sorry, pal.”
Alaric scoffed. “That’s all you have to say? What about a genuine apology?”
But it was no use. The water-dumping perpetrator disappeared into the undulating crowd.
I strode towards Alaric before he blew his fuse, which I knew he was fully capable of doing. I’d witnessed plenty of his bratty antics on season one. Yet compared to the rowdy unknown of the new omegas, Alaric’s sourpuss attitude almost felt comforting.
“Hey. It’s good to see a familiar face,” I said.
Alaric’s scowl faded when he recognized me. “Oh, it’s you. You’re that peregrine falcon shifter, right?”
“Golden eagle,” I corrected, although I wasn’t bothered by his error. The fact that he barely remembered me was a good thing. If I didn’t stand out to a fellow contestant, I wouldn’t to a worldwide audience, either.
“Yes, right,” Alaric murmured. “So, you returned for another chance at a dragon mate?”
“Same as you,” I pointed out.
He sighed, crossing his arms. “You’re not wrong about that...”
“Have you seen anyone else from season one?”
He huffed. “I can’t see much of anything over this writhing mass of bodies. Whose bright idea was it to invite all these people?”
“Thystle’s, apparently.”
Alaric paused, then cleared his throat. “I see. From what I know of him, I didn’t think he was the party boy type.”
“Whatdoyou know of him?” I asked.
I’d assumed Alaric had the same amount of knowledge as me, but I wouldn’t put it past him to do some pre-show digging about the bachelor. On season one, he was hell-bent on winning and becoming the dragon’s mate... but obviously Crimson’s heart lay solely with Taylor. It didn’t surprise me that Alaric’s determination—or was it desperation?—carried over to season two.
Alaric leaned closer to me and lowered his voice, wanting to keep it between us. “Rumor has it he’s obsessed with emo bands.”
I didn’t judge books by their covers, but Thystle’s appearance definitely gave off that vibe. If that was true, then we shared that interest. Despite our turbulent relationship, music was my secret love. But I wasn’t about to tell Alaric about it. I didn’t want anybody to know the truth—not even Thystle.
“I texted Taylor to ask, and he confirmed that Thystle hoards music, specifically of that genre. And then he sent a picture of his baby. Ugh, he was so cute.”
Alaric’s face screwed up in thought. “But isn’t that strange? Don’t emo people sit in their rooms and mope alone? Why would he invite an entire college dorm full of omegas?”
I shrugged. “Your interests don’t define your preferences. Maybe he’s more social than you thought.”
Alaric didn’t look convinced. “We’ll see, I suppose,” he mumbled, then nodded his head. “Hey, isn’t that the annoying dog from last time?”
I turned just in time to see another familiar face pop up among the sea of people. It was Muzo, the black-backed jackal shifter. His head popped up, then sank back down and disappeared, over and over again. He looked like popcorn in the microwave.
“I think he’s trying to reach us,” I commented.
Alaric snorted. “Good luck to him getting past those goons.”
“Matteo!” Muzo called between grunts as he pogo-sticked up and down. “Alaric! Yoohoo!”
As I turned to help him get through, one of the big omegas in his way suddenly snarled. “Hey, asshole! You stepped on my foot!”
Muzo yelped. “Oops, sorry! Just trying to get through—”
The man bared his teeth in Muzo’s face. “By bouncing around like an idiot?”
