She smiles and shakes her head, tapping at something on the tablet in her hand. “Of course not. They’ll have to pick someone from Bravonne. The people would never accept an American omega for their royal pack. Tradition matters too much for that.”
I frown, then slap the guy’s hand away from me when he gets a little too close to my ass, taking over from him to avoid his grasping fingers. So unprofessional. “So then why am I here? Am I the only American?”
“No. You’re one of three. And you’re here to add a little spice to the mix, a little… drama. They’ve been instructed to pick one of you and keep you until nearly the end. The audience will love the drama. The Americans will love that one of you made it so far, the Bravonnians will be up in arms about it, but when the Ashbourne pack makes the right choice they’ll be ultimately overjoyed.”
I glare at the sound guy when he tries to get close again. And he backs away, hands lifted. “And I suppose there’ll be a heartfelt scene where they let one of us American girls down gently, tell us how hard it is to make this choice?”
She smiles. “You really are a fan.”
“My best friend is.” I’ve watched every episode of Alpha Love Getaway with Haven. Mostly when she was recovering from a traumatic heat that she spent alone and locked in a defunct walk in freezer. She wanted something mindless and hopeful, and I couldn’t really deny her.
“What if they fall in love?”
Her eyes scrape over me and I force away the urge I have to fidget in front of her. I won’t give her another reason to look down on me.
“With you?’ I shrug. Because stranger things have happened. “That won’t be a problem,” Lulu says. “Believe me.” Her eyes scrape over me again, making it clear she finds me lacking.
Not that I give a shit. I’m used to it. Everyone finds me lacking. It's part of why Haven and I bonded. The two weirdos at the Omega Academy. Though Haven responded by striving to be the best, whereas I acted out in other ways, like sneaking out to meet up with the boys from the alpha college nearby. My best friend still managed to drag me to the top of the class, though.
Which is one of the only reasons I’m here.
“The longer I stay the bigger the paycheck, correct?” I ask, because she’s just told me there isn’t a chance in hell of me winning this whole thing. But if I’m taking this much time off of work, I need to know I’m going to be compensated.
Unlike most of the omegas here, I don’t have a family footing my bills until I find my dream pack. Which is looking less and less likely.
She frowns. “Is that why you’re here? For the money?”
My frown matches hers as I shrug. “I am when I’ve been told in no uncertain terms I have no chance of being picked as the omega for the royal pack of Bravonne, yes. Some of us don’t have an entire country footing our bills.” Oranyonefor that matter.
A throat clears behind me, low, masculine, and close enough to brush along my spine like an electric current. Lulu’s expression shifts instantly into something smug and eager.
I turn.
And freeze.
Well, shit.
Not a great first impression.
“Thayer,” Lulu breathes, almost swooning. When he arches a single brow at her, she stumbles over herself. “I-I mean, Prof-Lord Ashbourne. What- how- why are you here? You’re supposed to be waiting with the others. Out of sight of the omegas.”
Looking at pictures of the Ashbourne Pack didn’t prepare me for seeing them in person.
The colors were muted in the photos, I realize. Two-dimensional. Safe.
But here in the bright Liora sunshine?
Here he’s… blinding.
His eyes are a startling, impossible blue. Like someone cranked the saturation up on them. Freckles dust the bridge of his nose, warm and golden in the sun. A breeze lifts a lock of his wavy brown hair, catching the bright threads of gold woven through it. He pushes it back absently, and I swear it glints.
He is too damn good-looking. I think he knows it.
And that, on the heels of Lulu’s oh-so-kind reminder that their pack has already decided I’m not an option, makes something sharp and defensive snap up inside me. Pure instinct to protect the softest parts of myself.
Anxiety tries to rise, but my irritation burns it away before it can get traction. It only gets worse when he tilts his head, studying me like I’m an unexpected variable in an experiment. A problem to be solved.
It's somewhat familiar because Tic has looked at me the exact same way.
