An alpha with short brown hair, small beady eyes, and a nose that could double as a blowhorn leers down at me.
“Hey there. Who said a beautiful thing like you was allowed to leave?” He smiles as if he’s just delivered an award-winning pickup line instead of something incredibly sleazy.
Thing.Really?
“I did,” I say, yanking my arm—but his hand is a vise, locking me in place. He pulls me closer. His scent is beer and nachos. I cringe, trying to put distance between us. But he’s got me firmly pulled to him. I try to yell, “Let me go!” but I can barely hear my own voice over the music. I don’t think anyone but him can hear me.
Then it hits me. A scent unlike anything I’ve ever experienced—citrus with a faint metallic undercurrent.
“The lady said to let her go,” a menacing voice says from behind me.
I turn to see another alpha. He's leather and tattoos and barely contained dominance. Brown hair sweeps just above his green eyes. He's at least a head taller than me. His eyes lock on mine, and in the strobing light of the dance floor. I’ve never felt my omega so close to the surface. The room feels hot and spins slightly. My body goes limp, and I realize the first alpha’s hand on my arm is the only thing keeping me upright.
The leather-clad alpha’s gaze snaps to that hand, and the low growl he emits has the dancers around us stepping back, wide-eyed.
Nacho Alpha finally drops my arm, and I stumble, dizzy from the new alpha’s scent. He catches me easily, muscled arms wrapping around me, pressing me against his broad, hard chest.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
I nod, though his scent is overwhelming. My omega claws and scrambles inside me, trying to get closer, trying to take control. My sense of self slips away moment by moment.
“Fine, have the bitch. She’s not that fucking pretty anyway,” Nacho Alpha mutters behind me.
I see the exact moment the alpha holding me loses his fight with his own instincts. The color drains from his irises. His pupils areblown wide. His face morphs into something feral. His scent thickens, melting my insides.
My omega surges. A heat spike?
Close.
The leather-clad alpha lunges, punching Nacho Alpha square in the jaw. Several dancers scream. Security’s probably already on its way. I tug on his leather jacket.
He snaps toward me, feral and beautiful in the strobing light, but I don’t back down. “You gotta go, or you’re gonna get the police called on you!” I shout, pulling him along behind me.
He follows—still running on instinct, still riding the pulse of his alpha.
We turn a corner and slip into a narrow, dark hallway. The bass fades to a distant heartbeat, replaced by his breathing. It’s rough and hungry, skittering across my skin. Shadows sculpt his face, catching the sharp line of his jaw, the tension in his throat. His growl starts deep and rolls through the air like thunder, vibrating in my chest.
My own omega sound slips free before I can stop the needy, broken whine that betrays everything.
He moves in. One step and then another. My back hits the wall. His heat surrounds me, scent flooding the narrow space until all I can taste is him. He’s citrus and danger and metal that sparks against my tongue.
I should push him away. Instead, my fingers catch his jacket, tugging him closer. It feels like electricity is humming across my skin and every touch from him is a spark.
He hesitates for a breath and then closes the distance.
His mouth claims mine. The kiss isn’t careful or practiced. It’s raw, desperate, and scorching. His hands slide down my sides, rough palms anchor me, sliding under my thighs and lifting me off the floor. Mylegs tighten around his hips, and every nerve in my body lights up. My hands come up to wrap around his neck, needing him closer.
The world narrows to scent, heat, and heartbeat. His chest heaves against my breasts. The scrape of leather under my palms. A helpless sound leaves my throat and his control falters.
Then everything blurs—time, noise, air itself.
I’m scent and need. Nothing else matters. There’s a sharp, electric sense that something irreversible is about to happen.
When my eyes focus again, the alpha is staring at me in horror. He’s gone pale. His pupils are back to normal size. My feet are back on the floor. But there’s something on his mouth—like punch or juice. I turn my head slightly and wince at the sharp sting at the base of my neck on the left side.
I touch it lightly. It’s warm and slippery. When I pull my fingers back, they come away red.
Blood.
