The house ahead of us was vibrating with bass, the windows glowing with a deep, violet light. I smoothed my plaid flannel one last time, took a deep breath of the cool night air, and stepped out of the truck.
I was ready to grab a plastic cup and be invisible.
We stepped into the house, it vibrated with a bass that made my teeth ache. The crowd was a sea of silk, lace, and exposed flesh/skin. I clutched my flannel closer, feeling every bit like the “third-grader” Paul had mocked. One look at the women in their lace teddies and silk robes made me want to bolt back to the truck.
“On a serious note,” Paul muttered, leaning into my space. “Don’t drink what anyone offers you. Jello shots or drinks you pour yourself. Period.”
“I’m not senile,Polo,” I laughed, though the sheer volume of people was starting to make my throat tight.
“Just making sure. Aunty will kill me if I bring you back wasted—or worse.”
We pushed through the doors into a wall of violet light and heat. It had been years since I’d been to a party like this. Women gyrated against one another while Alphas watched from the shadows like predators at a watering hole.
“I’m going upstairs to check in with Hunter,” Alyssa shouted over the music, waving a hand before disappearing into the crowd.
Paul led me toward the kitchen, the crowd parting for him with a respect I wasn’t used to seeing. The kitchen was a sleek, modern setup where a guy with long, flowing curls wearing a white silk robe was reigning over a counter covered in colorful cups.
“Doll! You made it!” Hunter gushed, leaning over to air-kiss my cheeks. He looked like a diva, glowing under the lights. “Have a drink.”
He pointed to a tray of jello shots. Paul inspected the tray, then grabbed a red one and handed it to me. I took it, threw it back, expecting it to taste like jet fuel, but it was sweet and dangerous. Watermelon.
“Knots,” I groaned, reaching for a purple one.
“Careful,” Paul warned, though he was already downing his second. “Those hit fast.”
“I thought we were here to have fun?” I countered, feeling a spark of rebellion. I downed the grape shot, the sugar and alcohol beginning to blur the sharp edges of my anxiety.
A lithe brunette in a yellow silk slip skipped around the counter, her eyes bright and definitely buzzed. She looped her arm through mine, her touch making me stiffen instinctively.
“Wanna dance?” she asked, already swaying to the beat.
I looked at Paul. He shrugged, a playful glint in his eyes. “Go for it. Go dance before the jello shots make you forget how to stand.”
“Fine,” I hummed. The music finally shifted, an invitation rather than a threat. I snatched one last shot, tipped my head back, and let the sweetness slide down my throat.
I blew Paul a kiss and let the girl pull me toward the living room, leaving the safety of the kitchen behind. I was ready to lose myself in the noise.
After two dances, the jello shots were victorious. I had a nice little buzz humming through my veins, softening the jagged edges of my anxiety. The brunette had disappeared into the sea of bodies, leaving me swaying alone in the middle of the floor.
I retreated to a corner, pressing my spine against the cool surface of a marble pillar to people-watch, when a low whistle cut through the bass.
“Nowthatis a statement,” a voice thrummed near my ear.
I spun around, teeth gritted to snap at whoever was mocking me, but the words died in my throat. A man leaned against the wall with a dangerous, predatory stillness that didn’t match his joker-like grin. The air vanished. His hair was a chaotic spill of midnight strands that parted down his forehead, splitting in the center before curling away from his face in jagged waves. Thick, obsidian locks grazed his brows, framing the intensity of his gaze while the rest swept back toward his collar.
He was a chaotic smudge against the polished silk of the room. A crisp, white button-up strained against his chest, held in place by black suspenders that disappeared into the waistband of his slacks. A matching black tie hung loose at his collar, undone just enough to look like a noose.
He didn’t belong here, yet he stood there as if daring the room to say something.
“It’s a pajama party,” I snapped, my voice defensive. “I’mwearing pajamas.”
“You’re wearing a lumberjack’s dream,” he corrected, pushing off the pillar, closing the distance until he invaded my personal space. He didn’t loom; he leaned in, the heat rolling off him in waves.
If I were a normal Omega, I’d be drowning in his scent, deciphering the notes of who he was. But there was nothing but the slight movement of air. My nose remained a dead end—another piece snuffed out.
The stranger didn’t share my handicap.
He took a sharp, shallow breath as he neared me, and for a heartbeat, his pupils blew wide, swallowing the hazel color of his eyes. The smirk he’d been wearing didn’t just fade—it vanished. He stood as if struck by lightning, his jaw locking so tight I expected to hear his teeth crack.
