As usual, the room is too small for a function with this many eager guests. The Alphas responsible for organising tonight’s gala should be a little more considerate of the Omegas in attendance and open some damn windows.
The scent is the worst; it’s so thick it hangs like cigar smoke making my head spin. But it’s the collective press of all the Alphas attending that I dislike the most.
I’m sure the organisers and the packs currently circling the room like hungry sharks ready to attack are loving the lack of space. And they’d be very aware of the way Omegas respond to a room full of hungry Alphas. Which is all these meet-and-greets are: desperate Alphas looking for overly eager Omegas.
There will forever be a parade of Omegas who positively radiate under that kind of attention. They’re the same lot who willingly dissolve into demure and compliant little Omegas who take every lesson learnt at Unity and put it to good use catering to their Alphas. I applaud them for it, but that life objective does not cut well for me.
It’s clearly getting too close to my heat cycle because tonight, despite knowing how fake most of the packs are here, the voice in my head is loudly reminding me I do like what Alphas can do. The way they can bring an Omega to heel with their physical love and attention.
“Ho, you’re looking a bit hungry there. Do you need something, or someone?” Simona says quietly against the shell of my ear. The giggle that follows backs up her statement. Before I can retaliate, she spins, and sails past, her middle finger stuck up and hidden behind her back. "Stop being moody."
I know she's right. I am being slightly bitchy, but it's another goddamn meet-and-greet, full of packs I've already met. I seriously think I'm on a rinse and repeat cycle at the moment. Made worse because Raney's not here. I know she's adding to my sulky mood. I miss one of my besties....
Raney is away a lot these days, flying over to Koz and talking about going home to sort out old pack claims. I still see her heaps and talk with her daily, but it is not how it was. Not that I’d ever admit that to her or any of the Scorned Girls, but the thought of not seeing Tris, Simona, and Raney fills me with a deep and horrible feeling. More than the clock ticking over my head.
The knowledge our Scorned Girls posse is changing cuts deep. It’s not the same grief I felt at Margot’s death, in some ways it’s deeper. I don’t want us to change but plain as day I can see it happening. Almost as clearly as I can see Pack Lowly looking at me like they already own me.
If this mixer wasn’t the annual Collegiate Fundraiser, I would have turned on my heels the second I saw the four of them standing like a pack of entitled pricks near the bar. They’ve been drinking; the alcohol makes them louder and more condescending than usual, but at the same time, they’re hamming it up for the crowd.
“Heidi Holmes, you’re looking ravishing tonight. Are you done playing the field?” Basil asks, his eyes staring at the flash of skin on my chest as opposed to my eyes. Basil Reinheart is as offensive as his name suggests. He’s a semi-decent looking man, just under six foot tall with grey eyes and messy auburn hair, but he reminds me of a fox. He’s just as cunning as one too.
“Basil, are you well?” I ask as I move towards the back of the line to wait for a drink.
He smiles in response. Which is something he does a lot. Smile instead of use his words. I suspect he likes to think smiling so much adds to his magnetism.
Basil Reinheart also likes to believe his start-up IT company is worthy of all the success it got. But he doesn’t like to remember where he stole the idea nor the bridges he burnt to get where he is today. I know though. Being blindsided does that to a person, makes you obsess about finding as much as you can about them.
And I know an awful lot about Pack Lowly. They’re a pack of desperate, two-faced, snivelling bitches who hide behind their daddies. My only regret was one date with their quieter Alpha, Henry Smithers. He embodies the persona of a limp handshake, and I suspect if Basil wasn’t his cousin, he’d be one of those Alphas who lives by themselves forever and a day. Our date was uneventful. But without realising, he provided me with all the breadcrumbs on Basil’s theft and gave me enough to zero in my online attention when I got home that night. Though I keep that research in my drawer for an emergency. Pack Lowly being cocky dipshits at an Alpha-Omega mixer is not such a time.
“Evening gentleman, I hope you’re here to support the fundraiser and not just try to drain the bar,” I say quickly, to be nice. Because it’s expected and all the Omega Mothers are in the room, plus no doubt a network of snitches to report back to the Board if I’m… unbecoming. But as the line up to the bar moves, I make a point of maintaining enough distance between me and Pack Lowly before I cut them off. “Excuse me, I know the auction is about to start and I need a drink.”
Tapping my black AmEx on the bench while I watch the crowd over my shoulder, and ignoring Pack Lowly, I miss when the barman turns his attention to me. But when he brushes his hand over mine, I spin ready to apologise, but I get stopped, or more accurately, the whole fucking world stops as I get lost in the greenest eyes I’ve ever seen.
And the man with the emerald green eyes smirks at me, before his lips start to move. Clearly, he’s talking, but I can’t hear a word he says because instead of listening, I’m busy sniffing.
I lean closer, chasing just a little more of his scent. He smells like a bottle of pure maple syrup, bottled straight from the tree—warm, sweet, caramel-like, complete with just the perfect hit of burn and a tiny touch of fenugreek. I want the untapped version. What I get might be like a drop in the ocean, but by God, it pulls a visceral response from me.
A shiver of strange recognition races from my spine to my feet, and I sway in the way his scent makes me feel. It’s like I’m giddy from Champagne, but a clarity coats my senses, making everything more; sounds crystallise, colours sparkle while my skin flushes and tightens. Shamelessly, I lean closer to get another ‘taste’ of his scent and this time when I do, a million alarms go off in my head.
He smells delicious, but he looks fucking edible.
I take my time doing a slow and thorough inspection of the Alpha in front of me. His skin is the colour of the middle of a jar of honey, and it brings out the warm highlights in his super short dark hair. The top is barely long enough to run your fingers through, the sides buzz cut to skin, and it amplifies his prominent, unique features that are perfectly proportionate. His eyebrows are sculptured and dark, his cheekbones sharp, his mouth luscious and made for kissing. But it’s the colour of his eyes that has me wondering if we’ve met, which is crazy because I’d never forget meeting someone like him—he’s exactly what I’d imagine my dream Alpha to look like.
And that thought pulls me up.
Shocked, stunned, wondering if I’m certifiably nuts, I search his eyes for an answer I don’t necessarily need. And it’s the look in them that seals the deal; the green gets almost iridescent as his smile falls away.
I lose sight of the rest of the room; my awareness aims like a dart set for his attention. Maybe he sees confusion staring back at him, or God knows what, but he closes the distance between us, his fingers tightening their hold of my hand as he speaks into my ear. “It’s okay, pretty girl, it’s the way it happens sometimes,” he moves back slightly, so I can get a better read on him. His eyes are blazing like neon green lights, holding me hypnotised while he spells out the obvious. “Please don’t ignore all those signals we’re both experiencing. They’re as real as you are.”
I guess I look like I’m having an episode because all of a sudden he’s twisting the lid off a bottle of a flavoured spritzer, passing it over. “I’m not one to beat around the bush, and anyway, I think we both know, but for the sake of clarity, you’re leaving with me tonight.” He finishes talking with an additional tip to his lips that somehow makes him look even more stunning.
Without another word, he starts making me a drink while completely ignoring everyone else asking for service. But it’s just me and him. It really is. Holy crap, of all places I meet my compatible Alpha while he’s working behind the bar, surrounded by a circling sea of Alphas.
I need a moment after the cataclysmic meeting of this green-eyed Alpha.
Rocking back on my heel as I take in a deep inhale and remember where I am and who is probably watching, I blow out my breath slowly as I lean back in, hoping I’m looking normal. “What are you making me?”
“Well, pretty girl, I’ve got some fresh thyme, the best bourbon we have, some lemon juice, and some maple syrup,” he pauses, and a heated smile plays on his lips. “I had this inkling you needed a Thyme Will Tell cocktail. Right?”
