“Control yourself,” she commanded.
“I will,” I promised quickly.
“The tour’s over,” she said, and took hold of my wrist, leading me out of the kitchen, past Alan’s office, and out of the Pack House.
I didn’t complain. All I could focus on was the heat of her solid grip around my wrist.
Once outside, she released my wrist like I was burning her and inhaled loudly; clearly, she was trying to clear the scent of me from her nose.
We walked in silence back to the house, and I followed as Cole led us towards the garage. She produced a set of keys from her pocket, and with the click of a button, the garage door lifted. Inside, there was a sleek, luxurious black saloon car. It looked powerful without being flashy. Next to it was a large black-and-green motorbike. It looked fierce, fast, and it definitely turned heads.
“You ride a motorbike?” I asked, a little shocked.
Cole turned to me with a grin, and I was pleased that it seemed the short walk back had dissipated her anger.
“I do, when the weather and my schedule permit,” she answered. “Do you ride?” she asked after a beat.
“No,” I said with a bit of a chuckle. Did I look like the type of person who knew how to ride a motorbike?
“Maybe I’ll take you out sometime,” she offered casually, and the car doors unlocked as she clicked the key. “Get in,” she commanded.
The car journey was tense. Apparently, Cole hadn’t calmed down entirely. I could feel how tense she was. She drove robotically, her back and arms stiff.
“I’m sorry about before. I really didn’t mean to do anything,” I said quietly.
I’d never been accused of using my pheromones like that. I wasn’t even aware that omegas could produce pheromones.
“Let’s not talk about it,” Cole answered with a bite to her tone.
I sat silently for the rest of the ride.
Cole parked up behind what looked like a run-down dive bar. It wasn’t what I was expecting. There were very few other cars in the lot, and despite it being daytime, the area felt unsafe.
The bar had a half-lit sign reading Heaven’s Bar, the large letters looking rusted and old. It seemed to be the only business open to the public in the area, the parking lot otherwise surrounded by what looked like warehouses.
“No games in here, omega,” Cole said as she unbuckled her belt. “This is a casual meeting, technically off the books. Don’t speak unless answering me. Do you have any allergies?” she asked.
“No?” I answered. The question was odd at the end of such instructions.
She nodded and immediately got out of the car, walking around to the passenger side and opening my door for me.
“Thank you,” I said as I got out.
Cole didn’t respond; she shut the door behind me and led me towards the dingy entrance.
Inside was surprisingly bright. I had anticipated darkness, given the lack of windows. The outside of Heaven’s Bar reminded me of the seedy strip clubs Ashford had occasionally dragged me to, where I was scared to touch any surface and had nowhere safe to look. But inside were wooden tables and chairs and a circular bar that looked well taken care of, even if it seemed we were the only customers.
“The Storm of Sandstorm!” a tall, fuller-figured woman in tight brown trousers and a purple vest top that showed her belly button called from behind the bar as we entered.
“Frankie,” Cole greeted enthusiastically.
“The usual?” Frankie asked.
“Not today, I’m driving. A bottle of water and two glasses. Is the kitchen open yet?” Cole replied.
“Sure is. You hungry?” she asked.
Cole nodded. “Ravenous,” she answered.
