Prologue
My heart pounds in my ears when I push the door open as hard as I can, nearly stumbling into the alleyway behind the hotel.
Too many scents.
Too many people.
Too manyalphas.
Bracing my hands on my knees, I curse the gown that restrains my body like a python constricting its prey.
It’s scratchy and irritating—who the hell even designed this material? They must have hated omegas, that’s for damn sure.
My mother had all but ordered Freida to practically vacuum seal me inside the fucking thing. It’s pretty, sure, but can’t they make dresses that won’t make me feel like ripping off my own skin?
Happy fucking birthday to me.
My eyes squeeze shut tight at the memory of mere minutes ago, when my parents told me they expected me to find a pack to court at this farce of a party. I’ve never gotten a damn birthday celebration in my entire life, but the second I present as an omega—three years late, by the way—I’m suddenly a prized jewel that needs to be shown off and coveted.
It doesn’t matter that two weeks ago, I was a beta and thought that I might have a chance to marry for love.
No, I’m just supposed to accept and embrace the fact that I’ll now be expected to pick a pack for an “advantageous match”.
More men to mate me with means more men under my father’s thumb.
More men to do his bidding and help keep the Messinas at the top of the drug trafficking system.
Shaky breaths leave me, each inhale pulling sharper at my lungs until I’m gasping. There’s not enough air. Not enough air in the world to help me not feel like I’m drowning—
“Oi! You alrigh’ there, Dove? You dun near gave me an ‘art attack.”
An accented voice has me nearly jumping out of my skin, and I straighten on instinct, my hand flying to my heart as I whip my head towards the owner of the voice.
I freeze.
Light blue eyes peer into mine, shining with concern. Shaggy, pale blonde hair dusts across ridiculously perfect lashes, and—
Tattoos. Lots, and lots of tattoos. His neck is the only part of him exposed but the skin I can see is covered with what looks like a tattoo of a butterfly.
A septum piercing.
And…his scent.
Some kind of tea with a bit of cream and sugar. The absence of alpha musk— a particular scent I never noticed before I presented that now makes me want to choke on my own tongue—tells me something very important.
He’s a beta.
And thank gods, because my father would skin me alive if he caught me in an alleyway with an alpha unattended.
Not that I won’t catch a punishment for leaving my own party the way I did, but it won’t be as bad.
I wait for the anxiety to take hold again. For the tightness in my chest that makes an appearance whenever I meet someone new.
But it doesn’t come.
“Dove?” His brows furrow with concern, making me realize I’ve just been staring at him like an idiot.
“I—” My voice cracks as I smooth my hands down my dress. “Yes, I’m fine, thank you.”
