The par
ty was in full swing, the house teeming with alphas. Their scent hit me like a Mack truck at full force. I staggered on my heels, and Marcus’ hand went to the small of my back, settling me. There they were, clustered inside the massive open plan living area of the house, their focus on a broad low table.
What was usually a stylish oversized coffee table was now a stage. Two exquisitely beautiful omegas crouched on it, naked, each tightly twined around the other. Lip to lip, groin to groin, they moved slowly, sinuous as snakes mating, because they were doing the same. His fingers were buried inside her, and she gripped him just as convulsively. But it was their cries that clawed at me. Little whimpers of dissatisfaction, they could tease each other higher, but not satisfy the other. Well, rarely. Each leaked slick, gasping, needing the feel of someone’s knot.
“You came.” A tall man with a shock of ruffled blond hair walked towards us, his white shirt unbuttoned, a tie hanging open around his neck. “Logan Lasseter.” He took my hand rather than offered it, kissing my knuckles before letting it go. “I didn’t think you would, the most elusive omega of the season. And with escorts.” The warm tone noticeably cooled. “I didn’t realise you personally did home deliveries, McCallum.”
“For the Lasseters, anything,” Marcus replied, stepping closer. “Brendan, give the man his weed.” A large bag chock full of pungent smelling buds was pulled from Brendan’s jacket and handed over.
“Fuck…” Logan opened the bag and took a deep smell of what was inside. “Just the bloody thing. The payment went through, yeah?”
“I wouldn’t be carrying around half a kilo of dope if it hadn’t,” Marcus replied. “Look, the live porn show is hot and all, but not really what we came here for. Where’s the real party?”
“No?” Logan’s eyes slid over his shoulder, a slow smile spreading across his face at what he saw, then fading. “Pity. I think you’d look spectacular on that table, don’t you, omega?”
And that was when I realised what I’d stepped into. There was a reason why the season went as it did, because even in its carefully guarded halls, rooms, and patios, shit like this went down. Where the powerful used their influence to get what they wanted, no matter what the omega thought. Logan’s question pulsed and pushed at me, my foot tensing as it went to take a step towards the table, my eyes finding George’s and glaring at him, but Marcus’ grip tightened.
“No,” I replied bluntly, my body relaxing again, “not really.”
An eyebrow jerked up, followed by a smile, making me think I’d passed some test or something.
Because I had.
He laughed. “This bullshit’s just to sort the goats from the sheep. Fortune chasers get wind of our parties sometimes, and we check their aspirations at the door. But c’mon, the real thing is through here.”
We were led deeper into the cavernous house, the size of it hard for me to get my head around. Fortune chasers indeed. Most academy omegas would give their left ovary or nut to be master or mistress of this house, but he scorned them for wanting that, Logan. It was evident in his easy smile, his chin tilts as he passed. This was a king in his castle.
“Et voila.” He gestured to a massive room with mood lighting, creating a soft cocoon that masked the size of it. People lounged around in chairs, chatting, drinking, waiters circulating with drinks and canapés. He fished a small metal pipe from his pocket, then flicked out the sticky residue from the cone with his thumb. I’d seen plenty of kids use them at my school for smoking dope. “I’m gonna give this stash a sample, see if I got my money’s worth. Chill, mingle, and if you decide to escape the evil clutches of your bodyguards here, come find me, omega.”
The smile faded, his clear blue eyes filling with something completely at odds with his laidback persona. He stepped forward, tracing a line down the central column of pearls at my neck.
“You look exquisite collared, but I have much more…satisfying ways of claiming what’s mine. I’d love to discuss exactly what that would entail at your leisure, Cyn Rhodes.”
“Arrogant git,” Brendan mumbled as Logan ambled away.
“Well, there’s one offer on the table,” Orion said, his mouth a thin line. “The rest of you have deliveries to make. I’ll find a place to sit, perch our omega on my knee, and see what comes my way.”
“Our way,” Marcus said. “You might have gotten over your snit awfully fast and your blue blood is exactly the kind of lure we need, along with the lovely omega’s scent, but you passed the responsibility to me. You make the deliveries, or is that beneath you?”
Smaller bags of white powder were pulled from his jacket and thrust into Orion’s hand.
“You need me—”
“Always, but not for this. Go.”
The pain, the need in Marcus’ voice was there and gone again, and I watched Orion’s head spin at it. Was that part of his pull for the other men? He gave them tiny tidbits of himself, leaving them panting for more? Rhys shook his head, jaw tensing, before he turned and did as he was bid, striding out into the room, people moving from their seats as soon as he did. He distributed bags like party favours to those who had paid, obviously.
“She should be with me,” Brendan said, his voice a ragged growl. “I’m the one that got us into this mess, I should get us out of it. Give the omega to me.”
I watched him growl, posture, step closer to Marcus, shoulders hulking, fists forming, and as he did, so did his lover. Marcus’ hand tightened around my wrist so hard, it started to hurt.
“And this is exactly why you shouldn’t. Go, Brendan. Now.”
It hurt something in both of them to use their alpha commands against each other, which sent my mood plummeting lower.
“You are not responsible for other people’s feelings, thoughts, or physiology,” my therapist said. “If you have a relationship with someone and they want things to change, they can negotiate that with you just like anyone else.”
“But I’m an omega…”