The voice, deep and warm like hot honey, had the two of us turning like flowers towards the sun, and there he was, James Chadwick, the artist. Initially, his brown eyes twinkled, the burnt umber button-down shirt bringing out the warm highlights in his hair and eyes, but as he read the room, that faded. He moved closer to us, stiffening, putting his body slightly between Tris and me and the others.
“What’s going on?”
“The gallery owner seemed to think he needed to know the sexual status of my sister and Tristan before the floor talk could begin,” Cress replied crisply. “Something I was about to warn him goes against the anti-discrimination code and could result in a considerable fine. Omegas are not responsible for the sexual responses of alphas. This was proven conclusively in Hutchins versus—”
“Jesus Christ, Carl, we talked about this,” James rumbled, and then it happened.
My eyes slid sideways to Tristan, my hand clenching around his as a full body shiver went all the way down my spine. That sound, it had my nipples pulling tight and slick seeping into the special underwear omegas bought for just this purpose, their absorbency legendary, and I knew if I pushed my hand down the front of Tristan’s pants, I’d find him getting hard. But Tris? He watched James with an eagle eye, seeming to take the measure of those broad shoulders, those sensitive fingers, those pleasingly narrow hips. Then his attention snapped back to me, gauging my own reaction much more quickly, a speculative look in his eyes, but I shook my head slightly.
Anonymous, detached, controlled fun, that was how we played. And James? I think we both knew that that wasn’t going to happen with him, something that seemed to be obvious when he felt our collective inspection. He shot us a look over his shoulder, all the good humour gone and something much hotter, much more urgent burned there. Then he turned away and faced down Carl again.
“Any alpha that can’t control himself in a public place has no right to be outside of the home,” James said much more calmly.
Icily almost, which to make my sister’s previous point, set off a complex reaction in me. I loved Tristan and he was right—he was everything I’d ever wanted and more. Except for this one thing. Tris had moved forward, putting me behind him, putting himself between me and everyone else in the room, because any goodwill had instantly evaporated. I held his hand, linking my fingers with his, but while he tried to provide a bulwark between us and the outside world, we weren’t equipped that way. Carl backed down, his hands up and placating, trying to talk his way around this, to repair the relationship with the artist, but not with us and not with Cressida. She and I were the ones with a name, with the social standing, but society? It naturally gave way to alphas.
“Maybe we should find an alpha,” Tris had said late one night as we lay curled together on the bed in the playroom. “Maybe we could find one who’d—”
“No,” I’d said, shaking my head definitely. “They’d come between us and push us apart. Alphas take…everything.” I’d shuddered, and he’d held me closer. “I can’t let someone take you from me, Tris. I can’t.”
The words had just come out. They were selfish, grasping, not who I wanted to be as a person, but right then, they’d been honest. Everything I’d seen about alphas made me feel like they took all the oxygen in the room, leaving the rest of us gasping, but as you might have noticed, everything above was about me, me, me. I looked at Tris now, eyeing James like he was some kind of mythical beast, and wondered.
What if I stepped back, let Tristan’s fingers trail away from mine, left him standing there on his own? My heart would feel like it was being ripped in two. Nope, that wasn’t a violent enough image. It would be more like I was being slowly shredded into teeny tiny pieces, then scattered on the wind, gone forever. But I’d do that, I thought, as my eyes flicked from James to Tris and back again. I’d do that for him.
And maybe I should. Maybe Tris should consider this mystery alpha’s suit, just like Cress said. Maybe I was all that stood in his way.
“I’m truly sorry, James. I should’ve talked this over with you,” Carl said. “I meant to, but the insurance company was breathing down my neck and—”
“Fuck the insurance company.” Everyone’s eyes jerked our way, Tristan’s words hanging in the air. “Fuck all of this bullshit, and fuck you. We came down here because we were invited as special guests, and you’ve spoken over our heads the whole damn time. Where’s our apology? Where’s hers? Apologise to Kit right this fucking minute, or we walk.”
Carl blanched but didn’t say a thing, just staring open-mouthed at the two of us. Cress and James did too, but their expressions were considerably more favourable. Cress’ eyes shone with pride, and James? He smiled, slowly but genuinely, as if we’d managed to surprise him again, and wasn’t that lovely?
“Perhaps we should go, Tris,” I said, moving forward and putting my arm around his waist. I pressed my head into his shoulder, and for a second, I closed my eyes, imagining it was just him and just me.
“If that’s what you want.” he replied.
But I didn’t answer, didn’t want to. Everything felt too much and too hard, and so I didn’t. I just nestled down in Tris’ arms and let him stroke my hair.
“I see now why you felt impelled to draw them,” Carl said. “Please, come this way with my sincerest of apologies. The students are waiting, and I can guarantee they’ll be much better behaved than an old man like me.”
“Kit?”
I lifted my head and stared into Tris’ eyes, then nodded. I didn’t want to, my desire to see the exhibition well and truly quelled, let alone submit us to the scrutiny of university students, but social obligations meant that I felt like I should say yes, so I did.
“Through here,” James said, gesturing for us to precede him, the thick muscles of his arms standing out through the fine cotton of his shirt as he did. So in we walked to a darkened gallery, spotlights on each artwork, a cluster of people talking quietly about what they saw. But it wasn’t them, their collective gaze swinging around to focus on us, that had my steps slowing, it was him.
He stood just inside the door of the gallery, leaning against the wall, his hand wrapped around two bunches of flowers. But that wasn’t what had Tris stiffening.
“What the fuck…” he hissed.
Because the tall, dark figure, standing there in a neatly pressed plaid shirt, jeans, and boots, was Len.
Chapter 11
The artist’s talk went by in kind of a haze. Len seemed to sense he was the one who had our focus, snorting to himself and then shaking his head. As the art school students sat there and asked us questions, we answered the ones that weren’t ridiculously intrusive with only a partial focus. It was him that drew our eyes, our attention, Tris sliding even closer to me.
“Do we have a situation here?” James asked, his words perfectly polite, but his tone? This was why I hated being around alphas—they muddied everything. Under the civilised façade of the bespectacled artist was an animal about ready to defend his turf. His impressive shoulder muscles tensed as he came to stand between Len and us. He spared us a sidelong look. “I can escort you back to your car if you like?”
I went to reply, but Tris’ fingers tightened around mine in warning. He eyed James speculatively, but why, I didn’t know. He just let my hand go and then stepped away from the two of us.