“Haven’t seen you with an omega in years, Len, and you come in here with two. What’s going on?”
“Not now,” he replied, pulling over food and pouring drinks and putting it before us. “Eat.”
“We’re omegas, not children,” Tris snapped, but he picked up the glass of Coke and drank deep, my eyes unable to look away from the bob of his throat.
“No, but you’re in frenzy, aren’t you?” Len turned to look the two of us over, Jackson following his lead with considerably more curiosity.
And concern, I saw that as well. His eyes darted around, no doubt checking there were no alphas here, but he needn’t have worried. There was only one in the room, I knew that. Len’s pulsing, male alpha-ness washed over us like waves, meaning I leant forward, pulled a basket of chips towards me, and started to nibble. Yeah, he was right—this was exactly what I needed. My hunger roared up in response, so I reached for another chip and another.
Tristan put his hand across my knee and then said, “Getting there. Thanks for the food, by the way.” With a mutinous look, he dragged a burger over and grabbed it, taking a big bite.
And so it was omega feeding time at the zoo. We ate a ridiculous amount of food until our stomachs were bulging and then just a little bit more.
“Aren’t you eating?” I asked Len. “Where’s your aftercare?”
Though that made me realise that he hadn’t gotten off, so maybe that wasn’t required. Which made me feel just a little bit selfish. And curious. My eyes slid down, past where his arms were crossed and leaning on the table, to see what kind of state he was in, but I was met by his amused gaze.
“Looking after people, that is Len’s version of aftercare,” Jackson explained. “He likes sex plenty, but afterwards? When everyone’s soft and languid, floating along in some kind of afterglow, that’s when he likes them the best.”
The man himself just snorted, taking in a long swig of beer from his bottle, but Jackson flopped back in his side of the booth, arm slung along the back of it, his shirt rucking up slightly to reveal a thin sliver of taut brown flesh.
“You know each other well,” Tristan said, wrapping an arm around me and pulling me a few millimetres closer. “You’ve done that…” He let the three of us fill in the gaps of what had happened in the carpark, one of us more able to do so than the other one. “Before?”
Len’s eyes slid sideways until his whole body shifted, his thigh going up on the bench so he could face us down.
“Time for introductions now? Seems a little late, but I get it. We need to get to know each other. Len Rafferty,” he said, holding out a massive hand. It hung there for a second before Tristan reached and shook it. Their grips were firm, masculine, and something about the contrast between Tristan’s large hand and Len’s much more monolithic one had me squirming. As he went to pull back, Len twisted his hand, bringing the knuckles up to brush his lips across them.
“Tristan Greenwood.”
My lover forced his name out from between his teeth, and Len pulled back, letting his fingers go slowly before turning to me.
“Katherine Greyson, but those close to me call me Kit,” I said, offering him my hand and shivering when he took it.
“Katherine or Kit, which do you want me to call you?”
Jesus, how could one man’s voice feel like roughened silk, rubbed all over my body especially across my—
“Kit,” I replied belatedly. “If we’re not friends after what we’ve done together, then I don’t know what we are.”
“I don’t mind being your friend,” he replied, his voice as dark and sultry as the stout in his bottle. “But that won’t be enough for me.” Those eyes that seemed to see everything caught the moment Tristan stiffened. “I’m just declaring my intentions. The daughter of one of the most prominent families in town.” He looked at me with a scalding look. “And one of the most hotly desired omegas still languishing in an academy. I can’t believe you decided to come on a fucking date with me, but you’ll find I don’t fuck around.”
“Jeez, that’s an understatement,” Jackson muttered. “He’s solid. He’s not telling you that, probably won’t.” Now that he had our attention, he continued, “He’s financially secure, enough that he doesn’t need to be hanging out in bars like this, but it’s more than that.”
Len wouldn’t meet his eyes, obviously a little embarrassed by his friend talking him up, his focus narrowing down on his beer bottle and the label he was picking off, so he missed it. Something lit Jackson from within as he continued.
“But the big thing about him is—”
“Jackson…”
“He doesn’t play games. If he’s interested, he’s one hundred percent in. He’ll want to see this through to the end, the very end if possible.”
“Fuck’s sake, Jacks, enough.”
It was odd seeing Jackson flinch. Len didn’t exactly shout, but his intent was clear. He wanted his friend to leave things alone, but Jackson just stared at him for a few seconds before turning to us.
“He’s looking for a mate. He always has. All alphas want an omega…”
And there, there was the knife, twisting in the other man’s chest.