A flicker of rejection stings my chest.Do I not look nice?
I tug at the hem of my nightie, smoothing it down, and lift my chin. I try to look unbothered. Poised. Desirable.
Around me, omegas bat their lashes and laugh politely, but it all feels like a performance underwater. The scents in the air—sharp, sweet, bitter, heavy—tangle around me like vines, suffocating. And my head pounds.
Then a voice cuts through it. Deep. Clear. Not part of the background noise.
“What’s your name?”
I snap to attention, the haze in my mind instantly burned away like fog in sunlight. My blood rushes, hot and sharp.
“Autry,” I say, back straight, shoulders drawn.
The alpha in front of me is tall, striking. Red hair swept back from a smooth forehead, blue eyes the color of a winter lake. He studies me, his eyes lingering on my exposed cleavage. “That’s a lovely name,” he says, but it feels rehearsed. His gaze flicks up and down like he’s inspecting something—not someone.
“Thank you,” I murmur, ducking my head. The collar digs into my skin as I move, stiff and too tight. I wince.
“Dom,” he offers, pressing a hand to his chest like he’sgiving a fake little bow. His white polo stretches across thick pecs that twitch on cue.
“It’s nice to meet you.” I try to catch his scent, to anchor myself to something in this space, but there’s too much in the air. It’s all muddled.
“How old are you?” Dom asks, but before I can answer, he leans down and grabs one of the papers off the little table. I squint at the writing, trying to read it. It’s the one-sheet the nurses filled out when I first got here. The paper lists my age, health and general physical characteristics. It’s like a resale tag on a refurbished appliance.
I should be offended to be put on display like furniture, but they did the same thing at my old academy. They called our one-sheets “accolades,” but they were the same thing: Age, weight, height, health, and a list of all the class certifications we acquired. It was amazing how many alphas were impressed by ballroom dancing.
“You’re twenty-six?” Dom blurts out as his eyes snap to my face. He looks me up and down, almost as if shocked that an omega could live that long.
I get it. Twenty-six is a little surprising for an unmated omega. But still. I’m not that old.
“It was nice to meet you.” His voice tightens, then he turns and walks away.
A pulse of humiliation flashes through me. Then comes the hot throb of anger. “Jerk,” I mutter, folding my hands in my lap. “I didn’t want you anyway.”
“Hey, Autry.” The sound of Charlie’s voice is a balm. Warm. Steady. I turn and meet his gaze, and the breath leaves my lungs. He’s here. Thank god, he’s still here. The beta crouches by the arm of the chair, close enough that I can see the faint line between his brows. “How was he?” Charlie nods toward where Dom disappeared.
I shake my head. “He’s not a good match.”
Charlie grins, bright and sure. “That’s okay. He’s only the first. There are plenty more.” He straightens, already turning to go. “Remember to get their bidding numbers.”
My heart flutters in panic—don’t go—but I nod, forcing a smile. He can’t stay. We talked about this. He has to keep up appearances. Still, his absence makes the tent feel colder.
The next hour crawls by in a haze of small talk and fake smiles. I try to laugh at the right moments, bat my lashes, and answer their questions like I’m interested. Some packs flirt more aggressively than others. One alpha asked if I could cook. Another wanted to know how “obedient” I was. They all seem so impressed with my chest, but none of them made me feel anything.
I jot down a few numbers like Charlie told me to, but my hope thins with every new name. Every pack.
I press my hand to my stomach, trying to ground myself. This is not hopeless. Charlie has a plan. I just have to hold it together long enough for the right alpha to walk through that entrance. And when he does? I’ll know.
“You look a little sad, omega.”
I lift my head, prepared to lie with a sweet smile and a practiced “I’m wonderful”, but the words catch in my throat the moment I see the alpha in front of me.
He’s stunning.
Cut jawline. Silver hair, streaked at the temples like storm clouds. And those eyes—dark and steady, curious in a way that feels like touch. And he’s alone.
No pack. No other alphas shadowing his every step. My heart thuds once, twice, hard against my ribs.
“I’m Autry,” I say, voice barely above a whisper. Then I inhale deeply, and his scent hits me like a slow, burningmatch. Hazelnut. Rich, toasted. But there’s something sweet underneath it—chocolate. Warm and sweet and utterly intoxicating.
