Fury swept through him before he got a hold of it. “Bad.”
He grunted, then repeated, “I need a minute.”
Shiloh hesitated, then got out of the car.
Chapter 3:
The music was obnoxious and the smells were off-putting. Sarang kept close to the bar for the first hour, giving himself time to adjust to the sensory overload while his body dipped further and further into rut.
His skin was tight and prickly, causing him to shift on his feet and roll his shoulders frequently, and his mood was becoming more irritable with each passing second. Soon, he’d be too far gone to bother finding a perfect match, would instead jump the first omega who presented for him.
The Wardrobe was not his usual haunt, but he’d visited once or twice when Kian was investigating the trafficking ring. The company was infamous for their auctions, but they held Den Nights three times a month, and Sarang had just happened to belucky enough that one of them was being held the exact moment he needed it.
Rut and heat suppressants helped stave off an alpha or omega’s cycle, but the drugs could be detrimental to their overall health, leading to all sorts of pheromone problems if they weren’t properly used. Because of this, going through a natural cycle at least twice a year was a requirement.
Sarang had figured, with Shiloh feeling down and mostly in seclusion, now would be the perfect time for him to stop using the drugs. The initial plan had been to call up the escort service he usually used for this sort of thing, but after that revelation from Shiloh last night…
He was still seething.
Hurt and angry.
The complete and total disregard Shiloh had for him was the worst part, followed closely by the fact Sarang had been as thoroughly manipulated as everyone else.
As though he was just like the rest of them.
Another face in the sea of people dutybound to serve the prince.
As an alpha, the influx of pheromones during rut made him volatile and dangerous. His aggression levels rose and the need to dominate and claim became as necessary as breathing. The service he usually patroned was classy and discrete. Even Shiloh hadn’t known about his past visits.
Not that he thought the prince would find out about this time either.
When he’d left the Compound, Shiloh had been fast asleep in his room. Considering the late hour, that was to be expected, and there’d be no reason for him to seek Sarang out, especially after how they’d ended the night in relative silence.
He’d been unable to make small talk with the omega after learning the truth of the pregnancy, not just because of thefeeling of betrayal, but also because of the renewed guilt. When he’d first discovered Shiloh had “lost the baby” months ago, Sarang had spiraled into weeks of self-loathing brought on by his initial reaction.
Relief.
Their world wasn’t safe for children. It was cold, bloody, and dangerous. Enemies lurked around every corner, and the offspring of a prince? They would never be safe. Having heard stories of Shiloh and Sloane’s upbringing, Sarang was certain of that much.
There was also the fact that Sarang had been too grateful that Shiloh was all right to spare much emotion for the unborn child he’d always known would cause problems later down the line. If he’d had to choose between the two, it would always be Shiloh, as selfish as that was. If one of them had had to die that day, at least it hadn’t been the prince.
That thought had caused so much guilt and resentment within him, bolstered when Shiloh had been in obvious mourning, and now Sarang was being told it’d all been a lie?
Yes. This definitely wasn’t a world meant for kids.
You couldn’t even trust your closest ally here.
Sarang downed the rest of his drink and practically slammed the glass onto the bar top. His rut was making him irritable, his thoughts tumultuous. He needed to get a grip and speed this process up before he lost control and ended up mounting a random omega in the middle of the room.
It wasn’t uncouth, considering there were already several couples copulating out in the open, but Sarang was the underboss of the Eumia. He couldn’t risk that type of exposure, even if multi-slates were collected at the door and they were all wearing masks.
His itched.
The edges of the half mask irritated his skin, but he left it on. He’d selected it at random at the entrance and ended up with a dark silver gray mask with small curved horns at the top ends. Smaller ones angled over the center of his cheeks—maybe to mirror fangs, he wasn’t sure and didn’t care.
There was no rhyme or reason to the face coverings. All around him, a myriad of colors and styles flashed beneath the golden strobe lights. For half of the people here, it was all they wore, their clothes long since stripped from their bodies.
The smell was a mixture of enticing and revolting, too much alpha musk and omega yearning making it hard to breathe. He scented the air anyway, seeking out a suitable partner so he could get this over with. Once the rut fully hit, it wouldn’t matter if he liked the smell of the omega, he’d bed the first one he found.
