Page 6 of Trick or Heat

My pack and I all play for WPCU on scholarship. Getting a scholarship here is a feat in and of itself, but it brings a lot more attention when your entire pack does it. I’ve known my pack mates since we were kids. It was lucky, too, because we were able to cement our pack the second we all designated into alphas.

I wouldn’t go anywhere without them, and don’t plan to.

The hallways are crowded as I slide by, trying to stay alert so I don’t run into anyone as they dance mindlessly, their lack of spatial awareness increasing with each tipsy movement. It’s going to take forever to find my friends in this mess, especially with all the costumes taking up a lot more room than normal.

An omega in a cheetah get-up stops in front of me, her gaze trailing over my costume.

“Ah, Roman gladiator?” she muses, her eyes wide with interest.

“Yeah,” I say, squinting slightly. I swear I’ve seen her somewhere. Maybe she’s in one of my classes?

“Are all three of you dressed the same?” she asks. “Your pack, I mean.”

I nod. “We always are. We can’t be the three musketeers every year.”

“Oh, you would if you could,” she laughs, swiping a hand along my bicep.

I look her over again, taking in her features. She’s pretty, with dark green eyes and curly auburn hair. The strong aroma of vodka and wildflowers circles her, but I’d say the former is coming from her cup rather than her natural scent. I don’t mind the way she’s looking at me, but something in my chest holds me back. It would be nice for my alpha to have a night with an omega, but my gut churns with how wrong this encounter feels.

My instincts have never led me astray. Something is coming for me and my pack, sooner rather than later; I can feel it. My alpha is anxious, to the point it’s affecting me on the field. It’s why I convinced Raivat and DJ that we should sign up for Heat Seekers, the app that helps omegas find alphas for their heats.

They were a little apprehensive, but I knew it felt like the right move. Even if we don’t find our omega right away, if we have the opportunity to help any omega avoid a terrible experience with their heat, we should take it. We’re a lot more levelheaded than most alphas.

Being athletes, we witness a lot of toxic and misplaced dominance, but I’ve never been able to understand where the hostility stems from. To me, there’s nothing better than being a positive example for your designation.

Still, nothing has happened. No one has messaged us, and no post that we’ve come across has felt right enough to pursue. It’s a waiting game, and I don’t fancy fucking around in the meantime.

“Sorry. Speaking of my pack, I should really go find them. It was nice seeing you…” I flatten my lips, unsure of her name.

“Rebecca,” she supplies, her smile faltering. “I’m on the women’s soccer team.”

I wince. Now I feel like a dick. “Oh. Shit, I’m sorry. Your team’s been on a streak.” I rub the back of my neck awkwardly.

She looks at me for a moment before giving a small nod. “Good luck at Branson next week.”

“Go Owls!” I exclaim as more of a question rather than a statement before turning away, desperate to escape this awkward situation. I should have known she was on the soccer team, because I realize now that she’s their goalie. Not even an in-field player, but a freaking goalie. Raivat is going to be so disappointed in me.

I’m still thinking about what an asshole I am when I get around the corner, my steps wavering. My nostrils flare.

What is that?

I halt, the scent piercing me in place. It’s the most decadent scent I’ve ever smelled, like a crunchy sugar shell on a crisp fuji apple with a creamy but spicy tea to wash it down. Notes of cinnamon and something else I can’t detect swirl into the sweetness.

My dick hardens in my gladiator lappet, causing my brows to scrunch in confusion. Am I getting aroused by this mix of scents? All from a measly little whiff? Actually, I wouldn’t really describe it as little because the presence of it stopped me in my tracks immediately. It commanded me to stop and revel in its power. Even now, as I take it in, I am on the verge of dropping to my knees from the weight of it.

I look around, taking in all the bodies dancing to the house music. The crowd is thick, the alcohol causing loose limbs and unsteady steps. My own beer suddenly feels heavy in my hand. Maybe I am so confused because of the last three I drank. Something is nudging me, poking the edge of my skull and urging me to think.

I get another strong dose of candy apple and groan. These scents mean something, but I’m not sure I can grasp it firmly in my hands. The second I start to understand, it slips from my grip.

I shouldn’t be so enticed by these aromas; I should know what it means.

My instincts roar inside me, beckoning me further into the room. Everyone is dancing, sweaty bodies taking up every available space, but then my eyes zero in on two people dancing in the center, and I move straight for them like they’re a beacon.

My eyes dilate, and my breathing grows heavy.

They’re both blonde, and their bodies move together with an intimate closeness that sends goosebumps over my body. The girl has her back to his chest, her hair tumbling over her shoulder like water, the strands long and sleek and porcelain in color. My fingers move involuntarily by my side, fidgeting excitedly as I imagine running them through the soft locks. Her white dress shines bright, even under the dimmed house lights, and the fringe glides effortlessly with every movement of her body. The feather in her hair bounces, and her face is contorted with pleasure.

The guy has shaggy hair, his hands gripping the girl with a desperate cling. There’s a dagger clipped on his hip, the flash of the plastic so shiny that I have to do a double-take to make sure it isn’t real. His outfit is fitted over his lean muscles, ivy-green and chocolate-brown leather draping over his chest.