Page 5

“I’ve decided to attend the gatherings as well as college,” I’d announced to my parents when I turned nineteen.

“Fantastic news,” my mother, Valentina, said as she read her tablet and drank tea. “Can’t wait to hear what you’re going to study, my darling.”

“Excellent choice,” my father echoed absently, as he watched the soccer game on his ridiculously large television set. “So excited for you.”

Both of them had looked at me and smiled. They were supportive, in their own way, but really, if I stayed and did nothing, that was fine. If I bonded with an alpha and left them, that was lovely as well. They loved me dearly, but I was an omega, after all.

I got my undergraduate degree and then my master’s, the first in comparative literature at Northwestern University, and the second in English literature at the University of Chicago. My father, who had been thrilled to go to both ceremonies, was certain that both degrees would lead to absolutely nothing except needing more schooling. But I surprised him and became a document cataloger at an auction house in Chicago.

Never in a million years had I ever thought to work. And never had I imagined how tired I’d be at the end of the day. Which was why I was fading as I sat beside Deacon’s bed, holding his hand. Funny that I was sitting there in silence, staring at him. To say he was beautiful was a ridiculous understatement.

At the moment, his dark brown mane was a tousled mess, clinging to his nape, sticking out over his ears, and falling across his forehead into his eyes. His dark gold coloring was gorgeous, and though I couldn’t see all the defined, chiseled muscles under the hospital gown and blanket as I had earlier, I knew they were there. Even if I hadn’t glimpsed his mouth-watering frame earlier, I’d seen him numerous times over the past year out and about during the summer. Why on earth he always seemed to show up where I was, was utterly confounding. The last time, at the end of August, I’d been in line at a Mexican food truck I loved, as they made amazing potato tacos, and I’d heard his voice speaking to someone else before I turned around.

“Omega.” He’d greeted me with a sly grin that showed off his fangs, which, curiously, he’d let drop. I had no idea why he would have done that. “Should you be out alone where the big bad wolf might grab you and eat you up?”

“I think your grasp of that fairy tale is flimsy at best,” I replied with as much bravado as I could muster considering my heart was in my throat.

“I don’t think you grasp your peril, pretty little omega.”

I rolled my eyes, whirled back around, and would have tried hard to forget he was there, but he leaned in, his breath warm on the side of my neck when he spoke again.

“You’re far too delectable a bite to be unescorted.”

“Omegas can do as they choose now,” I informed him, taking a step forward in line. “And we all know what you think of us anyway.”

His nose bumped my ear. “To marry, yes, but there’s nothing wrong with scratching an itch with one.”

He was revolting.

I spun around to unload on him, but he was in the midst of pulling his T-shirt up over his head, having been running in the park, and I was faced with a wide, muscular chest, covered in sweat, that was supposed to be mine. All of him belonged to me, and suddenly I was mute. There were no words. And when he had the shirt off and was staring down at me with his deep amber eyes, hair tousled, a lazy smile on his lush lips, I was completely defeated. There was no doubt the man was utterly breathtaking, and I was drawn to the strength and power radiating from him that called to me like a siren. But as an omega, even more so, I wanted to roll over and submit to the alpha I could feel he was.

Taking a breath, I stepped out of line and walked away.

“No tacos for the omega today?” he taunted me.

I really hated him.

But now he was hurt, lying in a hospital bed, and at the moment, his veined hands and forearms were all that was visible except for his face. The long, straight nose; thick brows; dark, pillowy lips; and the long lashes resting against his cheeks made me ache to touch.

For me—along with all the other omegas and, I was sure, everyone else—it had been lust at first sight, but I had it a bit worse, as I could actually taste his scent in the back of my throat when he walked by me that night. Sitting there, now, staring at him, I wanted to lean in, press my face to the side of his neck, and inhale. Even knowing what I did, how little he thought of my entire existence—omegas were worthless in his view, after all—I still wanted to be close.

It was the stupid mating bond; nothing I could do about that. Worse, there was no one for me to ask about how to manage the pull, the absolute craving that at times overwhelmed me. I needed to speak to someone who had rejected a mate, like Deacon, or been rejected, like me. But all the true mates I knew were with their other halves. Why wouldn’t they be? Deacon was the only idiot in the group. With his revulsion over omegas, though, it made sense.

I wouldn’t have even believed omegas could be in real matings except that Avery Davenport, Graeme Davenport’s husband, was an omega, and he was not an omega Graeme had chosen. They were fated. Of course, when the amendments were passed and omegas were given rights, suddenly the publishing market was flooded with books about omegas finding their mates. There were even college courses now about the fact that omegas were no different from any other kinds of wolves. I would admit that every time I saw a new book, fiction or non, or there was some coverage on the news, I thought of Deacon.

It was probably my desire for my mate sitting quietly at the back of my brain that kept me from nodding off completely. I’d never been this close to him for an extended period of time, and without question, I was enjoying it. I didn’t want to miss a moment. That turned out to be quite helpful when two men stepped into the room.

I squinted at them, instantly irritated that they’d sort of slipped in, not bustled in loudly like the nurses and given me that moment to compose myself and appear cheerful. Their quiet entrance should have been less startling, but it had the opposite effect on me. I couldn’t help it. I was up way past my bedtime.

“Hello.” I could hear the irritation in my voice.

They remained silent, which did squat for my mood.

“Are you members of his family?” I asked cheerfully, even though I could smell, immediately, that they were not. And yes, many lupines had humans in their families, but the Old World, old-money ones didn’t, as a rule. They were far more rigid about humans diluting the bloodlines. Only pure-blood wolves allowed. And Deacon Houghton-Crowne’s family was absolutely primeval when it came to that fact.

The guy on the left merely stared at me, but the one on the right answered me with a blunt, “Yes.”

Already, I knew something was wrong. They both seemed… off. I didn’t like the black trench coats in the hospital, and they were wet, so why not take them off and leave the soggy outerwear downstairs in the area where you could hang coats and umbrellas? And they were both wearing sunglasses indoors, which was extremely strange unless they were hiding from paparazzi. But even then, at night? I mean, maybe fluorescent lighting gave them seizures? It was possible. Not likely, but the fact was I had lots of questions and there were too many for me not to get overwhelmed.