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“What about you?”
“Whataboutme?” I asked. Luc’s eyes were a little too sharp for my liking. I took another sip of whiskey.
“Do you want her? Do you… like her?” he shot back.
I took a deep breath, and reached out towards Luc, groping along the amorphous, hazy bond the two of us had as packmates, but not asmatemates, without the clarity brought on by a direct link. I let him feel what I felt, deep in my bones, in my belly, in my blood.Mine,everything said.Ours.
Lucas smiled, just a little. “Yeah. Okay. Then… okay.” His eyes narrowed, and his scent shifted again: less sour, stronger. “Let’s do something about it.”
CHAPTERFORTY-ONE
Madison
A collectionof creamy white boxes was sitting on the mat outside my apartment when I returned home from the office on Friday evening. I wasn’t expecting anything, was I? I checked the label on the box, half-hidden under a small card and a charcoal Gray ribbon. The card readMadisonin a masculine hand, and the box was printed with the name of a department store I wascertainlynot expecting anything from, not ever, in my life.
I opened the card, knowing already who the gifts were from.
I’m taking you somewhere special tonight. Be ready at 7, and wear this. - Gray
Lucas had told him about our… whatever it was. Night, or evening, at least. I mean, he obviously had, they were pack, but still. This was proof positive. And now, the pack’s other alpha was sending me gifts, telling–not asking, no, buttelling–me he was taking me out.
I remembered what Gray had said on the phone, when he had asked me to come over for dinner at their place, before my heat, before I had left:“this is purely sexual for you, right?”
It had been–at least, it had been then, at least for me, at least with Gray. Rian had always been different, but–
Don’t think about Rian.
For the first time, I wondered if it was purely sexual, for Gray. For the first time, I suspected not.
Had it ever been?
After all… these were courting gifts, weren’t they?
Don’t think about Gray.
Or maybe I was getting ahead of myself. Gray didn’t strike me as the traditional type.
But…
Luc was, and it was my unexpected visit to Luc’s bed that had started this, so maybe it was Lucas whose idea these gifts were–
Don’t think about Lucas.
I focused on the boxes. There were three of them, all in the same understated color combination, and I decided to unwrap the biggest one first. I tugged gently at the ribbon, watching the bow come undone, the ribbon slithering to rest on my unmade bedsheets. I lifted the lid to see a neatly folded layer of tissue paper covering the contents: something black–no, it wasn’t quite black, it had a faint sheen of dark green, somewhere between olive and hunter, that was only visible when the light hit it just right–and, as I touched it, smooth and slippery under my fingers. Silk. I lifted it from the paper wrapping, letting it tumble down–it was slinky, and strappy, and totally unlike anything I had in my own boring closet. I checked the tag (my size, a label I recognized with mingled admiration and horror, guessing at the price) and held it up against my body, where it fell to mid thigh. It felt good against the skin of my hands, and I could only imagine it would feel sinful against the rest of me. If I kept it. If I did what Gray asked of me, and wore it out with him tonight.
The second package was a familiar size, so I had already guessed it contained shoes by the time I slipped off the ribbon and lifted the lid. I could have guessed the exact style, if I had given it any thought at all: it was just like Gray to pick out a sleek, unadorned black heel. But the rich smell of leather that bloomed from the open box–and the tell-tale red soles–let me know these weren’t any old shoe. I slipped out of my low work pumps (also black, much less expensive) and into the much higher lift of the new pair. They were taller than I was used to, but not uncomfortable, and they hugged my feet without pinching. I could see why people paid good money for them.
The smallest box still lay, temptingly, on the bed. Dress and heels? There was only one thing that could be inside. My skin flushed.
But it was: one peek under the lid and tissue paper had me blushing, my stomach twisting. A black bralette, barely more than a scrap of lace and thin elastics, and a matching black lace panties, the kind that covered your ass, technically, but were so sheer you may as well have worn nothing at all. What would they look like on? I gulped. I never wore anything like this, preferring plain, everyday underwear and bras. My drawer of beige no-show thongs and tee-shirt bras was proof that I was a practical girl, not given to…escapades. Gray had already seen my most elaborate pair of Valentine’s underwear, the pink lace bra and matching thong I had worn to the Dinner that Wasn’t, as I had started calling it. I didn’t have anything likethis. I had always assumed that–
I had always assumed that these things–silk dresses and red soled shoes, black lace and delicate thin straps and tiny, precious bows–were foromegas.
Not betas, like me.
A week ago–no, two, now–I had been a beta. Or at least, pretended to be. I had bought coffee for a new friend, who was also a beta, at a cute, cozy coffeeshop, no strings attached.
Tonight, though, couldn’t I–just once–do the same pretending? Tonight, couldn’t I pretend to be the omega everyone told me I was now? Not the mindless, insatiable animal I had been during my heat, but the glamorous, precious creature that deserved expensive presents and fancy meals, who deserved to be wooed and won? I had the dress, I had the date–a rich alpha who had sent me gifts, who wanted me dressed up and looking pretty just for him–I even had the damn pheromones. The only thing stopping me was my pride, and–and Gray? He had already seen me at my worst: embarrassing myself in his car, incoherent and needy during my heat. What pride did I really have left, anyway?
