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Not in Orion’s place.
Between them.
Under both their arms.
Fuck, I’m hopeless.
“I think…” Orion slips out of Atlas’s grasp and crosses the limo. I hold my breath when he sits next to me, bracing myself for the blunt-force sweetness of his scent. “It’s fine as long as I can take the lead. Let me escort her tonight.” He tilts his head and his front curl bounces in a total tease. “Would you mind?”
My mouth drops open and he sneaks into my throat like sensual goddamned applesauce.
He tastes so good, as warm as a steaming cup of cider on a crisp fall morning. Sharpness gone, he relaxes into the seat next to me, stretching out his long legs like we’re the best of friends.
History says this is when he stabs me, sells me out, or loses his omega shit and uses me as his punching bag. But instead of reaching for my shiv, I find myself wanting to lean into him. It’s not trust, exactly, but something else, something deeper, a kind of understanding or resonance or vibe that I’ve never felt with another omega.
“Anything that gets us through the night.” In a different life, I would’ve fallen for Orion harder than any of them.
Atlas watches like he’s waiting for me to pull a machete on his mate. I keep my hands pressed flat to my thighs, praying he can’t spot the shiv that fits so nicely in my bodice.
When I don’t stage a coup in the backseat, his broad shoulders settle. “You’d better stick together. Easier to watch you both if you don’t separate.”
The car kicks into motion, and I try not to wiggle, too conscious of Orion sitting so close. The alphas can’t look away, either because he’s their mate or because the sight of two omegas sends their protective instincts into warp.
“What’s the plan tonight?” Hunter asks, turning to Jett. “Threats?”
“No more than usual.” Jett rattles off a list of guest names that the guys all recognize. “Mostly military and political packs. They’ll all have their omegas in attendance, so security is tight. Your basic dinner, dance, and networking event in the name of charity.”
Dancing?
My gaze slips to Finn, who’s been watching me all the while.
His smirk spells all kinds of trouble. “Save me a waltz, Babydoll.”
Orion goes rigid, nostrils flaring as he tries to keep his shit together. I don’t know if they’re trying to bait him or the whole idiot pack of them ditched their omega behavioral classes.
Damage control.
Orion grips his knee like a stuck gear shifter. Hesitantly, I press a fingertip to his hand, hoping touch—even my touch—grounds him. “I don’t have to dance. I’ll sit at the table and not talk to anyone if that makes you more comfortable.”
Wait, that’s a fantastic plan. Let’s do that.
I keep my eyes on Orion, trying to ignore the wall of growly, over-attentive muscle watching us like they paid for box seats. Orion’s pale skin is too hot, almost burning the pad of my finger. Instead of biting off my whole hand, he takes a breath, unclenches his death grip, and scoots a little closer on the seat. “I’ll be your dance partner. Question is, do we dance with outside alphas?”
“What?” My voice comes out sharp and panicked. “Is that a thing?”
“It might be tonight,” Hunter grumbles. “You’re unmarked.”
My hand slips to my bare neck.
Orion’s collar is low enough to show off the sliver scars of his mate marks.
My unbroken throat is an invitation with a mile-high spotlight and neon signs.
I squeeze my neck, hunching my shoulders at the idea of dancing with some rando alpha—anyone who isn’t one of these five. “I'm not dancing.”
And that is saying something because I love me some ballroom.
“We may not have a choice.” Atlas rubs his hands together. “We need to keep good relations with the other packs.”
