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They are scheming.
“Neither of you are a part of a pack,” I point out and then turn to the third councilman in the room—Rossi. “None of you have omegas. If I recall correctly, you even passed one among yourselves.”
“And now we do,” my father asserts, turning his attention back to me.
“You can’t just coerce an omega into bonding with you,” I exclaim, throwing my hands up in frustration.
“We didn’t,” Finch states. “We courted.”
“We wooed,” my father adds.
Something doesn’t sit right.
“Now, son…” My father smirks at me. “Go mingle and have fun.”
He’s dismissing me.
I pivot on a heel and stride out of the library, forcefully slamming the door behind me. Engrossed in a handheld game, my packmate, Avery, sits against the wall, his eyes locked onto the screen.
I approach him, taking in his scent as I draw closer. Even from five feet away, I can discern the comforting notes of cinnamon lingering in the air. It immediately soothes me, washing over my senses and seeping into my very bones. He’s like a freshly baked cinnamon bun, his scent offering the comfort home.
As my shadow blankets him, he finally glances up, his bright blue eyes—a distinct feature of his designation—meeting mine.
He furrows his brow at me, likely sensing my frustration through our bond. “What did the old men want now?”
I extend my hand to help him up from the floor, even though he doesn’t require it. It’s my way of connecting with them, offering intimacy when I can’t provide more.
“My father gave me thirty days to find an omega,” I mutter as he slaps his hand into mine, allowing me to pull him to his feet. “Come on, I’ll fill you in.”
“Thirty days.” He nods, a peculiar smile forming on his lips. “I bet.”
“Avery.” I give him a sidelong glance, already anticipating his reaction. He’s infatuated, nursing a schoolboy crush on an omega he encountered a couple of years ago at the castle before his reassignment. “This is a serious matter.”
“Oh, I know.” He turns to face me, his smile filled with hope and wonder. That’s Avery for you, brimming with spirit and a playfulness that I find endearing. “But still, I bet.”
I sigh, glancing down at my tuxedo. It feels constrictive, suffocating. Inside, I’m weary and drained. They thrust this lifeupon me, I never asked for it, and I’m not even sure I want to attend this gala.
“My father has a few tricks up his sleeve,” I whisper, aware that Avery will relay this to the rest of our pack. “He’ll either arrange a marriage if we don’t find an omega, or he’ll oust me from the council.”
Avery shrugs. “Would that be such a bad thing?” He pauses by the stairs leading down to the ballroom, turning to face me. I notice the faint dark circles under his eyes, accentuated by the deep shadows cast by his dark lashes. Avery and his brother are identical, but Avery is a bit more playful. He stands nearly six feet tall with the build of a wrestler. Deep dimples appear on his cheeks as he smirks at me, his unruly hair sweeping across his face. Initially, he intended to let it grow out, but he grew tired of it and shaved the sides. Now, his dark hair curls around his head in a thick mohawk mullet.
“Yes,” I reply. “I have no idea how they garnered enough votes to push this through.” I run a hand down my face. They are impossible to deal with and even harder to get rid of. The old men, that is.
“I’m just saying that you hate sitting on the council, so why not leave?” He shrugs as though it’s a simple decision. “Listen, let’s discuss this later tonight.” He playfully slaps me on the back and starts to walk away.
With one foot on the steps, I grab his black shirt and yank him back. “What are you scheming?”
“Nothing.” He smirks, but I know he’s up to something, and I’m not sure I trust him. Actually, I don’t trust him at all.
He snaps his teeth playfully at my hand, confident I’ll release him, and when I do, he bolts down the steps and disappears from view.
In need of a drink, I descend the steps slowly, taking in the throng of people. There must be at least two hundred attendees here.
I look at the door where delta enforcers stand guard while the local healer distributes suppressants. At least they are handling this situation intelligently. No one wants an alpha or delta to lose control in the middle of a gala, especially the first of its kind.
I pause at the entryway, grabbing a suppressant for myself before heading straight for the bar. I pay no heed to anyone in my path, including the omegas who offer admiring gazes and whispers as I pass.
I’m halfway to the bar when a scent hits me, like brown sugar. It’s faint but undeniable. It sets every alpha instinct within me ablaze, and a subtle purr threatens to escape, one I hastily suppress as I scan my surroundings, making sure no one heard.
