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And Cale gives Orion a more-than-friendly smile. “Orion Wyvern?”
“Just Orion.”
Kipp bounces. “You two smell so good together. Like whoa with the caramel apple. Are you together? Do you want to be?”
I chew on my answer. I don’t know what to say, and no matter the response, I’m not impressed with the fetishy interest in both of us together as omegas instead of either one of us as people.
“We’re friends.” Orion gives me a cute side-eye, like he’s waiting for me to approve the label.
I warm, lips curving. “Friends.”
“Like heat buddies though?” Kipp asks. “Because—”
“Enough,” Rhett cuts him off with a baby bark that doesn’t spark a flutter.
Total froyo.
“What did you think of the dance?” I ask.
“It was an experience.” Cale straightens his tie. He’s a little too buttoned up, so I can’t tell if he’s into it or uncomfortable, but he’s for sure casting flirty glances at my omega.
I scoot in my seat, blocking his sight line to Orion.
“Mmm,” Jason agrees. “I’m glad we have dinner on your calendar. You’re very popular.”
“Is that tomorrow?” I have to check with Catherine. I’d kind of forgotten, and now the room’s starting to blur.
Jason keeps talking.
The tickle in my throat climbs to my sinuses. I sip champagne, then choke.
Suddenly, my head hurts.
“What’s wrong?” Orion smooths my back, warm hand on the bare skin of my spine, and the contact jolts me.
“Nothing.” I rub my neck, gaze drifting.
Maybe I’m hallucinating, but I spot Noelle surrounded by her mates, and I swear she wears the witchiest smirk.
Sweat prickles under the tie of my halter.
I feel stuffy.
Hot.
Then, an all-too-familiar cramp wracks me, and I go rigor mortis rigid. My perfume spikes hard and high in a crème brûlée explosion that scatters shards of sugared shrapnel.
Orion’s hand freezes. “Lilah. You…”
One-by-one, conversations die.
Every alpha turns, eyes on the prize.
I’m spiking.
Here.
Now.
