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“Soda water?” I don’t dare touch alcohol when I’m on my own. Just hope the bubbles will keep me alert.
“Right away.” As soon as she disappears, the dog whistle sounds.
I can’t hear it, but I feel the aftermath in my bones.
Alphas descend.
Two packs crash my table at the same time.
Four big alphas each.
Eight pairs of burning gazes, throats that work and choke, hit with the hammer of my sugared perfume.
I brace, hands on my knife, prepared for the worst.
But instead of diving on me, they smash into each other.
“She’s ours,” snarls one hulking pack leader.
“Saw her first.” The other puffs out his chest.
My heart pitter-patters, lashed by their growling vibrations. While they throw out dominance, trying to crush each other, I end up crushed to my seat, waiting to see who wins.
They jostle rugby-style. I’m not impressed, but my hormones are happy to watch thick alphas muscle each other around.
They’re busy pushing and posturing when a solo alpha presses through their barricade.
“This seat taken?” He’s blond, blue-eyed, and weirdly familiar from the straight line of his nose to the bow of his upper lip.
Do I know this guy?
I’m so thrown, I miss my chance to answer. He pulls out the chair, ignoring the curses from the line he just hopped.
“Lilah Darling.” There’s something weasley in his smile. Too much grease. It’s the way I’ve seen a hundred betas smile at an omega when they’re sucking up.
“You are?”
“Nathan,” he says with a flourish, waiting for me to respond. Like I should know the name.
He smells like fruit gum—the kind that loses its flavor after two chews—and even though he’s putting out alpha in buckets, I’m no more attracted to him than I am to Doctor Morgan.
“Okay.” I grab a wafer cookie and wait for him to leave.
“They didn’t mention me?”
I munch while keeping an eye on the dominance battle. One pack almost has the other pushed back, and they’ll evict this guy as soon as they’re free. “Who?”
“Wyvern Pack.”
I choke. Thankfully, Alice appears with my drink. I drown the cookie crumbles in bubbles. “I don’t talk to them.”
“That’s not what I hear.” He smiles again, and it hits me.
The light blond lashes. The wave in his soft hair.
Nathan’s a little bulkier, more wrestler than swimmer, but their eye color is so similar–that crisp, gem blue–I gasp. “Orion.”
“That’s my little bro. What does a pretty piece like you want with a pack that already has a mate?” Nathan slides from his chair into my booth. Too close. “You can do so much better.”
