5. A Detectives Forbidden Alliance
5
A DETECTIVE'S FORBIDDEN ALLIANCE
~EZEKIEL~
T he scent hits me first – delicate jasmine mixed with hints of rose and something deeper, more exotic.
Cardamom perhaps, or saffron. Hints of vanilla and wild berry add to the mix, the combination only further enticing my nostrils. It's distinctly feminine, undeniably Omega, and so uniquely intoxicating that my cock immediately stirs to attention.
Fuck.
I take a steadying breath, but that only makes it worse.
The aroma seems to wrap around me like silk, making my Alpha instincts roar to life. Three years on the force, countless drug busts and violent takedowns, and nothing has ever tested my control quite like this unexpected burst of perfume in the night air.
Stepping out of the alleyway, I try not to think about the three unconscious men I'm leaving behind. They'll live – barely .
A reminder that even the most hardened criminals should think twice before trying to mug someone in my city.
Especially on my patrol route.
The thought barely forms before something small and soft crashes into me at full speed.
My reflexes kick in instantly, hands moving to catch the falling figure before they can hit the ground. The scent intensifies tenfold as I realize I'm holding the source — an Omega wrapped in yards of crimson fabric that shimmers gold in the streetlight.
She looks up swiftly, just as I lean down to check if she's hurt, and our lips brush in the lightest of touches.
Holy shit.
Electric doesn't begin to describe it.
Every nerve in my body comes alive at that whisper of contact, and my grip on her tightens instinctively. She's tiny in my arms; perfectly sized while her delicate frame fits against me like she was made for it.
But it's her eyes that truly capture me – deep brown with flecks of gold, like honey in sunlight.
They widen as she stares up at me, and I watch as her pupils dilate, her own body responding to our proximity. The traditional Indian attire she wears only enhances her exotic beauty, the red and gold making her skin glow like warm caramel.
Her scent changes subtly, growing sweeter with arousal, and I have to bite back a growl. My inner Alpha wants to bury my nose in her neck, to taste her skin and mark her as mine.
The primal urge is so strong it's almost overwhelming.
"I'm so sorry!" Her voice matches her appearance — soft, musical, with just a hint of an accent that makes something in my chest tighten.
She extricates herself from my hold carefully, and I immediately feel colder without her warmth. The way she smooths down her outfit — a saree, I realize — speaks of years of practice, each movement graceful and precise.
When she bows, it's like watching a dance.
"Please forgive my clumsiness," she adds breathlessly. "I must go. I'm terribly late!"
Before I can say anything or even dare ask her name, she spins and darts away. The golden accents in her outfit catch the light as she runs, making her look like a shooting star streaking through the night.
I watch until she disappears around the corner, her scent lingering in the air like a ghost, leaving me standing there like an utter fool.
No Omega has ever ignited a reaction like she just did…
My phone's vibration barely registers through the haze of Alpha instincts still screaming at me to chase her …to claim her.
The screen shows a familiar name: DAMON CASTELLANO.
Fun.
"Perfect timing as always, brother," I answer, my voice rougher than usual. I’m hoping there’s an off chance Damon isn’t going to notice, or else he’s going to think I jerked off in a dark alleyway to tame my hyperactive needs.
I may get aroused often but I’m not that desperate. At least, not in a good while.
"Did I interrupt something?" Damon's smooth Italian accent carries a note of amusement. "You sound...affected."
More like horny as fuck…
It makes me wish he was here to see whether he’d react the same way.
Only difference is we’d help one another if that was the case.
After work activities.
I run a hand through my short black hair, trying to collect myself.
"Just ran into an Omega. Quite literally."
"Ah, that explains the sexual frustration I can hear in your voice." He chuckles darkly. "Want me to come help you with that?"
The offer sends heat coursing through my veins.
Our arrangement is complicated, forbidden in more ways than one.
A decorated detective and a mafia kingpin.
We're from opposite ends of the spectrum, light and shadow, justice and crime.
"Isn't it ironic?" I muse, starting to walk toward my car. "One of the city's top detectives regularly fucking one of its most notorious criminals?"
"Please," Damon scoffs. "I prefer 'successful businessman' in public company."
I can't help but laugh.
"Is that what we're calling billions in illegal enterprises these days?"
"Better than calling it what it is," he retorts. "Speaking of business. I hear you have quite the waitlist for your services these days. Should I put my name down for some special attention?"
The suggestive tone in his voice makes my cock twitch again. Images flash through my mind – Damon on his knees, that perfectly tailored suit disheveled as I fuck his mouth. Or bent over his mahogany desk, cursing in Italian as I pound into him.
Yeah…I’m a dominant top motherfucker…
"You already get special service," I remind him, my voice dropping lower. "Or did you forget about last week?"
"Mmm, how could I?" He practically purrs. "My ass still remembers every inch of you."
Fuck…
My cock resorts to twitching again, simply at the tight memory that drives us fucking mad. We try to avoid anal, but last week I felt the urge to remind him who the power player is between the two of us.
Damon plays too much of a villainous leader that it makes him far too cocky for my taste.
That’s why I have to bring him back down to earth as a fucking reminder of where he stands when it comes to me. Us. Whatever future upholds us.
Our relationship defies every boundary, and every rule.
The government dislikes Alphas having relationships with one another. With obvious reasoning. Yet, with the Alpha Omega ratio becoming far too disproportionate to have a forced say in trying to acquire an Omega that actually resonates, I rather stick with having a forbidden relationship within our pack than the drama and chaos having the wrong Omega would instill.
Maybe that Omega from a few minutes ago would be an exception though.
Regardless, we help each other through ruts, and through burning needs that come from being unmated Alphas. It's not ideal – we both know we need an Omega to truly satisfy u s – but it's better than the alternatives.
"We're closer than most would believe possible," I acknowledge, thinking of all the lines we've crossed together. "Though I doubt the force would appreciate knowing their star detective is intimately acquainted with the king of the criminal underworld."
Damon's dark chuckle sends shivers down my spine – the kind that reminds me of late nights in his penthouse office.
Bent over that expensive mahogany desk…
Fuck, I gotta stop thinking of shit for my own sanity…
"Speaking of your detective work," he purrs, voice dropping an octave lower. "Aside from this…distracting Omega, did you complete your assignment? Or were you too busy playing hero in dark alleys?"
I glance back at the unconscious would-be muggers.
They won't be causing trouble for a while.
"The Safe Haven checks out," I report, slipping into professional mode despite the lingering arousal in my system. "The one run by Velvet? Nothing sketchy about it, surprisingly. It's exactly what it claims to be – a legitimate sanctuary for Omegas who need protection."
"Ah yes, which is precisely why the government is so eager to shut it down," Damon notes with bitter amusement. "Can't have Omegas thinking they deserve safety and independence, now can we?"
His words carry the weight of truth.
We've both seen how the system works — how it's designed to keep Omegas dependent, controlled, and claimed.
Like confined animals that are forced to bow to their owners…
I despise their whole framework, but then again, I’m one of the few Alphas who would dare think that way. Why argue against something that benefits you? 99% of our population of cocky bastards wouldn’t try it.
"Probably," I agree, starting to walk toward my car. "But Velvet must have some serious connections. Rich bitch or not, the fact that she's kept the place running despite constant government interference suggests protection from high places."
My mind drifts back to the Omega who crashed into me.
The way she emerged from that side entrance, the quality of her saree, the perfect grace in her movements...
"She has to be from there," I mutter, more to myself than Damon. "The Safe Haven. She came from that direction…"
"Oh?" The interest in Damon's voice carries a dangerous edge. "I'm starting to feel jealous, Tesoro . You know I could find out who this mystery Omega is in about five minutes."
Ugh. I need to stop upsetting him…
Damon has always been an “act-now and thinks-later” type of person.
"Don't you dare start trying to kill anyone you see as competition," I warn, though I can't help but smile. Damon's possessive streak is both endearing and terrifying – I've seen what happens to people who try to take what he considers his.
Not so happy endings if you ask me.
"Me? Never." The false innocence in his voice makes me roll my eyes. "But you have to admit, it's rare for you to show interest in anyone but me. This Omega must be something special."
"Careful, your jealousy is showing,” I joke but I know it’s true as fuck.
He is jealous of anyone who takes my attention from him.
"I prefer to call it a healthy concern for my partner's romantic pursuits." He pauses meaningfully. "Besides, you know I don't share well with others."
Well…yeah.
"That's the understatement of the century," I snort, remembering the last Alpha who tried to proposition me at a charity gala. They're still trying to rebuild their family's business after Damon's "completely unrelated" hostile takeover.
My eyes drift back to where she disappeared, the memory of her scent making my nose tingle.
"She was wearing a saree and looked well..."
I trail off, unable to find words that would do her justice. How do you describe someone who embodies both tradition and defiance? Who can make running through dark streets in formal wear look like a dance?
Like a runaway trying to stop the hands of time from moving against her favor…
The thought strikes me suddenly, making me pause mid-step.
There was something about her desperate sprint, the way she clutched her saree close while running, that stirred memories I usually keep buried.
"You know," I find myself saying into the phone, "I always wanted to marry someone outside my culture…which is ironic given that I'm already a walking cultural fusion."
The way this Omega has me frazzled, even down to my thought process isn’t a good thing, but she forces me to remember my heritage.
Being half-Indian and half-Korean has always been a unique experience.
My Father's genes blessed me with thick, black silky hair that grows abnormally fast. I recently cut it from below my shoulders to a more professional length, knowing full well it'll be back to its previous length within months. But my Mother's Korean heritage gave me my flawless complexion and facial features, creating a blend that often leaves people guessing.
"You're quiet," Damon observes. "Thinking about your family background again?"
"Hard not to," I admit, running a hand through my hair – a habit I picked up from my Father.
At 6'4", I inherited his height and build, the broad shoulders and natural strength that marks me as his son. But my face – the high cheekbones, almond-shaped eyes, and smooth skin that seems to resist aging – that's all from my Mother's side.
Growing up was…complicated.
No one quite knew what to make of me. To most people, I looked like a tanned Korean, but that simple categorization missed the complexity of who I was. The way I carried myself, my mannerisms, even my way of thinking – it was all influenced by both cultures in ways that often conflicted.
"You know what's funny?" I continue, feeling unusually reflective. "I spent years trying to find some sort of middle ground, some way to balance both sides of my heritage. Until eventually, I just... stopped caring."
"That's when I met you," Damon adds softly.
"You and Rhett," I agree. "Suddenly I had people in my corner who didn't try to categorize me…didn't expect me to choose one identity over the other."
It's not that my parents weren't supportive – they were, almost fiercely so. My Father, proud of his Indian heritage but open-minded enough to embrace Korean culture for my Mother's sake. And my Mother, who learned to cook curry alongside her kimchi, who wore saris to Diwali celebrations with the same grace she wore hanbok to Seollal.
However parental support, while crucial, is different from peer acceptance.
My parents could create a safe space at home, but they couldn't protect me from the outside world's confusion and occasional hostility.
"There was something in her eyes," I say, thinking back to the Omega. "Something that reminded me of myself at nineteen, when I was running from those goons who tried to force me into their pack."
A shiver runs down my spine at the traumatizing memory. The injustice and racism one can experience in a world that loves to use those who are deemed “worthy” in the spur of the moment.
Even after ten years, the memory of that night still weighs heavy. The terror of being hunted, of knowing that as an unmated Alpha, I was seen as prime recruitment material for packs looking to expand their territory.
Only if it gave them advantages.
In my case, diversity was only encouraged if it meant giving the pack an extra bonus or two every month for looking “outside the box”.
"You went quiet again," Damon says, but his voice sounds closer now.
No longer coming through the phone.
I look up to find him leaning against my car, a cigarette held elegantly between his fingers while his phone remains pressed to his ear. Our eyes meet, and the intensity in his gaze makes my blood heat.
Fuck…this man still drives me insane.
You’d think after knowing each other for over ten years the intense connection would simmer a bit. Or a lot. Yet, with this criminal mastermind, it keeps getting hotter and hotter.
Or I’m just smitten as fuck.
"Those goons are six feet under for a reason," he reminds me, his voice carrying both through the phone and the night air between us.
I take the remaining steps needed to close our distance, watching as he exhales a stream of smoke to the side before pushing off my car.
We stand face to face, his 6'5" frame giving him just enough height advantage to make me tilt my head slightly to maintain eye contact.
The air between us crackles with familiar tension. This is how it's always been with us…this magnetic pull that defies logic and law alike. My detective badge feels heavy in my pocket, a reminder of all the lines we're not supposed to cross.
Damon leans in, his lips nearly brushing my ear as he whispers.
"Anyone threatens what's mine and they enjoy finding out the consequences."
His words send heat coursing through my veins.
And my cock…
It's been this way since the night he found me – bloody and cornered in an alley similar to the one I just left.
I was a rookie in many areas. Trying to be the good cop when I didn’t even have the credentials to be snooping around like some sort of hero. It was a foolish mistake that landed me in that tight dilemma — a rookie cop in the making about to be jumped by villainous crooks who aren’t afraid to get dirty.
Aren’t afraid of spilling blood.
Damon had appeared like an avenging angel, except angels don't typically leave seven bodies cooling on the pavement. Him with his getaway ride, Rhett in the driver seat, ready to get us out of that situation before the sirens of approaching officers could ring through the chilled night.
Crazy how we’re not a pack.
We’re simply missing that final piece to make us complete.
The intensity between us builds until it can’t possibly be ignored; Damon breaking first as he surges forward to claim my lips in a bruising kiss.
My cock immediately responds, hardening against my slacks as his tongue demands entrance. My groan gets lost in his mouth the moment I let him dominate my mouth, the two of us kissing like it’s our last. He tastes like expensive bourbon and cigarettes, a combination that's uniquely him and never fails to make me want more.
But we're still on a public street, mere feet from where I left three unconscious would-be criminals.
Ugh…
I force the kiss to break far too soon, my instincts seething in defiance compared to my mind trying to clear the path of reasonable thinking.
Instead of following the path of using my dick…
"Someone will see," I murmur against his lips, gently pressing my hand to his chest to create some space between us.
The action costs me more self-control than I care to admit.
Damon's eyes flash with annoyance, though the cocky grin playing at his lips tells me I'm not getting away that easily. His perfectly tailored suit does nothing to hide his own arousal, and the way he looks at me makes my skin feel too tight.
"I don't give a fuck if anyone sees," he emphasizes each word, maintaining eye contact in that predatory way that reminds me he's not just any businessman – he's one of the most dangerous men in the city.
I know he doesn’t give a damn.
He controls this city and the domain as he sees fit.
That’s the level of power he carries so flawlessly that furthers his attractiveness. That, and makes him practically untouchable because who wants to fight against that?
I certainly don’t and I’m deemed the “good” guy.
We stay frozen in that moment, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife, until my phone's shrill ring shatters the atmosphere.
A glance at the screen shows the precinct's number.
"Cross," I answer, trying to sound professional despite Damon's proximity.
Just hide how out of breath I feel.
"Detective, we need you to report back for a night call," Officer Chen's voice comes through clear and anxious. "There's been activity reported near the forest?—"
"The same forest where we've been finding dead Omegas?" I cut in, unable to keep from rolling my eyes. "Let me guess…more 'suspicious activity'?"
Suspicious activity can’t describe the shit that keeps happening in the depths of that forest despite us patrolling on an hourly basis.
"Yes, sir. Captain wants you specifically."
Of course, he does.
I want to roll my eyes again because the fucker wants me to do all the dirty work.
"I'll be there," I grunt before hanging up. When I look up, Damon's raised eyebrow demands an explanation.
"They want me patrolling the forest tonight," I explain, watching his expression darken. "You know, the one where we've been finding dead Omegas left and right."
"Why tonight specifically?" His question carries weight. Damon might operate outside the law, but he has his own strict moral code – and violence against Omegas is something he absolutely won't tolerate.
"There's been an announcement," I begin, choosing my words carefully. "The Knot Their Omega Movement just passed legislation. It's backed by seven of the wealthiest Omegas in the country, working through the Noctuary Larissa Organization."
Damon's eyes widen slightly – a tell that only those closest to him would notice.
"The N.L.O.? That's not just any organization."
"No, it's not," I agree. "They've been operating under the radar, collecting donations from six and seven-figure Omegas, building a network of safe houses and legal protection. But this movement…it's different. They're pushing for actual legal change."
I lean against my car, feeling the weight of what this could mean.
"Under the new legislation, Omegas would have the right to trial periods with potential packs. Three months to determine compatibility before any binding commitment. They'd maintain rights to their careers, education, even independent transportation."
"Which means the more…traditional elements of our society are going to lose their minds," Damon concludes, his jaw tightening. "Including certain packs who rely on arranged marriages and forced bonds to maintain their power."
"Exactly." I run a hand through my hair, a habit that surfaces when I'm stressed. "This movement could actually affect us too, you know. Our pack…whatever we are. We'd need to register under the new laws if we want to court an Omega."
The implication hangs between us. We've never officially registered as a pack – doing so would raise too many questions about a detective and a crime lord being intimately connected.
But with this Omega…the one whose scent still lingers in my nose…we could devise something. Make it almost appealing where the attention we retrieve works in our favor?
The questionable temptation of the idea makes me frown, but it’s not long before my chin is gripped by a firm grasp, forcing me to meet the eyes of my groveling packmate of sin.
"You're thinking about her again," Damon observes, his voice carrying a mixture of jealousy and intrigue. "The one in the saree."
Why can’t I just let it go…
"Can you blame me?" I counter with a quick attempt to feign worry instead of this craving desire to locate her.
Find and claim her before anyone else dares have a chance.
It’s the weirdest sensation I’ve ever felt, which only makes my predicament worse with this new assignment of “walking through the forest” tonight.
"If she's from the Safe Haven, she's probably running from something…or hell, someone.”
I know it’s an excuse, but then I do wonder if she’d be in the same predicament I was years ago. It’s such a stupid wild thought that keeps nagging me.
Why though? She’s just a stranger…
” Just like I was. Just like so many others who deserve better than what this fucked up system offers." The confession lingers in the quiet air, leaving me to sigh and ruffle my hair while moving my chin from Damon’s grasp. “Ugh. Let’s not talk about it anymore. Let me use my phone to make a quick check-in call with the office and then I can drop you off,” I suggest instead as I move away to walk towards the driver’s side of the car. “You coming?”
“Hmmm.” I know he’s not satisfied with my obvious need to make space — for mine and my cocks own sanity — but us lingering here isn’t a good move.
We both know this.
"Sure,” he ends up replying.
“How did you even get here?” I dare to wonder, knowing by the way I look and watch his devious smirk that he isn’t telling me shit. Figures. “Never mind,” I dismiss with a huff, knowing he’s only going to smirk wider and enter the passenger side of my car.
Damon has his ways of appearing and disappearing as he sees fit.
The glorious privilege of being a lead mobster in a sinister world where power speaks and bullshit listens.