Once Upon A Pack (Royalverse #1)

Chapter 9

nine

The omega standing across from me has spinach in her teeth.

The fact that she will be mortified beyond compare once she finally stops assaulting my eardrums and moves on to someone else is the only reason I’m able to keep a placid smile-adjacent expression on my face.

Over her shoulder, Asher glances up from the one he’s speaking to. His harried look loudly proclaims what I already know?—

This is a nightmare .

We’ve been here, what? Ten minutes? I’ve already lost track of all the girls. Cooing and giggling, pointing and whispering. Swirls of tulle and sparkles and every type of mask on this whole godforsaken planet.

Catlike ones and peacock ones and— oh God —is that supposed to look like Medusa?

If Asher is already flagging, I don’t have a prayer.

Lord only knows where the fuck Dair is.

Wait. There.

The close cut of his black suit stands out among the other tuxedos. He stands beside one of the marble pillars propping up the ballroom’s staircase. A group of girls approaches, but the look he gives sends them reeling back.

I have got to ask him to teach me that.

The omega across from me reaches over to brush my forearm. Her eyes slant my way, implying she’s just said something suggestive.

I tweak my smile higher, wondering why I’m not interested. Why I’m not anything . Except…

Then I feel it, unfurling in my lungs like the first deep breath after a long stretch underwater?—

Relief .

Not because any of these omegas smell right.

But because they all smell wrong .

The party’s scent-neutralizers have been carefully calibrated to give us the barest edge of every omega we encounter. According to the experts, if one of their scents jumps over that hurdle… well.

But, so far? Nothing.

Why does that make me happy ?

Up high, a twirl of shimmery blue catches my eye. Standing on the landing for the second floor—or near it, at least, hovering at the threshold to a hallway.

Doesn’t that one go to the northern wing and staff quarters? What’s one of our eligible omegas doing up there ?

It’s hard for me to ponder for long. Impossible, actually, to think about anything except her .

That dress looks familiar, but I know I’ve never seen the woman in it before. Because the way my Alpha shoves at me?

I’d remember that.

Then again, the last time he did this, it was over a bag of breadcrumbs.

That felt like a fluke, though.

And this? This feels like…

I stop myself from thinking the word, tuning out the woman who’s still babbling at me and squinting to get a clearer picture of the mystery omega in blue.

Because, yes, even from here, I can tell she’s an omega. All finely turned ankles, elegant collarbones, and the sort of angelic features that call to me on a visceral level.

At least, the ones I can see. Most of her face is covered by a simple mask. The silver and ice complement her cool-blonde waves and the wispy bangs brushing her forehead.

She has no jewelry. And, goddamn it, that’s wrong . She should be dripping in diamonds and aquamarines. My omega should always?—

Whoa.

WHOA.

Wait.

What?

My body doesn’t want to wait, though. I’m already in motion, gritting my teeth as I pluck my current companion’s hand from my sleeve and mumble, “Excuse me.”

She sputters something indignant, and the edge of her fruity scent sours. Suddenly, I can’t stand it . My insides heave and flip, desperate to get away .

Get to her .

The girl who’s turned her pretty blonde head to speak to someone behind her.

Another alpha.

A growl crouches low in my lungs as the tall woman appears behind my blue angel. The sweet omega bites her glossy lip and darts a timid look at the landing situated between both sets of curved stairs.

Because she doesn’t want everyone to look at her when she steps out into the light?

Why does that make my heart hurt ?

The woman with her isn’t having it. With a nudge, she pushes the omega out of the shadows, sending her staggering slightly as she approaches the gilded railing. Her plain, unpainted fingers curl around the lustrous balcony, and she straightens, lifting her head. The ballroom’s lights reflect off her skin and hair, glowing.

And holy shit.

Holy. Shit.

That’s our mate.

This feeling reminds me of being a little kid at the beach. Standing next to the ocean, turning my back for one second too long?—

And getting clobbered by a wave.

It drags me under, blotting out the ballroom whirling in my periphery. Muting the cacophony of voices and music and clanking crystal. Blurring all the gold and grandiosity into a white fog.

Just like being swallowed by the sea—once I get over the initial shock of having my legs swept from under me, it’s almost peaceful.

I float in a weightless moment of awe, not even feeling my feet as they carry me to the stairs. Someone’s shoulder connects with mine. There’s a flurry of apologies and bowing. I’m not sure I manage so much as a glance in their direction, but the jolt is enough to bring me back to reality.

The string quartet’s whine fills my ears as the room reappears. I stop below the bottom step, blinking. Pivoting to look around.

Because there’s no way I’m the only one who feels this.

Turns out, I’m right.

Asher is exactly where I left him. It’s hard to tell what he’s thinking with his gold mask covering his eyes, but his body is so utterly, eerily still, angled in the same direction mine is…

I know he sees her, too.

Whipping my head the other way, I scan for Dair…

And sure enough, he’s frozen, too. Still leaning against that pillar—but all casual pretense has abandoned him. Instead of looking indolent, he seems dumbfounded.

Unlike Asher’s stoic stillness, Dair’s body is slack. His mouth hangs wide for several seconds before the features visible under his simple, black mask twist in absolute horror .

Does he recognize her?

Why is he staring like that ?

Lord, I am fucked. Because while I’m curious, I actually don’t care what his excuse is.

The need to protect rises hard and high inside me. And I don’t give a shit why he looks like that—I will kill him if he makes her feel uncomfortable for even half a second.

It’s an insane impulse. That’s my packmate . And I don’t even know this girl’s name .

But—oh. She’s looking at me.

Normally, I would be pleased. My appearance is one of my primary draws. And even though I have a slate mask over my face, I know this gray tux is setting off my blond hair.

Only, she isn’t gazing the way other girls do. Under the shade of her own mask, the whites of her eyes flash, betraying her balk before she steps back.

Like she’s about to run away?

The female alpha I wanted to rip to shreds moments ago turns out to be my savior. She halts the omega before she can flee, turning her to the nearest set of stairs with two firm hands on the angel’s bare, flawless shoulders.

They exchange a few words before the alpha gives a bossy nod, all but pushing the omega down the steps.

I hate it.

But it means the blonde angel I’m desperate to meet has no choice but to float down to me.

I’m there, waiting. Watching her stare at her own feet as she navigates her descent. As if she’s not used to the heels strapped over her unpolished toes—or the long, divided skirt of her gown.

Her trepidation is cute as hell, honestly. Every other woman in the room has been flouncing around like they own the place. This one acts like she’s not even sure she’s allowed to touch the handrail.

By the time she hits the last step, I’m grinning. My hand reaches over automatically, hovering. Waiting.

She finally glances up from her feet and finds my open palm. With a blink, crystalline eyes flutter up to meet mine.

There’s a long, breathless pause. Another moment where I swear the room around us ceases to exist. And it’s just me. Just her.

Just this.

Us .

Me and my mate.

My scent must be overpowering, because her lashes flutter again, those blue irises taking on a distinct glossiness while her pupils bloom. The visible reaction leaves me winded. I suck in a deep breath, inhaling absolute heaven .

And it smells like shortbread.