Chapter 23 – BELLS #2
"Let. Go." Each word comes out dangerously quiet.
He does, but his expression twists into something ugly. "You know what? Fuck you. Fuck you and your new band and your mysterious rockstar bullshit. I hope Rex Steele chews you up and spits you out like he does everyone else."
Then he's gone, disappearing back into the crowd.
My hands are shaking. I shove them in my pockets, trying to breathe normally, trying to remember that Jake's just hurt and lashing out and doesn't actually know anything.
He's lucky I didn't cave his face in, too, if only because it would attract unwanted attention. My stupid inner omega pipes up that if Rex were here, he would've turned Jake inside out from ass to mouth.
I roll my eyes at the thought. But maybe there's something to be said for letting him act like an attack dog.
"That looked fun," Rafael says, appearing at my elbow with another champagne flute. "Want to talk about it?"
"Not even a little bit."
He nods, accepting that, and hands me the glass. Another drink I'll have to get rid of somehow. "Fair enough. Phoenix is still trapped with that producer. Want to escape to the balcony?"
"Gods, yes."
The balcony is less crowded, just a handful of people smoking and trying to look brooding in the rain. Rafael and I claim a corner, leaning against the railing as Seattle spreads out below us in a wash of lights and wet pavement.
"Jake seems nice," Rafael says dryly.
"He's pissed I left. Can't really blame him, even if he was a fucking asshole tonight." I swirl the champagne, splashing a little out of the side when Raf looks up at the moon. "They were my band, and I just... left."
"Because Rex blackmailed you?"
I nearly choke. "What?"
Rafael gives me a look that says he's not stupid and neither am I, so let's not pretend. "Phoenix and I aren't blind, Bells. We know something's off about how you joined Vespyr. Rex doesn't just recruit people. He barely tolerates the ones he has. And we're pack."
"Then why haven't you said anything?"
"Because it's not our business." He lights a cigarette, offering me one. I shake my head. "And because whatever Rex is holding over you, we figure you'll tell us when you're ready. Or not. Your choice."
I watch Raf for a moment, processing his words. He seems completely sincere, which is surprising, considering he's an alpha. Then again, I've lived with the guy for almost two weeks, and the only red flag I've seen is that he hogs the mirror.
"Thanks," I mutter.
"Don't thank me yet. I'm still trying to figure out if you're good for the band or going to destroy us from the inside out."
"Fair assessment."
He flashes me a grin, a bit of pointed canine showing. "I'm leaning toward good for the band, if you care."
"I don't."
He just laughs at that.
We stand in comfortable silence for a while, watching the city. The rain has picked up, drumming against the balcony overhang, drowning out the noise from inside.
It hits me all of a sudden that I don't feel well. I don't feel sick, necessarily, but I definitely have the prickling sensation of an oncoming fever. It's probably because I dared to have a glass of champagne. Gotta love suppressants having surprise effects when combined with incomplete marks.
"I need to use the bathroom," I say finally. "And grab some water before I do something stupid."
"Like punch Jake in the face?"
"Like punch Jake in the face."
Rafael heads back toward the door. "I'll come with you. Phoenix is probably wondering where we disappeared to anyway."
We go back inside together, the noise and heat and smell hitting me all over again. The crowd has grown denser. Bodies press together, some of them gyrating. The drugs are already hitting half the guests, apparently.
I turn to Raf. "Got a weird favor to ask."
"Sure," he says, finishing off his drink and setting it on a tray. "What's up?"
"I'm kinda… dizzy," I say carefully. "Can you just wait outside the bathroom while I run in and take a piss?"
I don't tell him the truth, which is that I feel like I'm going to puke all of a sudden, watering mouth and all, and I'm afraid to go into the bathroom alone when my stalker knows where I live and sent me flowers.
Because Raf will tell Rex.
And Rex will go scorched fucking earth.
"Of course," says Raf, his brow furrowing like he's worried about me, but he doesn't push it. "I'll wait here."
"Thanks," I mutter, squeezing through the crowd to get to the bathroom. Surprisingly, it's blessedly empty. I lock myself in a stall, leaning my forehead against the cool metal door, trying to orient myself.
Something's wrong.
Not wrong wrong, but... off. My skin feels too tight, too hot. The binder is suddenly unbearable, pressing against my ribs like it's trying to crush the air from my lungs. And there's this ache, low in my abdomen, that has nothing to do with any alcohol interaction I've ever had before.
No.
No no no.
I can't be going into fucking heat. My hormones aren't that screwed up.
The bathroom door opens. Voices filter in—two guys talking about some label drama I don't care about. I stay frozen in the stall, willing them to leave, willing this feeling to pass.
It doesn't pass.
It gets worse.
Heat spreads through my core like wildfire, making my thighs clench involuntarily.
Slick starts to gather, and I bite down on my fist to keep from making a sound.
This isn't a full heat—can't be, the suppressants won't allow it—but it's enough.
Enough to be obvious, enough to broadcast what I am to every alpha in the vicinity.
The men leave. I stumble out of the stall on legs that don't quite work right, gripping the sink for support. My reflection stares back at me—flushed cheeks, dilated pupils, lips parted and dry enough to stick together as I try to breathe through the mounting need.
I splash cold water on my face. It helps for about five seconds before the heat comes roaring back.
Someone drugged me.
The realization hits with crystal clarity. But how? I didn't take any drinks from anyone at all, only off the communal trays.
Unless…
Unless someone spiked all the drinks in hopes of triggering heats in omegas.
And I'm the only omega in attendance, unless there are others pretending to be betas and alphas, too.
But those drugs are expensive—expensive enough no one would waste that kind of money by spiking all the drinks, unless they were filthy rich, unless they were positive they were going to go to an omega that made it worth it to them to blow that kind of cash.
Fuck.
I've spent years watching shadows, waiting for my stalker to pop up around every corner, and yet the idea still feels a bit too paranoid.
But here I am, spiraling into the beginnings of an artificial heat despite the industrial strength suppressants I've been downing in greater quantities than ever.
My stalker is here.
Watching me.
Waiting to see what happens when I'm vulnerable and desperate and surrounded by alphas who will smell what I am, who will know my male beta mask is completely fucking fake.
I need to get out. Need to find Rafael and Phoenix and leave before this gets worse. Before someone notices and my entire carefully constructed identity shatters.
I shove through the bathroom door back into the party. The noise is overwhelming now, every sound scraping against my nerves like sandpaper. And the scents—gods, the scents. Every alpha in the room suddenly smells appealing in a way that makes me want to crawl out of my skin.
Rafael is still right where he said he'd be even though it has to have been at least half an hour since I asked him to wait. He's talking to someone I don't recognize. I make my way toward him, trying to look normal, trying not to stumble.
"Raf," I manage, my voice hoarse. "I need to leave. Now."
He takes one look at my face and his expression shifts immediately. "What happened?"
"I don't—I can't—" The words won't come out right. Everything's starting to fragment at the edges, reality blurring into sensation. "Please. I need to go."
"Okay." He's already moving, one hand on my elbow to steady me. "Let me find Phoenix."
"No time." Another wave hits, stronger than the last, and I nearly double over. "Outside. Need air."
Rafael doesn't argue. He guides me through the crowd toward the exit, his grip firm and grounding.
The cool night air hits my face like a slap. I gulp it down, trying to clear my head, but it doesn't help. Nothing helps. The heat is building, demanding, making me want things I absolutely cannot have right now.
"Bells." Rafael's voice is urgent, his eyes scanning my face. "Talk to me. What's happening?"
"Drugged," I gasp out. "Someone drugged my drink. I'm—I can't—"
I don't finish the sentence. Don't need to. Because my scent must be bleeding through my suppressants now, even in the rain. Rafael's eyes go wide as comprehension dawns, and I watch him piece together what's happening in real time.
"You're… an omega," he breathes.
Not a question. A statement of fact that I'm too far gone to deny.
"Get Phoenix," I manage. "Please. I need—"
The entrance door slams open and Phoenix emerges, his expression already worried. He must have gotten a text from Rafael. "Bells, what—"
He stops mid-sentence.
His pupils dilate so fast it's visible even in the dim lighting. His chest expands with a deep inhale, and I watch his entire body go rigid.
Oh fuck.