Chapter 34 Dorian #2
"Other things?" She follows the movement, closing the distance I just created. "What could be more important than your art? Unless..." Her hand lands on my forearm. "Unless you're focusing on more personal pursuits?"
The touch is calculated. Soft. Her fingers trace small circles on my skin.
"I think what Victoria means," Celeste interrupts, moving to my other side, "is that a man like you shouldn't have to pursue anything alone. You should have someone supporting you. Taking care of your needs."
Her hand joins Victoria's, this time on my other arm. I'm being bracketed between them, their scents mixing, their touches increasingly bold.
"We're all very supportive," Arabella adds, completing the circle. Now I'm surrounded by three Omegas, all touching me, all sending clear signals of availability. "And we understand the demands placed on someone of your status. We've been trained for this."
"Trained?" I manage.
"Omega finishing school," Victoria explains, her hand sliding up to my shoulder. "We learn how to manage a household, host social events, support our Alpha's career ambitions." Her voice drops lower. "And how to satisfy in... more private settings."
Jesus Christ.
"My coursework included advanced social etiquette and—" Celeste leans closer, her lips nearly brushing my ear, "—intimate Alpha care. I graduated top of my class."
"I'm sure you're all very accomplished," I say, trying to create space that they immediately close.
"We could demonstrate," Arabella suggests, and her hand is on my chest now, fingers splayed over my heart. "If you wanted. Our suites are just across the courtyard."
Red alert. Abort. Abort.
"I appreciate the offer, but I'm rather tired from the drive—"
"We're very good at helping Alphas relax," Victoria interrupts. She's practically pressed against my side now. "Massage therapy was part of our training. Among other relaxation techniques."
The other mothers are watching this display with approval. Actual approval. Like watching their daughters throw themselves at me is exactly what they hoped for.
"My heat is scheduled for next month," Celeste adds, apparently deciding subtle seduction isn't working fast enough. "If you're interested in evaluating compatibility. The doctors say I respond very well to Alpha pheromones."
"And mine is in six weeks," Victoria chimes in. "We could coordinate. Some Alphas prefer to have options."
"I'm fascinated by Alpha lineage," Arabella says, her hand still on my chest, fingers tracing patterns that are definitely not accidental. "Especially strong, dominant lines like yours. The genetics are so compelling."
This cannot be real life.
"I think," I say carefully, "that we should perhaps join the others—"
"But we're having such a lovely conversation," Victoria protests. Her hand slides to the back of my neck, fingers threading through my hair. "Don't you want to get to know us better?"
"Get to know" is clearly code for something else entirely.
"Ladies," I try again, attempting to extract myself from the tangle of hands and bodies and overwhelming scents. "This is all very flattering, but—"
"But what?" Celeste demands, and now there's steel under the sweetness. Fear, maybe. Desperation. "Because our mothers went to a lot of trouble to arrange this. If you're not interested, we need to know why so we can explain it to them."
"There's someone else," I admit, because lying at this point seems cruel.
All three freeze.
"Someone... else?" Celeste repeats slowly.
"Someone your mother doesn't know about," Arabella adds, and now she's studying me with sharper eyes. Less desperate, more calculating. "Someone inappropriate."
I don't answer, but my silence is confirmation enough.
"Oh." Victoria's face goes through several emotions—shock, then understanding, then something that might be pity. "Oh, you poor thing."
"I'm fine."
"You're not fine," she corrects. "You're bonded to someone your family won't approve of. I can see it now—the way you keep touching your chest, the way you flinch when you turn away from Northwood. You're mated."
"How did you—"
"Omega finishing school," she says dryly. "They teach us to read Alphas. To know when we're competing against biology versus just preference." She sags slightly, the desperate seductress act dropping. "We were never going to win this, were we?"
"No," I admit. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be." Celeste smooths her dress, composing herself. "At least now we know. We can tell our mothers you were polite but uninterested. They'll be disappointed, but..." She shrugs. "There are other Alphas."
"Good luck," Arabella says, and she almost sounds sincere. "With your inappropriate Omega. You're going to need it if your mother finds out."
"She won't," I say.
"She will," Victoria corrects. "Mothers always do. And when she does?" She gives me a look that's not unkind. "I hope your Omega is worth losing all this."
Before I can respond, Mother appears on the terrace, her smile sharp as glass. "Dorian, darling. Your father would like a word. In his study."
The words every son dreads.
I follow her inside, past the three Omegas who watch me go with varying degrees of pity and relief. Through the house with its portraits of disapproving ancestors. Down the hall to Father's study, where Harrison Ashworth III waits behind his massive desk.
Alpha extraordinaire. Patriarch. The man who erased Julian from existence.
"Sit," he says.
I sit.
And the reckoning I've been dreading finally begins.