Chapter 6
“You fit right in.” Despite his comment, Oberon didn’t so much as spare Fenrir a glance, too busy scanning the crowd. It was impossible to tell what he was looking for, but whatever it was, his almost bored expression never wavered, indicating he’d yet to locate it.
To his credit, Fenrir kept his composure, adopting the same blasé stance as the infuriating alpha at his side.
It wasn’t in his nature to be one-upped, not unless his situation required it of him, and considering he was already locked into a binding contract with Oberon, the stage where Fenrir needed to act to draw attention had passed.
Hell, he’d technically failed in that regard anyway, since this alpha was never one he’d meant to attract in the first place.
“Not your first tediously mediocre event?” Oberon asked, though it was obvious by his tone he’d already gleaned as much. “Well? Thoughts? Does the glittering veneer hold a candle to the parties held by the Wardrobe, or has the White Frost left you unimpressed?”
Evergreen was tastefully decorated on a regular day, but it’d been completely redone to mirror the occasion.
Heated Hearts was a big event on Synastry; some might even argue it was bigger than Yuel Tide or New Year’s ever since the Imperial family had changed it from a day about love to a day about fornication.
The White Frost celebrated the same as everyone else, though with the same lavish flare Fenrir had expected from the mafia.
There were bowls filled with party favors at the entrance.
Heat inducers, packaged sex toys, and more.
Alcohol flowed in abundance, with dozens of waitstaff moving about, hoisting trays filled with glasses containing every color of the rainbow.
The Leviathan was oddly known for his love of celebrations, and this party was talked about for weeks leading up to and after the main event.
Receiving an invitation was considered an honor in some circles, a threat in others, but always something that carried great importance.
Even though both technically ran criminal organizations, the Wardrobe had only just been able to step out from the shadowy underbelly.
Michelle was at odds with the White Frost, but that didn’t change the fact that she was vastly outnumbered, with wealth and power that didn’t come close to what the mafia had in their pockets.
“The Wardrobe doesn’t own anything quite like this,” he stated blandly, testing the waters. He didn’t like this uncertainty, not knowing whether this was mere small talk or if the alpha was trying to get something out of him.
“That’s a rather tame way of saying I can provide better than your mistress ever could,” Oberon said.
“Is that what this is? Are you showing off, King?”
“While neither party has ever spoken of it out loud, you and I both know there’s animosity between the White Frost and the Wardrobe.”
“That’s clear from the fact I’m here, drinking expensive wine that tastes like freshly picked berries, dressed in a three-piece suit, being shown off like some prize. Is that why you bid on me? To give your friends a laugh?”
“Take a closer look around, precious. You’re getting lots of stares, but not a single person is laughing at you.”
Fenrir peered over the railing down at the crowd, glancing away quickly when he noticed that was true. At his side, the alpha laughed at his discomfort. “I’m not used to this. My purpose within the Wardrobe was never to become an escort.”
“I wouldn’t make light of your mistress’s assets, and neither should you,” Oberon said. “She creates a hell of a lot more than simply escorts. We both know half the omegas on that stage tonight were less than thrilled to be there.”
“Like the actual mafia hasn’t done worse?” Fenrir took another sip of wine, careful not to consume too much at once.
“Worried about putting yourself in a vulnerable position?” The alpha set his gaze on Fen finally, a twinkle of mischief in his green eyes.
Next to each other, their similar heights became more apparent, though Oberon was still around an inch or so taller.
“No one here would dare take advantage of you, even if you were to get drunk.”
“Just you,” Fenrir drawled, unwilling to play into the other man’s hand. “Don’t act like you haven’t already tried it once.”
“You made your stance on the matter clear.”
He snorted. “And I’m supposed to believe you’ll respect that?”
Oberon tilted his head. “Are you not used to people responding positively to your right to consent?”
“I’m product,” he reminded, some of his mood, which had already been on the low side, dropping further.
“You’re upset about that.”
“Would you like to be owned, alpha?”
“Depends on who’s offering to hold my leash.” Oberon winked and then chuckled when Fenrir glared. “Relax, it’s a party. Try and have some fun.”
“That’s rich, coming from you. You’re arguably the most bored one here.”
“Touché.” He downed his drink and then seamlessly reached out and selected a new one from a tray as a waiter passed, leaving his empty glass on the edge of the banister. They’d stuck to the outskirts of the event, on the second level, overlooking the main event below.
They weren’t the only ones.
Trying to be discreet about it, Fen tipped his head to the right, peering at the Dominus seated on a dais at the center of the top floor. Like them, he was watching over the guests, but he was composed and alert.
“Careful, newly turned omega,” Oberon’s voice dropped low. “I’ve never been prone to jealousy before, but I’m finding myself currently at risk of stepping into its clutches.”
“He’s attractive,” Fenrir pushed his luck, purposefully ignoring the warning, and then shrugged. “If you’re into that sort of thing.”
Oberon inspected his Dominus. “We’re both blond, devilishly handsome, and have more money than we know what to do with. What’s not to like?”
“His hair is white.”
“It’s platinum, actually.”
“Okay.”
“Are you saying you aren’t into that sort of thing?”
“Rich and hot?” Fenrir clicked his tongue. “Only a fool wouldn’t be drawn to power. Influence runs the universe. Coin funds it.”
“What a bleak way to view the world.”
“Am I wrong?”
“The only thing you’ve been wrong about so far,” Oberon turned, bringing his body closer, so that Fenrir’s elbow unwittingly brushed against his chest, “is how much attention you seem to think Leviathan Morningstar requires from you.”
“I’m not newly turned.” He wasn’t the only one here who didn’t have all the facts.
Seemingly sensing this was a more serious topic, the alpha straightened, renewing the slight space between them. “When did it happen?”
“When did it start? Or when was it successful?” Bile rose up the back of his throat, and Fenrir took a moment to chase it away with the rest of the contents in his glass.
If the alpha noticed his sudden change of mind when it came to drinking, he didn’t mention it.
“I was orphaned at fourteen and kidnapped by traders. Eventually, I ended up at the Wardrobe.”
“That’s too young to pimp out.”
“They had me making drug runs for them for the first couple of years,” he said.
“At the time, substances like Rebirth were still in the creation phases. It wasn’t until three years later, once I was a legal adult and had…
grown into my looks, that it was decided I’d make the perfect candidate for live trials. ”
There’d been a group of twenty of them in the beginning, all forced to endure the first stages of an illegal drug that had more cons than pros.
By the end, only he and one other had survived.
“The first year, I could barely crawl out of bed.” Or, more accurately, haul himself off the bedding he’d been assigned, tucked into the corner of the white cell he shared with three others.
“The second year, they’d made improvements, said my body had adjusted to the initial concoction or whatever.
I started skipping my ruts. It left me with a lot of pent-up… anger.”
Alphas and omegas needed to release pheromones regularly, and during ruts and heats was when that process occurred most naturally.
When he’d been unable, Fenrir’s hormones had fluctuated, his pheromones seeping from his pores uncontrollably.
It’d led to fits of rage and violent outbursts.
His first sign of influx that had gone ignored by those in charge of him.
After an episode led to him accidentally murdering another trial subject, Michelle had been brought in. He’d thought for sure she was there to kill him, but instead, she’d taken an interest. A morbid curiosity, so to speak.
He’d hated her, this woman in charge of all his suffering, and yet, she’d quickly become the only balm that could soothe his tormented mind. If he slipped into a rage state, she was the only thing that could pull him back.
It didn’t take a genius to figure out she’d done it on purpose. That she’d found a way to slowly acclimate him to her pheromones, getting him addicted to them so the end result was his need for her to calm.
Her presence had been a constant ever since, one that he both loathed and longed for.
“I’d just turned twenty when the final batch of the drug was tested. The change took six months,” he concluded.
“I’m told it takes less than an hour now,” Oberon said.
“Only those that cause fake heats,” he corrected before he could stop himself.
“Their purpose is to get a person ready for breeding right away, so of course they need to be targeted and swift. Depending on the dose and type, these changes can last in the body anywhere from a few days to a few months. There are varying factors. Species, intent, etc.”
“Has anyone ever used these drugs on you before?”
“Are you trying to catch me in a lie?” Fenrir came to his senses. “I told you. I’ve never been with an alpha after becoming an omega.”
Oberon was too perceptive, catching onto the part of that statement Fen hadn’t been careful enough with. “After? Does that mean you were with alphas before?”