Chapter 2
Killian
“All right, Killian. I have a question, and you need to answer with complete honesty.”
Killian took a sip of his whiskey, arching a brow at Devon, a hopelessly arrogant blond alpha and one of the few people Killian would call a close friend. “I’m listening.”
“Did the bartender piss in your whiskey?”
Killian took another sip of his drink, letting the smoky flavor roll across his tongue. He pretended to think it over. “Not to my knowledge.”
“Then what, exactly, is your problem? Your face is scaring away all the pretty omegas. And betas. And alphas, for that matter.”
Killian looked pointedly around the mostly deserted bar.
It was still early on a Thursday night, and they were some of only a few patrons.
Only one was someone Killian recognized from the club he and Devon both frequented, and he knew for a fact that Devon wasn’t interested in that particular omega.
Devon sighed, leaning back in his chair and loosening his tie.
He had a penchant for dressing up in suits and then mussing himself up in a way that made him seem more approachable than he actually was.
It was his way of luring his omega subs into a false sense of security before he pulled the rug out from under them. “Let’s go across the street.”
“I told you I’m not interested tonight.”
“You’re always interested.”
Killian shrugged, running a hand through his hair. That was usually true enough. He had a high sex drive, even for an alpha, and the club across the street had always catered to his … specific interests well enough. Until recently, at least.
“What’s the deal?” Devon asked, echoing Killian’s thoughts. “Tired of taking control in the bedroom?” His face screwed up in a look of false sympathy. “Need to be under someone else’s strong hand for a change?”
Killian scoffed, flicking his coaster at his annoying friend. “Hardly.”
“Well, I hate hunting alone. Should I be looking for someone else to drag here on my free nights?”
It felt like defeat to admit it, but Killian wasn’t interested in being whined at by Devon every evening either. So perhaps he would take a break. From the club, at least—not from going out altogether.
Killian refused to become one of those shut-in professors who only ever shuttled between their homes and the university.
“Maybe you should start with calling Prince for a bit,” Killian told Devon after a moment, naming the absent third of their trio.
Devon nodded, not pressing any further. Perhaps Killian should be grateful—if it had been any of Devon’s subs, he would have been relentless. He didn’t like not being in the know.
Not that there was anything to know. The scene here had just gotten …
small. Killian had dallied already with most of the suitable omegas who’d caught his eye, and none of them had held his interest long enough to consider a more permanent arrangement.
And he wasn’t interested in participating in scenes at the club otherwise.
He was into more … private scenarios. Killian wasn’t flashy like Devon, or even the way Prince could be when he got his hackles up.
Devon tossed back the rest of his drink and pushed away from the bar. “You won’t mind if I desert you, then?”
Killian waved a hand. “By all means.”
Devon started to turn away, then stopped. “I’d be careful, you know,” he told Killian, slapping a hand on his shoulder. “You’re already a cold fish. I’m afraid without certain outlets, you might become a frozen one.”
Killian smirked, brushing Devon’s hand away. “Have you been keeping that little comment in your pocket just for me?”
“I have. How did you like it?”
“Tame to the point of ineffectual,” Killian surmised.
Devon pointed a finger. “See? Cold. You could at least have gotten angry.”
Except Killian didn’t get angry. Annoyed, sometimes.
Angry, almost never. He didn’t find most things worth the energy it required.
He supposed there was some irony there, seeing as how the student review sites always commented on how frightening he was.
But Killian never raised his voice, never lost his temper.
He simply had heavy pheromones and a resting asshole face.
“Anyway, tootles,” Devon said, turning on his heel with a mocking salute. “Maybe you’ll get lucky and find what you’re looking for here.”
“Doubtful,” Killian murmured when his friend was too far off to hear.
Mostly because Killian wasn’t looking for anything. That was the problem, wasn’t it? That nothing and no one was catching his eye.
Green eyes. Pink lips. A cap pulled low over an absurdly pretty face.
Killian slammed back the rest of his whiskey, signaling the bartender for another. That image was something he shouldn’t be thinking of at all, and definitely not in this context.
The beta.
Killian had indulged in that weakness too many times already. Twice too many, to be exact.
The first mistake had been holding the makeup exam in his private office.
Killian didn’t hold makeup exams himself. He had TAs for that sort of thing. And he certainly didn’t grade them right there on the spot.
But he hadn’t meant anything by it at the time.
His TAs had been busy with the end of the semester, and he’d had his required office hours free and open.
And Killian had been … mildly curious. He’d noticed the close way his beta student watched him during lectures—not warily, like the other students, but with some sort of inscrutable intent—and Killian had wanted to see what his star student of the semester would do in a closed room with Killian’s pheromones.
Sadistic of him? Possibly. He’d known what the likely outcome was—other than the occasional omega, most people were uncomfortable with his scent in close quarters, even betas.
If Mr. Adler had balked, Killian would have been all understanding smiles and words of encouragement, scheduling the beta’s exam for an alternate time with a TA.
That would have been that. Curiosity assuaged, with the added bonus of reminding Mr. Adler that Killian was not a suitable professor for any sort of undergraduate crush.
But Mr. Adler had instead settled on Killian’s office couch with a quiet, contented sigh, getting to his work right away, as if Killian’s pheromones were soothing rather than suffocating.
He’d completed his test with focused efficiency.
And when Killian had graded that test on the spot—curious to see if Mr. Adler’s scores matched Killian’s standards—and handed it back to him, Chase Adler had stood there, staring. Waiting for … something.
The odd moment had stuck in Killian’s mind. Like a pebble in his shoe, setting him off-kilter when he least suspected it. Forming the tiniest crack in his rock-solid foundation.
Which was the only way to explain this past Monday, when Killian had slipped and called Chase—Mr. Adler—a good boy. And the beta student had looked at him like Killian had just opened a portal to another world.
If the smallest little phrase could do that to him, what would it be like to—
No. Fuck no.
Killian did not lust after undergrad students. Not even former ones. He may not have reached forty yet, but they had still always seemed like toddlers to him. Rowdy and undisciplined and more interested in smearing each other with pheromones than solving a simple statistics problem.
Except the beta hadn’t been like that at all.
He was ever so polite. Ever so punctual.
Always saying “sir,” even now, when he was no longer Killian’s student.
It wasn’t even Killian’s preferred title—not in the bedroom—but it still did something to him.
His cock was starting to fill just thinking about it.
Fuck that. Time to go home.
Killian left the rest of his drink on the bar, along with his payment and a large tip. He mentally reversed his decision for momentary abstinence.
Killian would come back tomorrow, in a better state of mind, and find himself someone, no matter whether they were in the scene or not. He’d take that someone home, and he’d fuck Chase Adler’s sweet, polite, “Here you are, sir,” right out of his mind.
Chase Adler would not be a problem.
Killian would make sure of it.
That had been the plan, anyway.
A plan that had gone completely awry just about a minute ago, when Killian had shown up to his favorite bar to find Chase Adler sitting at the end of it.
Now Killian was standing just inside the doorway.
He’d clocked the boy immediately—recognized him from the back of his goddamn head.
Chase was wearing his ever-present baseball cap, but Killian already knew that underneath it he’d find straight dirty-blond hair—the kind that couldn’t decide if it was blond or brunet—parted in the middle and just long enough to tuck behind his ears.
He knew that hair covered a face that looked like if a nineties heartthrob and a Disney prince had a baby.
He knew he’d find full lips, striking green eyes, and a young man who was handsome bordering on pretty.
Chase Adler was dressed in his usual informal athleisure wear, but Killian also knew he wouldn’t smell at all like sweat.
He’d smell clean, almost minty. He always did.
Chase might not have had pheromones to emit, but scenting him wasn’t a hardship by any means.
The one drawback was that, covering his natural scent, Chase always smelled of two strange alphas.
Brothers or roommates, Killian would guess, judging by the light touch of those pheromones.
Presumably a lover would be more heavy-handed.
Killian would fucking smother him in his scent, if that boy were his.
Well, that was an unwelcome thought.
Fuck. Killian could leave. Should leave. If he’d seen any other student he recognized this close to his usual hunting grounds, he would have.
But now that Chase was here, Killian couldn’t help his curiosity. This wasn’t a popular undergrad location for a casual night out. It was too far from campus, and the drinks were much too expensive for the college crowd.
And Chase was here alone.
He should have looked out of place, there among the expensive suits and high heels of the other patrons, but he had a quiet confidence that seemed to allow him to fit in anywhere. He wasn’t fidgeting or glancing around. He was sipping calmly at his cocktail, something clear in a tall glass.
He wasn’t even staring at a phone.
There was, however, another destination this bar was conveniently adjacent to. Was Chase perhaps gearing up to cross the street? If he was …
Some unnameable emotion surged in Killian, and he forced it back down with a quiet curse.
But no, Killian wasn’t leaving.
He wasn’t going to do anything—he hadn’t lost his senses completely—but he was nothing if not an academic. He had an academic question now—namely, what the fuck was one of his former students doing at this bar?
And observation was the only way to get his answers.
Killian took a moment, making sure his pheromones were under wraps as he folded his shirt cuffs up to his elbow and then strode more fully into the bar.
He took a seat at one of the high-top tables within Chase’s line of sight, nodding to the bartender, who started pouring Killian’s preferred whiskey without a word before coming out from behind the bar to drop it off at his table.
When the bartender made to leave, Killian stopped him with a gesture. “The kid at the end,” he said, surprised at the gravelly edge to his own voice. “What’s he drinking?”
The bartender answered immediately, seemingly without having to think, “Gin and tonic with lime.”
Interesting. It was a country-club type drink. Not the watered-down beer or obnoxious shooter combination one might expect of an undergraduate student.
Or maybe Killian was just being a judgmental, pretentious asshole.
It wouldn’t be the first time.
“You want to get his next one?” the bartender asked, familiar with Killian’s usual methods. Really, Killian should learn the man’s name one of these days.
“No.” Killian tugged his whiskey closer, handing the bartender his card. “Close me out, will you?”
Killian sat with his drink, watching the side profile of a certain Chase Adler. Student. Beta. Polite young man.
Killian sat and watched and waited.