Chapter 2
CHAPTER
TWO
Iris
Q uinn, my closest friend in the world, gives a silent squeal as I hurry over, hugging her tight.
Her mother separates us, her bright red hair a stark contrast against her tight black gown and matching headdress.
“Really? It’s bad enough my children are nothing more than Betas”—she glares at her mate who sinks further back into the shadows—“but I will not let anyone jeopardize our standing this Season because of your uncouth behavior.”
She glares at me.
Like I’m the bad influence. Which, maybe I am.
Besides being a late blooming Beta, Quinn is very much like me. We don’t believe in this backward ritual of Alphas courting Omegas. It’s like a circus, a show. But Quinn would never let her mother know that, and I’m not about to tell her either. The woman is a bulldog.
So I smile and say, “Always nice to talk to you, Mrs. Hyde.”
This isn’t feeling like my debut. It’s feeling more like my funeral.
I guess Rue was right. At least I am dressed for the occasion.
“Good lord, smile, Quinn, like your sisters. We can still find you each a rich Beta this Season if you do exactly what I told you. I’m sure Odessa’s caught the eye of Mr. Sagen… Oh, look, there’s Juniper Davis. She’s got a dishy son. And his limp isn’t noticeable when he’s seated. Come girls!”
Quinn’s older sisters, Phoebe and Odessa, follow the sweep of their overbearing mother, one tall and gawky, the other buxom and short, but both somehow managing to look down their noses as they pass me and Quinn.
Unlike Quinn’s fiery red hair, their hair is dark and piled high with enough jewels to light up the night like beacons.
According to Quinn, her mom was mated once before—to an Alpha.
They had a son together, but he’s off at college overseas, so I’ve never actually met him.
I don’t even remember his name. After that ended, Mrs. Hyde mated with her dad for his money—Quinn’s words, not mine—and he brought her and her sisters over.
But that all happened when she was a baby, the whole blended-family thing.
What stands out to me, though, is the way Mrs. Hyde treats her youngest. Someone might say it’s because Quinn and her sisters are from a past relationship, but Mrs. Hyde seems to have no issues with Phoebe and Odessa. Just Quinn. With her, it’s different.
I don’t know why, but I’m not the only one who’s noticed it.
Mr. Hyde scuttles to the refreshments and helps himself. I lean against Quinn and we exchange looks. Together we say, “He’s only lame when moves.”
Our snickers draw a disapproving look from my mom and a glower from Heath.
I grab her hand. “Come on.”
Billy Myers steps in front of us and bows—actually bows—eyes on me, and says, “Iris, dance with me?”
“You’re supposed to use your mini, idiot,” I say, sidestepping him.
“I’ll write you in?”
I tug Quinn, and she almost falls as I find us an unoccupied dark corner. When we’re alone and out of sight, she keeps craning her neck, and I poke her.
Quinn looks at me. “You know, Billy?—”
“Is handsome,” I say with a roll of my eyes. “Who knew?”
“Anyone with eyes,” she says.
“I still see him with his finger up his nose when we were five.”
“Iris.” She turns to me. “That was then, and this is now, so…”
I glance at her and slide the small, potent bottle into my dress’s pocket. “What?”
Odessa drifts close. “Hiding?” she sneers. “You might be able to, Iris. But not with Quinn around. That hair is brighter than the sun.”
“Hear that, Quinn?” I say sweetly, wishing this wasn’t a dark-themed Season and this chick was wearing white instead of black. If I had something like wine or cranberry juice, I would suddenly become very clumsy. “The wallpaper’s talking.”
“God. I can’t believe you’re an Omega, Weed Girl.” Odessa preens. “I have more class in my little finger than you have in your entire body.”
“Is that what that smell is coming from you? Class?” I say. “And here I thought it was just your cheap scent blockers and some overactive sweat glands.”
“Odessa!” Mrs. Hyde’s screech leaps into life from across the room. “Come here. It’s important!”
She turns and sashays off, and instead of looking at Billy, Quinn sighs and stares at the ground. “No one’s going to mate with a redheaded Beta. Not even a mega rich one. The only reason we’re even allowed here is because of money. I just…”
“What?” I glance at her and at the room, and my heart sinks. She likes this, of course she does. It’s not her world because of what she is. So what, she’s not an Omega. That shouldn’t matter. Quinn’s always wanted to fit into something bigger than us. “This is boring.”
“No, it isn’t, not for you.”
“You know I hate this shit.”
Her smile is slow and a bit sad. “Because you can.”
“Well, I can’t pull out, but I can make sure I’m not one of the Monarch’s chosen. I’m sure as hell I’m not Luxe material.”
We both look at each other and laugh.
“Not by a long shot,” she says, and I grin. At least I got her to get her thoughts off her stupid family and her insecurities.
I lean my head against hers. “Let’s just have fun together this Season. Fuck being mated off.”
“Uh, not until our supreme breeder looks the other way.” Quinn nods to a raised platform on the other side of the room.
She sits there, hair bright silver, and in an outfit so white it would embarrass a snowflake. I guess Sophine’s committing to the theme by being the luminary. Or something. I’m betting she’s got a reason, but I don’t care.
In a sea of black and dark colors, she stands out.
Of course she does.
As if sensing me staring, her gaze falls onto me. It takes everything I have not to poke out my tongue. The band starts to play, and I can see Dahlia at the keyboards, the music modern but the right side of boring to fit with the archaic constraints of a ball.
“You, Quinn, are so lucky you’re loaded and free. You don’t have to do this,” I tell her. Quinn makes a noise, and I turn to her as my mini pings. “You can do anything you want. I have to be judged by the Monarch of the Moon.”
“The what?” The voice is cold, dripping in disdain.
I turn. It’s Sophine’s Omega and assistant—kind of. Fredrick. This time, he’s in the palest of ice blue. And he’s glaring at me.
“Monarch of All,” I correct.
He sniffs and moves off just as my mini tablet pings again.
“Iris,” Quinn hisses, “don’t insult him.”
I raise a brow. “It might be a brilliant way to get out of being part of the Season.”
“It might be a brilliant way of getting your family blackballed, and Heath?—”
“Ugh.” I roll my eyes. I should have worn my combat boots. I could stomp things. In heels, I look like a kitten. “Leave him out of it.”
“He’ll lock you up and throw away the key.”
He would. My mini beeps again. “What in the world?” Horror takes over when I see twelve new requests for dances. “Cowards. They can come here and be rebuffed in person.”
“Too scared, I’d imagine.” Quinn snickers.
“How do you…yes!” I delete them all.
When I glance up, an older and, frankly, fucking hot, Alpha heads my way. I dead-eye stare him down until he veers off to Omega-viper, known as Alicia.
They head to the dance floor.
“I’m going to the bathroom.”
“I’ll cover for you,” she says.
I smile. “You’re an angel.”
I turn and head toward the stairs. I don’t need a bathroom, but I’ll take breathing space and real darkness that’s silent, calm, and soothing.
When I reach the ground floor, I find that most doors are locked, but when a handle finally turns, I push it open. I think I’m close to the old kitchens, so this part of the house might be older and not used.
The door creaks, and I step in to the large space filled with ghostly, shrouded furniture pushed back to the walls, and a giant picture window.
With a sigh, I crack open the ‘shine,’ and take a swallow, closing my eyes.
Something moves in the dark, and I nearly spit out the booze.
It shoots heat and light in me. The scent of freshly tanned leather wraps around me, and I breathe it in.
It’s so strong, so soothing, that I wonder how I hadn’t smelled it when I’d first walked in.
Especially if it’s from something like the old furniture. Or?—
Wait, that’s not it. It’s not the room.
A tall, broad man with a shaved head and a scar just above his shirt collar steps into the soft light from the window.
Even though his neck is covered in tattoos, the scar stands out, jagged and raised, across his throat.
Shit. A mark like that isn’t from a papercut. What happened to him?
If I was Mari, I might be interested in the intricate tattoos, the art. If I were Dahlia I might be wondering if he played an instrument. Or, if I was Rue, I’d be peppering him with a billion questions about the scar.
Of course, if I was Vi, I’d apologize, make sure he was comfortable, and high tail it out of here in a nervous burst of manners.
I’m not any of them, so I’m staring.
Not discreetly, either. Full on, mouth agape kind of staring.
He’s gorgeous. Face of an angel. Sharp cheekbones, full lips, hair dark but shorn close to his skull.
And his eyes…a sharp icy blue.
Alpha.
The fact blares in my mind.
But he just stands there, unmoving. Eyes on me.
Heat coils in me, and my body throbs.
No one’s ever looked at me like that before.
Like he can see the secret me.
My heart starts to beat wildly. Does he live here? He has the kind of presence that fills the room suddenly, like he belongs.
Come on, Iris. Don’t just gawk. Do something.
I hold out my hand. “I’m Iris.”
He takes my hand. Doesn’t speak.
“Very nice to meet you, Mr.…Scarsby,” I say, nodding toward the scar. I swear the corner of his mouth flickers up. “I’m tired of being harassed to dance upstairs, so?—”
He pulls me into his arms, and I hold my breath. He’s so tall that I’m not sure my feet touch the ground as he lifts me against him starts to swing me in some kind of boring-ass ballroom dance.
I have no idea what’s going on. It happened so suddenly, and he’s so strong, I just let him glide me along the floor.
“I see you’re a man of few words,” I whisper, trying to breathe as his fingers slide down my back to rest on my ass. All I draw in is his intoxication leathery scent, and it makes me both dizzy and fully awake.
He’s warm, strong, and he makes stone want to melt into magma.
Man, he’s the kind that could make the strongest feminist Omega want to wear an apron, take up baking, and become barefoot and pregnant. He makes things rev.
He’s the one who smells like leather. There’s a hint of spice and smoke in there, too.
The man leans in, and I want to babble at him, but I don’t. I can’t form sound.
My breasts brush up against his chest, and we move sinuously, like we’re one with the music.
But there is no music. Besides the rapid beat of my heart.
He brushes his stubbled cheek against mine, and it’s electric sparks bursting into life, zaps of energy that race through my veins.
When he leans down, his breath is a kiss of soft warmth against the curve of my neck, my shoulder, and up.
He slows our sway, and I’m wet, quivering, throbbing deep inside.
As he lifts his head, our eyes meet.
Then, his lips come close to mine, a promise of a kiss hovering close.
“What are you…” I start, struggling to find words.
He moves closer still, and I can taste that kiss in my imagination.
And then?—
“There you are, Riven.” Someone flings the door open, and the big man steps in and turns. “We’re ready with the payment.”
The silent stranger sets me down and gives me one more heated look, before leaving and closing the door.
I slide slowly into a heap on the floor, still clutching the starshine.
Who the hell was that?