Chapter Three – Raeka
Pax Alabaster stands beside Delilah, a hard frown on his face. Thanks to my scent-dampening not being so recent, his scent is damn near overpowering, and I struggle to stand there under his bright green eyes and act like I’m fine.
Of course I’m not fine. I’m half-dressed, and his musky scent is assaulting my nose like there’s no tomorrow and it needs to weave itself into my very DNA.
Delilah is still shaking her head, even as she approaches me and moves to stand behind me, helping me zip up the dress so I’m not totally indecent in the face of this über alpha.
“Then you should’ve waited for one of the changing rooms to open up,” she hisses out behind me, still very much scolding me.
I’d roll my eyes, because I don’t give a shit, but I can’t.
I’m locked in a staring contest with Pax freaking Alabaster, and I hate how sexy he looks in that all-black getup.
He doesn’t wear the strappy ensemble he wore the first time I met him; instead, his tall, impossibly muscled body is clad in a suit.
Black on black on black, and it really grinds my gears how attractive he is.
He has no right. No right at all.
“Now,” Delilah says once my dress is fully on, and she steps away from me, “I need to go speak to the others, assuage their fears. It’s common knowledge that no unbonded alpha is allowed back here.
” This next part she says to Pax: “We are making an exception for you. I expect you to be on your best behavior while you look out for Ms. Whittenhall.” She sounds like a mother hen.
I’d laugh if I wasn’t so annoyed at this particular alpha’s presence.
It’s only when the woman is gone that I place my hands on my hips and cock an attitude at him.
“I said I was hiring Rourke, not you. What the hell are you doing here?” I can’t stop the annoyance from seeping into my voice; I was never good at hiding my feelings.
I’m an open book, for better or for worse.
Blame my upbringing as a Whittenhall princess.
“Rourke said he wasn’t feeling well at the last minute, and I’m the only one everyone trusts to fill in, apparently,” he bites out the words, not hiding his discontent. “Don’t worry. I’m not too thrilled about this, either.”
I want to give him the finger and tell him to leave, that I don’t need his help, but ultimately, he’s an über. His scowling face nearby should scare off a lot of alphas who believe they could match with me. I need to walk away from this night with no possible matches.
If I do it enough times, surely my parents will see that I’m serious about not ending up in a pack, right?
Eventually, they’ll have to let me do my own thing, let me petition the courts to legally change my status to a beta or something, so then at least I’d be able to have a bank account with no pack cosigning on things with me.
“Fine,” I say. “Just do your job. Stand around, scowling, looking scary. I don’t want to hear a word from your meathead mouth, got it?”
He grinds his teeth and wrinkles his nose. “Got it.”
“Ah-ah.” I hold up a finger, catching him talking already, and in doing so I cause that scowl of his to deepen, and his stare to narrow in an outright glare.
Then I snap my fingers and point at his face.
“Yes, that’s the expression. Perfect. Don’t lose it.
I want you to give everyone that look all night. ”
Was that a bitchy move? Yes, but I don’t care. I don’t really like this alpha, and he doesn’t really like me. It’s whatever. After tonight, I’ll never have to see this jerk again.
I turn away from him and continue getting ready, acting as if he’s not standing just a few feet away.
Eventually, he turns his back to me and watches anywhere but me, which is fine.
I don’t need his ever-watchful stare on me while I do my hair and makeup.
Plus, it lets me apply more of that scent-blocking cream without him asking any questions.
I told him to be silent all night, but I doubt that’ll happen. If someone told me to shut it, I’d give them an earful sooner or later.
My natural hair is straight with a few stray waves.
I never like how flat it looks on my head, so I use every excuse I can to give it some volume.
I curl it, then run my comb through it, creating uniform waves that give off vintage vibes.
I pin up some of my hair on the left side and leave the rest of it down, using a sparkling hair clip that has a diamond-studded omega symbol on it.
I know. Jewelry with a Greek letter. As if every omega loves to advertise that they’re, in fact, an omega. Jewelry, clothes, handbags; it’s more of a status symbol than anything else. Only the rich can afford anything with the Chase name attached to it.
I always hated it. The world already knows what I am, so why bother with the fancy jewelry and everything else? As if I’m proud to be what I am or some shit.
The next thing I do is my makeup. I don’t want to look too stunning, but if I don’t fiddle around with my makeup, I’ll just be sitting here bored to death while everyone else finishes getting ready.
There is nothing worse than being bored—and that comes from someone who finds herself bored on more and more occasions lately.
My skin doesn’t need concealer or a layer of foundation. I have no scars, no blemishes. Where I give myself the scent-dampening injection on my inner elbow, I make sure to put makeup on that right after I get up if it bruises, so I don’t risk anyone seeing.
I focus on my eyes, on mascara and expertly-blended eyeshadow and eyeliner. By the time I’m done, my eyes definitely give off a come hither look—hmm. Maybe I overdid it on the makeup. I don’t want to give alphas any ideas.
After a while, I hear Delilah clap around the corner, her signal that tonight’s event is about to begin, so I heave a sigh as I get up, and I’m slow in turning toward Pax, who still gives me his back.
“How do I look?” I ask him, watching as he half-assedly glances over his shoulder at me.
“Permission to talk for the next thirty seconds.” When he doesn’t say a word, I slip on my heels and do a little twirl for him.
“Oh, come on. Give it to me straight, Mr. Alpha. Don’t make me beg.
” Now that… that’s a comment I shouldn’t have made, but once it’s out of my mouth, there’s no taking it back.
Pax is slow to face me, and unless I’m mistaken, the scowl on his face lessens for a split-second as he takes me in. His hands at his sides clench and unclench, like he’s eager to put them on something, maybe on me.
Or maybe that’s just a thought my inner omega has.
“Really?” I ask as I cock my head up at him. “Nothing to say? Nothing at all? Your time is ticking, Mr. Alpha.”
“Don’t call me that,” he mutters with a frown. “Unless you want me calling you Ms. Omega?”
I hum, deciding I don’t like being called that at all.
“All right, fine. Point taken… Mr. Alabaster. Just for you, I’m extending the thirty seconds.
I want you to tell me how I look.” Don’t know why I can’t let this go.
I’m not someone who fishes for compliments, compliments always seem to find me on their own.
Except from this one, apparently.
His emerald gaze drops to the tips of my shoes peeking out from beneath the length of the pink dress, and that gaze is slow in rising, taking me in.
Taking me all in. The man may hold his breath as he studies me, too.
Suddenly I feel rather scrutinized, like I made a mistake by asking him his opinion on my looks.
As if I care about his opinion. I don’t.
Finally, after another few seconds, Pax begrudgingly speaks, “You look like you want to find a match tonight.”
“Well I don’t,” I say. “And it’s your job to be intimidating behind me and scare off any hopefuls.”
Maybe I’m hearing things, but I swear, for a split second after I say that, I hear a faint growl come from his chest, and something in my stomach clenches in response. I hope my face doesn’t give anything away.
“Then you look like you just made my job harder,” he mutters with a frown.
That’s enough to satisfy me—and good thing, too, because Delilah comes around the corner and sighs loudly. “Didn’t you hear me call everybody together? We’re set to begin. You ready to be escorted to your table?”
I shift my stare between her and Pax, Pax’s comment about my looks making his job for the night harder bouncing around in my head. Is it wrong that I take pleasure in knowing he thinks I look good enough to give him trouble?
No, it’s not wrong. Looking good is what us omegas are good at, anyway. Some might say it comes naturally to us.
And then I say the only thing I can: “I’m ready.”