20. Ridge
20
RIDGE
I didn’t want to come to this damn ball, but unfortunately, nobody gave me a choice in the matter.
“You have a job to do,” my contact snapped, her cold voice echoing slightly on the phone. “And since your search at Eros has proved to be futile?—”
“Understood,” I said, then hung up the phone.
Now, I stand on the fringes of the ballroom, feigning boredom as omega after omega attempts to capture my attention. Jameson stands on one side of me, nursing a glass of bourbon, while Tamlin leans against the wall to the right of me. His shrewd eyes, bracketed by wrinkles, study the fawning Darlings with barely veiled disgust.
“The women were never so…blatant when I was a student at Eros,” Tamlin murmurs, his upper lip curling slightly. The movement causes his bushy gray mustache to twitch.
“Back when dinosaurs used to roam the earth, you mean?” Jameson drolls sarcastically, and Tamlin casts the other alpha an irritated look.
“Omegas were once docile.” Tamlin shakes his head slowly. “What happened to them?”
I snort and bring my own drink up to my lips. I don’t actually take a sip, however, knowing I need to remain sharp and focused. “They fought for equal rights and won.”
Tamlin waves a dismissive hand. “It’s unbecoming.” He nods toward two omega girls whose dresses leave very little to the imagination. Their breasts practically spill out of the fabric. Both of them turn to me at the same time, the one on the left biting her lower lip suggestively. The girl on the right lazily begins to fiddle with her necklace—the movement designed to draw attention to her ample cleavage.
I blow out a breath and purposely look away. It’s been way too fucking long since I’ve indulged in some of the more…carnal pleasures life has to offer. But the last place I’m going to look for pussy is Darling Academy. These omegas are expecting a lifetime commitment, not a one-night fuck.
And I don’t do commitment.
I pretend to take another sip of my drink as I scan the gathered alphas and omegas once more. And…there. The headmaster of Eros seems to be in deep conversation with a teacher at Darling—an older woman with graying hair, refined features, and a rictus twist to her lips. I make a mental note to do more research into the staff here.
“You going to dance, or are you content holding up the wall?” Jameson’s rough voice drags my attention in his direction. The older alpha has his phone in one hand, his drink in the other. He doesn’t even look in my direction as he flicks through his phone. Tamlin must’ve left at some point in time. I don’t see the old alpha anywhere.
“Why aren’t you dancing?” I counter.
He smirks. “My wife would cut my balls into tiny pieces if I danced with someone other than her.” A certain fondness curls up his lips. I’m not sure if I’ve ever seen the strict instructor smile before—at least, a smile devoid of any malicious humor or intent.
“She didn’t come tonight?”
“Nah.” Jameson shakes his head. “Chose to stay home with the kids. I, unfortunately, wasn’t given that luxury.” He rolls his eyes, drains the rest of his drink, and then places the empty glass on the tray of a passing waiter. “These events require at least a dozen instructors between the two schools to ensure everything goes off without a hitch. And make sure no alphas get any…ideas.” A familiar darkness descends over his features. “Some of them can get a little overwhelmed with all of these omegas present, and that makes them act stupid.”
Something thunderous explodes in my chest. “They hurt the omegas?”
“In the past, there have been…incidents,” Jameson admits. “Which is why we’re required to attend.”
I may not intend to take an omega as my own, but that doesn’t mean I tolerate any harm against them. I saw that way too often during my stint in the military on the front lines—powerful alphas believing they can take what they want, regardless of the consequences.
Jameson continues on, oblivious to the tempest brewing in my head. “But just because we’re on duty doesn’t mean we can’t have some fun. You, especially, should go out there. Enjoy yourself. Find an omega or two to dance with.”
“I’ll pass,” I say, frowning, my gaze scanning the room once more.
Jameson snorts, pats me on the shoulder, and then takes off with a flippant, “Suit yourself.”
I’m pretty sure the majority of alphas don’t understand my team’s aversion to taking an omega for ourselves. They don’t understand the darkness that lingers inside of us, potent and suffocating, a malignant tumor in danger of spreading.
Besides, we have a job to do, and as soon as it’s completed, we’ll be out of here.
The thought strengthens my resolve.
Yes, I’ll be out of here in no time. First, I just need to?—
The headmaster slips out of the ballroom, the elderly female teacher a few steps behind him.
Immediately, I begin to weave through the dancers, trying my damnedest not to breathe too deeply. The air is permeated with the scent of sugar cookies, bread, and vanilla. With over one hundred omegas present, it’s very nearly overwhelming. I can see why some of the…less evolved alphas could lose their heads.
Without being seen, I duck out the same door the headmaster took. Then, I veer to the right, where I hear low noises.
What the fuck?
What are you up to, fucker?
I quicken my pace and poke my head around the corner…
Only to immediately want to bleach my eyes and cut off my ears.
The headmaster has the omega instructor pinned to the wall, her dress pooled around her waist as she rides on his cock.
“Ellora! Yes, baby. Yes, just like that.”
“Oh, Graves.”
Fuck no. No. No. No.
I turn away as quickly—and as silently—as I can, hurrying back the way I came from. I’m pretty sure nothing short of eye amputation will save me now. Maybe I just need to remove my entire brain.
I debate, briefly, whether or not to take a picture for my contact before deciding against it. She wants proof Headmaster Graves is a traitor. Him fucking an elderly instructor only proves that he’s horny and in need of release.
Ugh.
I want to vomit now.
I slip back into the ballroom and search for my team. They’re supposed to be keeping an eye on a few key players, but I don’t see any of them as of yet. Where the fuck are they?
A high-pitched, discordant note screams like an alarm bell in my head.
Something isn’t right.
If my team aren’t in their positions, then?—
I freeze as an unfamiliar scent barrages me from all directions, eclipsing the sickly sweet scents of the omegas present. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever smelled before.
Pungent without being overwhelming.
Sweet without being sickly.
Addicting without being a drug.
A tiny voice in the back of my head growls, MINE!
No. This can’t be happening.
No. No. No. No.
But even as my brain forms that one word—screaming its denial for the world to hear—I know without a shadow of doubt that I’m in the presence of my scent match.
Our scent match.
Our mate…is here.
My heart begins to pound even faster, even as shock thunders through me.
This can’t be happening.
We aren’t supposed to have a mate. We don’t even want one. We can’t?—
I find her instantly, as if my eyes are two heat-seeking missiles and she’s the target. I catch a glimpse of golden hair and rosy cheeks before she spins away, in the arms of a familiar man.
A man who isn’t me or one of my brothers.
A growl rises in my throat, causing my chest to rattle, and an omega standing nearby whimpers and hurries away. But I don’t give a shit. Nothing matters except for the fact that I’m in the presence of my scent match…and she’s in the arms of another guy.
A tiny voice in the back of my head reminds me that we know this alpha. That we’re even friends with him. But that voice is drowned out by the desperate desire to maim, claw, and kill. My blood feels tainted by battery acid, and a strange, prickly heat invades my body.
Before I even realize what I’m doing, I’m storming forward with a singular focus.
Someone is about to die.
No one outside of my pack is allowed to touch my mate.
No one.