Chapter Three – Dulcie
I try to hide the fact my hands are shaking as we enter the ballroom.
Casey is right by my side, and as we step over the threshold, she takes one of my hands in hers and gives me a comforting squeeze, along with a fast look that’s meant to calm me down and remind me there’s no pressure and everything will be okay.
And I know, it probably will be, but that still doesn’t stop me from being so nervous I want to puke.
The ballroom is chaos after that. The alphas are all sitting down, but their eyes are wide and hungry as we enter as a group.
They all sit a little straighter, as if they’re ready to pounce on us.
They wouldn’t—Delilah wouldn’t have allowed them entry if they had any history of pouncing on unsuspecting omegas, but the thought lingers in the back of my head.
Us omegas stick close to each other as the band starts to play, and one by one groups of alphas get up and approach, pulling the omega that caught their attention first. I imagine it’ll be like one of those dating shows, where everyone is pulled by everyone else as the night goes on.
Casey gets pulled almost immediately, and I take the opportunity to shrink into the remaining omegas, becoming invisible like I’m so used to doing.
Sticking close to the center mass of omega bodies, I’m able to fly under the alphas’ radar. I’m not an omega who likes to step out of her comfort zone, not a girl who preens about her designation like some do. I simply exist, and half the time I wish I am invisible.
Plus, all those alpha scents mixed together?
It’s enough to give an omega a headache.
Not once in my life did I ever see this many unmatched alphas crowded together in a room.
Granted, the room is huge; I can only imagine how overwhelming the hodgepodge of scents would be if we were in a smaller enclosed space.
Once I’m safely tucked away in the center of the remaining omegas, I reach up and run my fingers over the scent glands on either side of my neck.
There are other glands in the omega body—namely, one on each inner thigh—but the ones on your neck are the ones most alphas will smell, unless they’re yours and you’re theirs.
Putting my hands over them won’t hide my scent, but I wish it would.
I don’t know how I do it, but I manage to slip through the cracks as the alphas pluck off omegas one by one.
When I say it’s chaos, I mean it. Most groups take their chosen omegas to their table, where they sit down and talk.
Some go up to dance. Others meander to the long tables of food situated in the far back of the ballroom.
Somehow, someway, I don’t get pulled, my invisibility powers on full blast, and I find myself gravitating toward the food only when there aren’t any alphas around it.
Delilah didn’t play around when she set this whole thing up.
A full table has empty plates, bowls, and utensils, along with pink napkins.
Three other tables are lined up, covered in food, candy, and dessert—and based on the multitude of waiters running back and forth, I’d say there’s plenty of backup food somewhere.
Said waiters are busy bringing drinks to the tables, to the ones so lost in conversation already.
The table that calls to me the most is the one practically overflowing with candy.
I instantly spot a large bowl of those little hearts—you know the kind.
The ones with silly little sayings, with muted colors, that don’t really taste like anything special but they’re addicting all the same.
I’ve only ever had a few at a time; anytime we got donations back when N.O.A.
was Solus Academy, the omegas had to split everything.
The bowl full of the heart-shaped candies contain more pieces than I’ve ever seen in my life, and even though I don’t have any pockets to speak of, I start to reach for them, wanting a full handful.
But I stop myself, just barely.
Hmm. Maybe a bowl would come in handy.
My hand drops to my side as I meander to the first table and grab a bowl that is probably meant to be used for a salad or something.
My one and only thought is sugar, so right after I pick up that bowl I return to the heart-shaped candies, and I dig in, using the bowl as a scooper of sorts.
I fill the entire bowl, and before I step away, I make sure the candy is mounded up.
It’s way too much for little old me, but if I give myself a stomachache from a sugar rush, maybe Delilah will let me leave early or go sit in another room while the rest of the omegas and alphas continue to mingle.
I find a table in the furthest corner of the ballroom, one that’s not currently being taken up by musk-ridden alphas, and sit down with my bowl of candy.
I pop one piece in my mouth, a white one, and I immediately chomp down with my teeth, waiting for that explosion of sweet sugar to hit my taste buds.
Only… the exact moment I chew, the sugar doesn’t hit me. I don’t even taste it. Why? Because something else hits me instead, something that might’ve knocked me off my feet if I was still standing.
Though I never smelled anything like it before, my nose can pick out the scent, like magic. Lemongrass, with a hint of mint and just the faintest touch of lavender. A soothing mixture of scents, but one that threatens to set me off just like that.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand up, and even my arms get prickly. My breath catches in my throat, and with a half-chewed piece of candy in my mouth, my gaze shifts to the alpha standing a good twenty feet away from my table.
He’s handsome, like most alphas are. Tall, too.
Muscular. A thick mop of brown hair rests on his head, a little messy even though he wears a suit.
His eyes are just as dark as his hair, and his gaze is squinted in my direction.
His mouth is tugged into a frown, but when we lock eyes, that frown loses its gusto, and suddenly the alpha staring at me looks like a deer in headlights.
Shocked. Confused. Like he doesn’t quite know what’s happening.
But I do. Once Alabaster Security took over Solus Academy, our classes changed. We learned more than just how to be a good omega. We learned about scent matches, something that most of us thought were nothing more than a fairytale—but Mercedes found hers.
And… and I think I just found mine.
I don’t know who’s more confused, me or the alpha.
Judging by the way the alpha quickly turns away from me and hurries in the other direction, I’d say it’s him.
Watching him flee the scene like he just committed a crime makes me feel…
strange. I don’t even know his name, and I want to call out to him, to stop him.
I want to run to him and throw my arms around him, bury my face in his chest and breathe him in deeply.
I want to do all that and more, but I can’t.
I can’t do anything other than watch him go and wrestle with myself all the while.
And then, once he’s gone, once he’s so far across the ballroom that I can’t see him through the crowds of alphas and omegas, it hits me. Like a full-out brick wall. The air is knocked out of my lungs in a rush, and I suddenly feel so weak, so… sad.
Why’d he run? Am I really that unappealing? The mere thought of my scent match not wanting me, outright refusing me, is enough to make me want to never show my face anywhere ever again.
I’m used to hiding, to blending in, but when it comes to that alpha in particular, I don’t want to disappear out of sight. I want him to see me, to really see me, to accept me.
To want me.
Is that so wrong?
My chest tightens, and my heart does something funny.
It constricts in an almost painful way, and I have to abandon my bowl of candy as I stand and turn away from the ballroom.
My goal is to go somewhere else, be somewhere else—anywhere else, really—even the hallway would be preferable to sitting in here like nothing’s wrong.
Everything is wrong, and it hurts so bad.
The room spins as I start toward the nearest exit.
I don’t know where it leads, but it has to go somewhere.
Anywhere. Anywhere that’s not here. My lungs can’t get a full breath in; no matter how hard I try to breathe normally, my body refuses to cooperate and I’m stuck hyperventilating with the knowledge that my scent match didn’t even want to approach me.
He saw me and then he ran. How depressing is that? It’s one thing to want to be invisible, but it’s another thing entirely to come face-to-face with your scent match and have him resist you without either of you saying a single word.
The ballroom seemingly stretches on for infinity, but somehow I manage to make it to the nearest door—almost, I should say.
Right before I reach for it, before I can even lift a hand to yank it open and slip out, someone’s firm hand grabs me by the shoulder and spins me around.
I tense up, freezing, not knowing who it is.
When I turn around, I find it’s Delilah.
Her nose is downturned as she studies me.
I don’t speak, and she doesn’t say a word either.
We both stand there and stare at each other.
The pain must be written on my face, because Delilah says, “Follow me.” She takes her hand off my shoulder and walks around me, leading me to a different set of exit doors a bit further down the same wall.
This one is labeled with a golden sign that reads: OMEGAS AND SPONSORS ONLY.
She pushes into it and holds it open for me, wordlessly telling me to go, so I duck my head and slip past her, not knowing where she’s taking me.
A short hall that eventually opens up into a room with many alcoves. Tons of mirrors and stools. Even changing rooms. This must be where the omegas who come here to find a pack—the rich ones—get ready.
Delilah sits me down on one of the stools and goes to drag a second stool closer.
She sits directly in front of me, her eyes discerning when they have no right to be.
I suppose, if she’s worked with omegas as long as she claims she has, she can read omegas and our emotions by now.
She doesn’t need to be psychic to know something’s wrong.
“The mixer is just starting,” she says with a tight frown. “What happened? Did an alpha try something with you? I thought we vetted them well enough, but maybe—”
“No,” I whisper, my eyes falling to the floor between us as I fiddle with my hands on my lap. “It’s not that.” Each word is like a knife; it cuts as it comes out of me, making my throat hurt and my insides ache. I don’t want to say anything else.
“Then what is it?” Her voice is gentler then, quieter, kinder.
She leans forward and reaches for me, setting one of her hands atop mine and thereby stopping any further fidgeting.
“Whatever is it, you can tell me. I’m not like your old headmaster.
Whatever it is, I won’t judge you and I’m fairly certain I can help.
All you have to do is tell me, and we’ll go from there. ”
I close my eyes. How would it sound if I told her I met my scent match in there and he turned around and practically ran away from me? Not everyone is fortunate enough to find their scent match, and the ones that do… well, I doubt they’re then denied.
Scent matches don’t deny each other. To do so is supposed to be painful for both parties.
Does that alpha feel anything inside? Is he in that ballroom, racked with guilt, or am I the only one facing repercussions from that outright denial? It’s not right, and it definitely isn’t fair.
My eyelids lift, and I meet Delilah’s stare, swallowing hard before I say, “I… I think my scent match is in there.” I immediately notice the way she sits a little straighter, how her expression becomes even more serious.
If scent matches are that rare, she probably didn’t think any of us would meet ours tonight.
“Your scent match is in there,” she repeats, trying to put it together even though she’s still missing one piece of the puzzle, “and you’re nervous about what that means?”
“No. I mean, yes, but… that’s not it.” I bite my bottom lip and look away as I mutter this next part: “He saw me. We locked eyes. We both realized it at the same time, and then he… he just turned around and walked away, like he didn’t want to talk to me or get to know me at all. It was like he didn’t care.”
Saying that makes me hurt all over and my insides twist, and that feeling like I want to vomit returns.
Delilah is quiet for a few moments as she registers what I just said. It’s a minute or so before she asks, “What did this alpha look like? What color suit was he wearing? If I can find him—”
“No,” I cut in with a shake of my head. “He doesn’t want me.
He took one look at me and made that clear.
I… I just want to go home. Can I? I don’t have to stay for the entire mixer, do I?
” You’d have to be deaf not to hear the desperation in my voice.
I’m so ready to leave, to get out of this stupid dress, and crawl under my sheets in the darkness, where I can pretend tonight never happened.
She sighs. “We can get you home. I can’t leave, though, and I really should get back in there to oversee everything. Let me make a few calls and see what I can do for you.” Her hand squeezes mine in what I assume is meant to be a comforting gesture, but it doesn’t do anything for me.
The only comfort my body wants is from that alpha, and it’s clear he’ll never give me anything. We probably won’t even see each other again.
A good thing, since he rejected me. Depressing, but maybe with time it won’t hurt as badly.
Delilah pulls her hand off mine and stands, giving me her back as she whips out her phone and starts calling whoever she trusts to bring me back to N.O.A. I watch without saying a word, while struggling internally something fierce.
So much for a happy Valentine’s Day, huh?