8. Chapter Eight
Chapter Eight
Dana
No less than five small groups of Omegas have been led into the back of the building since I took up my post this morning. Five. No more than six in a group at a time. The Selection doesn't start for hours but none of the Omegas have come back out. They're probably being kept in several separate rooms inside the ostentatious hotel that houses the Selection. I thought I'd see at least one or two Omegas being escorted out on the arm of one of the few Alphas who have also slipped discreetly into the building, but there have been none.
Maybe they'll have their private meetings today and then make things official when they leave together from the ball. I suppose I won't find out until tonight. My time slot isn't until the ball is already going to be underway. My plan was to stay camped out in the backseat of this car until it's time for me to get dressed for the evening. My gown is carefully tucked away inside the garment bag in the trunk. There's a chance that the Westover girl is going to be here tonight, whether it be at my private meeting or at the ball itself. I spent the money to book a room at the hotel for the night under an alias so I'll have a place to get her quickly out of sight. I'll sit here and watch the door until I have to go in and change.
It won't take me long to get ready. The gown isn't intricate. It's a simple, champagne-colored design that flows loosely around my legs. It's cut a bit lower in the front than I would normally wear. I want to give the impression that I'm putting myself, and my lack of bond mark, on display. Clean, unmarked skin is one of the better things I possess that might appeal to a wayward Omega who needs to be returned to her worried parents. I'll even twist my hair up into a bun to further emphasize the open real estate.
The rest of the afternoon passes in a long and boring blur of nondescript vehicles and unremarkable people until a few minutes before I have to leave my post to get ready for the ball. A dark SUV pulls up right to the door and the driver gets out to scamper around the back of the vehicle to open the back door closest to the building. My jaw drops as when an absolutely massive and incredibly well dressed man climbs out and sweeps his gaze from one end of the street to the other as he adjusts his overcoat.
A Valla.
They so rarely leave their homes, or lairs as we call the places where Valla live, that it's utterly jarring to see one standing on the street. Obviously, they do come out. They have to function in the world like the rest of us, but it's not often that they subject themselves to the circus of things like the Scarlet Selection. The Baker has his own private showings of Omegas before the ball, everyone I've talked to thinks so; but as far as I know, no other Valla does that. Unless they do and I've just never known or paid attention. I've never had reason to pay attention to something like that. The fewer interactions I have with a Valla, the happier I'll be.
I watch him nod at the driver and step further onto the sidewalk. He says something over his shoulder and takes one more look around, then disappears into the building. He had to duck to get through the door. He almost had to turn sideways. Okay, that might be a slight exaggeration, but he did completely fill the door frame. If my reaction to seeing him is this unnerving, I can't imagine what the Omegas will think when they see him. Why else would he be sneaking in through the back, besides getting his own meet and greet with some Omegas of his liking? I'm an Alpha. I smell like an Alpha, and I have the typical, dominant Alpha aura. The energy and scent he pumps out is probably overwhelming, to say the least.
My gut tightens unexpectedly. What if the Westover girl is in the grouping for the Valla? What if he chooses her? I technically can challenge a Valla, but I'll be damned if I want to. Not for a case. Not for a lot of things. I wouldn't want to challenge a Valla for anything less serious than my actual, literal offspring. If that girl is in his viewing and he picks her … Well… He can have her. I'll give Mr. Westover his money back and wish him and his oddly uninvolved Alpha the best of luck. I'm not risking life and limb for a case. Not again. Not ever.
My sigh is heavy as I drag myself out of the backseat and go to get my gown and shoes from the trunk. I'm not moving the car. It can stay here till morning. I got here early enough to snag one of the very few twenty-four hour metered spaces on this block and I'm not giving it up for the chance to let a valet driver steal my car.
The hotel lobby is a different story than the back. There are Alphas everywhere. The bar is dripping with Alphas, and the lounge and restaurant are overflowing with them. There are more male Alphas than female, but I'm certainly not the only female Alapha here. There's a scattering of Betas throughout, but the number of Alphas crowded in the lobby is as dangerous as it is overwhelming. This many dominant auras and scents, all these pheromones? Yeah, it's a recipe for violence with or without the saccharine presence of available Omegas.
No Valla, though. Not yet. There might not be many, but there is at least one. The Valla that came in the back door might not make it to the ball, but he'll get whichever Omega he wants if it comes down to a tug of war over an Omega. There have been less than a handful of situations that I'm aware of that a Valla stepped aside for an Alpha, and those situations were very volatile. The Valla essentially made the choice to let the Alpha have or do whatever that Alpha felt was worth the risk of going up against a Valla. I don't know of a single instance of an Alpha besting a Valla without them allowing it to happen. Which further cements the fact that if the Westover girl is here and the Valla from earlier wants her, if there's a line of challengers, I won't be in it.
My room is on the sixth floor. I wanted a first floor room in case I needed to make a quick exit, but it wasn't surprising to find out that they were all booked. Based on the few Selections I've attended in the past, the first floor rooms fill up fast with Alphas hoping to snatch whatever Omega accepts them and make a hasty retreat from the ballroom. It's completely understandable. I remember being that eager at my first Selection.
The elevator isn't empty when I step into it. A Beta from the feel of him. He presses the button that keeps the doors open and smiles. “Good evening, ma'am. Are you here for the ball?”
I nod. “I am.” Why else would I be here? Why else would anyone be here? But the important question is why is he here? It isn't odd that a Beta would be at the ball. Whole packs come in search of their Omega and it's completely beneficial for them to bring their Betas. If he isn't affiliated with a pack, there are only two reasons he would be here.
One is that he's shopping for his own pack. Anytime there's a gathering like this, anyone wanting to find connection and affiliation will find their way there with a skip in their step and hope in their eyes. It isn't frowned upon, but Betas have to be careful. Alphas aren't here to add Betas to their packs and they lose patience and their tempers quickly if a Beta tries to take their attention from whatever Omega they're interested in. Additionally, Omegas can be very sensitive and catty. They know very well that they're the sole purpose for the Selection and they don't want to share the spotlight with any hopeful Betas.
The only other reason I can think of for a Beta to be here, alone, and boldly asking me about the ball is that he's an Omega handler. Handlers are essentially agents who help Omegas navigate the event, and they will put themselves on the line to keep whatever Omega they're handling safe. Sometimes there is a connection and that Beta will automatically go with the Omega to their new pack or Alpha. Sometimes the handlers are merely hired help.
“So am I,” he says, and nervously bites at his bottom lip.
Ah. He's shopping.
“Be careful,” I tell him. “Have you been to a Selection before?”
He shakes his head and glances at the floor. “This is my first one.”
“Then you need to be extra careful. Watch the room for a while. Pay attention to the body language of the Alphas, that will tell you more than any conversation you could have with them. And, for goodness sake, don't block the view of any Omega. You'll be okay. Just take care of yourself.”
“Thank you, Alpha...?”
“Harding. Don't worry about it. Just be careful.”
He nods at me again before leaving the elevator. I hope nobody takes advantage of him. Or hurts him. Unfortunately, if he serves himself up to any Alpha he meets like he did with me, both of those things are likely to happen. But I'm not here to advocate for the safety and happiness of Betas, so hopefully he'll take my advice.
I have twenty minutes to get ready. It's a good thing that I'm not here to truly look for an Omega because I would need much more time than that if I was. While I need to look like I'm hunting, I need it to stay on the functional side of it. Part of why I chose the gown I'll be wearing is that the flowing skirt will hide the gun I intend to bring into the ballroom, regardless of the rules, and the length of it will hide the low heels I have to require. I can't wear the high, strappy numbers, not if I want to walk around or at all. Anything higher than about an inch or two keeps me in pain and keeps me from moving freely. Elegant footwear is one of the things I miss the most since my injury.
Once I'm dressed and made up, I give myself a good look in the floor length mirror that serves as a door for the closet. Not bad. I brush my fingers over the small gun strapped to my thigh and give my makeup a closer inspection before grabbing my purse and heading out the door.
I don't have the same anxious butterflies swarming my stomach that I had the last time I attended a Selection. Back then, I was still hoping to fill the cold gaps in my life with the warmth of an Omega. I don't think that's in the cards for me, not anymore. I've accepted it. That acceptance, and the fact that I'm here for a case, have squashed any butterflies that might still be lurking in the pit of my empty stomach.
Nobody looks at me when I walk into the ballroom. Light music is playing. Trays of appetizers and drinks are circulating. People are mingling, but you can feel the slight tightness in the air. I'm going to be exhausted after this. I hate the way the room feels. Optimistically jumpy. It makes my shoulders ache and I have to fight the urge to roll them. I don't want any more attention on me than absolutely necessary, and rolling my shoulders could be mistaken as a sign of frustration or aggression. That's the exact type of attention I need to avoid. All I have to do right now is find a table, sit at it for the next forty-five minutes until it's time to go to the twelfth floor like my appointment card says, see if the Omega I'm looking for is with that bunch, and leave with her if she is. If she isn't, I'll have to stay for the end of the ball in the off chance that she'll be here. Staying for the entirety of the ball would be tedious and exhausting, so I really hope she's in the room and cooperative when I see her.
She isn’t. I don’t know why I thought it would be that simple. None of the Omegas here know her, and only one of them said she was vaguely familiar. I stay in the room, mingling just long enough to make one round and then I say my goodbyes. There’s no point in drawing it out for the sake of it. All I can hope for is the small chance that she still might be in the ballroom.