Chapter 6
CHAPTER
SIX
Stephan
T he hot blonde I met at the bar after the damn picnic had all the markings of an uptown Omega slumming it. I didn’t ask if she was mated. She wasn’t wearing a mark, and she seemed a little too young to already be cheating.
But it takes all sorts.
Point is, I don’t care. She smelled good enough, drank enough with me to talk me into going to the hottest underground club, and then I fucked her in some low-rent back street room that charged by the hour.
Girls like her love that shit, and I just needed release.
Now, two days later, I still feel seedy. Some might call it regret; I just call it too much fun offered without much return. She wasn’t a virgin, and I didn’t come in her. Didn’t knot, either .
Omegas make that hard because sometimes, when you’re balls deep in one, the baser instincts surge and the need to knot overwhelms. It can cloud all common sense and reason.
Fuck that.
I’m more than hormones and nature.
I won’t knot in anyone ever again. I’m an Alpha from a long line of extremely strong Alpha blood. We tend to only produce Alphas. But love, a mate, children… They are not for me.
Not anymore.
And here I am boring myself.
In yet another bar, baseball cap on, I watch the traffic. The chaos.
The divide between the classes is strong in Sabine. Upper side’s genteel, lots of trees and foot traffic as well as sleek cars and limos. And parks. The big townhouses and properties help, too.
Then there’s the countryside in Sabine. That’s divided, too.
Grand fucking palatial grounds and houses for the rich, and villages where farmers work the land and many of the household staffers live.
There’s a divide, but I like the grittier side. It’s more real.
Fuck, someone should make a film about the poor or working class of Sabine.
It would probably flop.
As the sky darkens and the lights outside come on, a girl darts between cars, narrowly missing being squashed.
I don’t know why, but she piques my interest. Maybe it’s the fluid and graceful way she runs, the gym bag bouncing on a tight ass in tracksuit pants cut off at the ankle, and thick-soled sneakers that she somehow moves in like they’re heels.
She’s got a hoodie on, so I can’t see her face. And she disappears down an alley, one that has a mix of buildings, mostly industrial, and a highly illegal brothel for the discerning mated man who requires discretion.
Is she…?
I find myself having another drink as I wait to see if she comes out, and then a third.
Fuck. A hooker.
I don’t blame a girl for making a living, but…she’d moved like she came from society.
Maybe tomorrow I’ll visit and see.
Not to fuck her, obviously, but to see if she’s a whore?—
What the hell am I thinking?
The soon-to-be disgraced and rakish heart-breaker Asher St. James caught in a brothel?
No fucking thank you.
Of course, Clea decides to text me at that exact moment, and I read the update? which is all about Felicity’s movements this week. I really don’t care, as long as none of my real secrets come out.
I send Clea a thumbs up emoji, then slide my phone into my jeans pocket and grab my light overcoat. It might be entering summer on Sabine, but summer nights on the upper side are cooler—and I want to go visit the beach like I used to.
“Stephan, you ass,” I mutter as I drop a twenty on the table for a tip .
I take the long way, following the boardwalk as it weaves wide around the beachfront to where it meets the parks, and then up further to where the boathouses are.
I find an empty one and sit on the bench in there and watch the water.
“Hey,” I say to the dark-blue water, clearer than the murk that flows closer to the shore. “I’d say long time, but it hasn’t been.”
I chuckle, then stop.
Footsteps.
I breathe in deep, trying to discover who it is. My nose is hit with a void of scent, the kind only possible by a fairly strong scent-blocking perfume. Omega. Has to be. Any other type doesn’t need to work so hard to mask their personal scent. And how do I know it’s a female? The light, dainty footfalls give her away.
Then, I get a sudden burst of something as the footsteps come close. Faint gardens…no, a flower of some sort. Just a tinge on the breeze?—
A shadow falls across the boards, courtesy of the rising moon and the setting sun. And she appears, just as the promenade lights come on.
Long dark hair in a ponytail, damp, and her cheeks are pink. She’s pretty—very, very pretty. Naturally so. Without any makeup or artificial enhancements that I’m used to the women having in Emporia. I can’t tell the color of her eyes, but I read the shock, and I wait for recognition of who I am to flare in her eyes.
It doesn’t.
“Sorry,” she says, “I thought I was alone.” She looks at me uncertainly. “ I’ll go.”
“You can stay. I don’t bite.”
The girl hesitates, then runs a hand over her hair, opens her bag, and pulls on a hoodie.
It’s the girl from the Lower Side. I knew it the moment she stepped into the light. My heart lurches. Probably because she’s unexpected.
She starts to stretch.
Anyone else and I’d think they were showing off, doing a strange mating dance, but she isn’t. This is for her, and it’s like I stop existing while she does it.
Stop existing because she’s taking up all the space.
I’m still trying to sort out how I can make out her scent, especially when it’s clear she’s wearing a blocker. Maybe it’s because she’s been working out and sweating, but whatever it is, the floral smell is invading my senses. Especially with her being so close to me.
“Do you have a name?” I ask when she finishes her stretches.
She spins to face me, and her eyes are wide like I just gave her an electric shock. “Do you?”
“I do.”
“Me too.”
She leans on the seat built into the wall opposite and breathes in, closing her eyes now, and lifting her face to the soft breeze.
I was right. The girl—woman—is an Omega. Along with the regal lines of her face and where she is, I can put together that she’s also upper-class, probably part of the fucking Season since she doesn’t look any older than twenty-one.
The rich sable shade of her hair reminds me of someone, but I can’t put my finger on it.
“Your first Season?”
Startled, she looks at me. “You’re not from here.”
“I am.”
“But you haven’t been here in a long time.” At my arched brow, she shrugs as she threads her fingers together. “I mean, you’re clearly rich. Your coat, your demeanor.”
And I’m famous.
But she doesn’t say it.
If she wants to play coy, I’ll let her. It’s nice actually, not to be fawned over or have my stage name blurted at me. Like that blonde I fucked did.
“Guilty. And you…” I smile. “Does anyone know where you were tonight?”
The girl gasps. “No. I… How did you…”
“I won’t tell,” I say. “Just curious.”
“Why would you be curious about me? I’m not interesting enough to be curious about.”
Oh, Sophine will love this one. She’s so polite she might choke on her manners, and I can see her being the perfect Omega, making her family proud. And yet behind it is a secret, like she’s got a rebel heart beating away inside her.
“Oh, I think you might be interesting. What’s your dark secret?”
She flashes me a scandalized look. “I don’t have any dark secrets. Not even beige ones.”
“I saw you downtown,” I say, leaning in.
She goes completely still. “No, you didn’t.”
“Relax, I’m not after shit. I’ve got enough complications, so you’re safe. Besides, you know who I am.”
“No,” she says, “I don’t.”
She is still pretending. Interesting, indeed.
I breathe out heavily. “As I was saying, I saw you on the Lower Side, playing chicken with the cars before racing down an alley where there’s an establishment of ‘ill repute’—or so I’m told. Do you turn tricks on the side? Lead a double life as an ingénue lady of the night?”
“What?” She jumps up, eyes wild. “No! Mikel Petrov was there, giving a dance class, so I had to go. Please don’t tell anyone.”
“Why would anyone care?”
“I snuck out.” She hisses this like she committed murder. “And dressed like this!”
“I don’t see the problem.” She looked hot in the tight dance top before she put the hoodie on, and she still looks good. Athletic and dancer-sleek.
I’m kinda fascinated by her. Or maybe it’s just the power of her Omega scent in such a small space that’s making my head whirl.
“Why did you come here?” I ask. “Inside this boathouse?”
“I could ask the same of you,” she says, plucking at her sleeves. “But if you must know, I like it here because it’s always empty and I can be alone to…think.” She glances away, as if she just revealed something about herself she’d rather keep private. “People who fish come very, very early in the morning, so it’s…”
“Private.”
She’s using the same boathouse I used to visit when I lived here, to escape, to get away. But from what?
“You like the shadows, then? You don’t want to stand out? You don’t seem to like being asked things, either, so how are you going to catch a mate?”
“I never said I wanted a mate.”
I scoff. “You’re an Omega.”
“And you’re an Alpha. Do you want a mate?”
Touché.
She groans. “I’m sorry. That was rude.”
“I thought it was actually funny,” I say with a laugh. “But you got me there. I definitely do not want to find myself a mate. I enjoy my solitude too much.”
“And you can do that, as an Alpha. Omegas don’t have the same liberties.” Then she shakes her head and mumbles, “I’m starting to sound like my sister now.”
“Your sister?”
“Never mind.” She relaxes down into herself. “But yes, I’m one of those Omegas who’s participating in the Season to catch a mate, I’m sorry to say. But the Season hasn’t started properly yet anyway. I’ve got time to lay traps.”
There’s surface acceptance, even the sound of excitement, but it’s cold behind that little facade. I know when someone else is acting—it’s my profession, after all. She doesn’t want to go out there and preen and be fussed over. She doesn’t want to be looked at and judged.
But she will.
For…reasons.
Because she’s trained to?
Has to?
I’m really fascinated now. This Omega is scared of the Season, but she’s doing everything she can to pretend she isn’t .
In that instant, I decide I’ll be going to the first ball after all. Pen will be pleased.
And the battle-ax, the Monarch, Sophine?
Fuck what she thinks.
The Omega’s bag starts to buzz, and she pulls out her phone. The light hits her face and highlights how pretty she is. Even with messy hair and her cheeks pinked from her dance workout, or maybe because of it, she might be the prettiest thing I’ve seen.
“Oh, damn, I’m running late.” She texts fast. Then drops her phone in her bag as she scoops it up. “Nice meeting you. I have to run.”
And with that she takes off.
I rush out of the boathouse after her. “Your name?” I call, but she’s already disappearing into the wilder edges of the park.
She’s gone.
Well, fuck.
I kick the ground and notice something. Purple.
A ribbon.
I pick it up, press it to my nose, and breathe in. It smells faintly of flowers and detergent. Of her.
I can give it back to her at the ball.
It’ll be fun stalking little Miss Cinderella there.
One ball this Season.
That’s it.
Just one.