An Omega's Rust-Stained Hair

The Van Houten Public Library

Lyra

"Hello, there, little omega." Crispin finds me not far from the bar.

He always finds me.

I don't know how he does it in a ballroom packed with over two hundred people in black tie. But the alpha is nothing if not persistent.

"Pretty, little Lyra." Crispin’s eyes flash as he says my name, making something in my stomach pull tight. "I’ve been looking everywhere for you." His hand presses to the small of my back.

My body freezes the way it always does when he touches me.

I hate that I can't pull away. The one time I tried, my father saw.

Later, when we got home, he grabbed my arm and twisted it behind my back until I cried out.

He told me I was being dramatic, and that embarrassing him in front of a man like Crispin Maleth was not something he would tolerate again.

Every time I see Crispin, a phantom pain shoots through my wrist, reminding me not to piss my father off again.

I should have stayed home.

"Good evening, Mr. Maleth." I manage a tight smile.

"Crispin," he says, once again correcting me to use his first name. "Call me Crispin, gorgeous." His hand moves, and I feel the pressure of each finger dig into the shimmering, pink sequins of my dress. His gaze drops to my chest, before moving back up to my face.

I chose this dress specifically for its high neckline, hoping it would keep his eyes where they belong, but Crispin looks at me like the fabric isn't even there.

Charming.

"You look beautiful tonight." He winks and I nod, quickly scanning the people around us.

I need to find Calla. She’d save me. But she’s nowhere in sight.

Across the room my father catches my eye and raises his glass.

He’s smiling.

It’s weird.

He’s been this way all evening. Happy and almost warm…which is a word I have never associated with either one of my parents.

I smile back at my father because there’s nothing else I can do.

One second. I just need him to look somewhere else for one second, so I can shove this asshole away.

"Are you enjoying the party?" Crispin asks, and whiskey rolls off his breath and into my face, mixing with his powerful alpha scent. It’s dark musk and clove and something underneath that always makes me want to run straight for the door.

I glance to the side once more. Yup, Father is still looking.

Annoyed, I pull in a slow breath and look up into Crispin's face.

He's such a big alpha. Broad through the shoulders and thick through the neck. But his edges are soft. Smooth, clean-shaved. Neatly trimmed nails. And his black hair is perfectly styled. Even the sparse gray hairs near his temples are perfectly positioned.

It’s a lot of effort for an alpha with such poor manners.

"Lyra?" Crispin’s voice rises and my eyes snap to his. "Did you hear me?" His gray eyes narrow.

I breathe through my mouth, desperate to get away from his overwhelming scent.

"I'm having a lovely time," I say, scanning the room past his shoulder.

Where the hell is Calla?

"Me too." Crispin makes a low sound that isn't quite a laugh, his thumb moving against my spine.

I look down at the ice in my glass. It’s almost completely melted.

"Your father tells me you've been spending a great deal of time at the university library." The hand at my back shifts, fingers spreading wider. "That's a lot of time alone for a young omega." He takes a slow sip of his whiskey while I stare at the black buttons of his very expensive dress shirt.

"I enjoy reading," I say, my voice a little more clipped than I meant. My hair has been in this high bun since noon, and the ache along my scalp has moved behind my eyes.

"I know you do." Crispin leans down, bringing his face inches from mine. "We'll have to build you a library of your own someday." His mouth curves into a slow smile and something cold moves up my spine.

What the hell does that mean?

"Yeah." I let out a nervous laugh. "I…uh…"

I glance over at my father.

He’s still watching from across the room. Still smiling. My mother is standing at his side with her champagne in one hand, and her perfect posture. Her dark eyes find me for exactly one second before she takes a sip of her champagne and looks away.

Of course she does.

"Please excuse me," I say, pulling back slightly. "I need to freshen up."

But Crispin's grip tightens.

His hand presses into the small of my back, driving me forward until my palm hits his chest. I push, trying to force him back, but the asshole doesn't move an inch.

He’s so strong…and so close.

The scent of cloves thickens, making my stomach turn.

"You have the most stunning eyes," he says, his words slurring slightly as he looks down at me. "I don't think I've ever seen such pretty brown eyes before."

I glance away from him, biting my bottom lip, forcing my breath to stay even while my heart slams against my ribs.

He's drunk, I tell myself. That's the only explanation for why he's being even more insufferable than usual.

"Thank you." I shift my weight, creating an inch of space between us. "I really do need to excuse myself."

But Crispin doesn't release me. He stares, giving me a look he clearly thinks omegas swoon over. It makes me want to peel my own skin off.

Around us, the party continues. Someone laughs too loudly near the bar. A waiter passes with a tray of champagne flutes. Nobody is looking at us.

"Look at me," Crispin commands, and my chin jerks up.

My eyes lock onto his and I go completely still, not from submission but from pure, cold shock.

He used his alpha voice on me.

He has no right to do that. No unmated alpha has the right to command an omega who isn't his, and he did it anyway. Right here. In the middle of a crowded room, with my parents nearby.

Something hot and ugly turns over in my chest, but I keep it down, trying like hell not to draw attention.

Father would be furious.

"Let me go." I push my forearms against his chest, trying not to spill my drink, but the alpha stays planted. It’s like he’s made of stone.

"You are so pretty, Lyra." Crispin leans down, his mouth close enough that I feel the warmth of his breath against my cheek.

His voice drops to something low and throaty that vibrates through my entire body.

"I do wish you had worn your hair down, though. There’s something about long hair on a woman that drives me wild. "

I drop my gaze to his shoulder and start counting the threads of his expensive suit jacket.

He chuckles softly. "So shy,” he says, like it’s a compliment. "I love that about you."

I'm not shy, I’m just trying to push down the urge to throw my drink in your face. There's a freaking difference.

Crispin’s arm tightens around my waist and the sequins of my dress bite into my skin through the thin liner. The small pain anchors me.

"Release me right now," I say firmly, trying to sound polite, but my patience is fraying fast. My father would be livid with my tone, but I don't give a shit anymore.

The asshole is holding me too tight.

"Crispin." I push harder at his chest, making my drink slosh. Ice cubes clink against the glass as liquid drips over my fingers. "Now."

All at once, his chest rises with excitement, and his arm cinches tighter around my waist, holding me in place.

"Say it again." A low growl rolls out of him, quiet enough that only I can hear it. "Say my name again, Lyra."

So gross.

Something flips in my stomach as anger grips me.

"No," I snap, then shove at his chest. "Let me go right—" Then I feel it against my hip.

His cock presses against me through my dress, thick and rigid, and every thought I have evaporates.

The realization of how much bigger he is than me hits me like cold water. Crispin isn’t just tall and broad. He’s enormous with thick arms and a massive neck. At five feet and five inches, I’m absolutely nothing compared to him.

"Omega," he growls, the vibrations pushing from his chest to mine.

My heart slams against my ribs and my mouth goes dry.

He could do whatever he wants. Right here. And I couldn't stop him.

I’m trapped.

I go completely still.

I don't know what to do.

Opening my mouth, I ready myself to yell for help, but right before I can make any sound, a hand smacks Crispin hard on the shoulder from behind.

"Maleth!" A man's voice cuts through the noise. "Get over here, you bastard. We need you."

Crispin's grip on my waist loosens, and I slip out from under his arm in one quick step.

My heart pounds as I walk, waiting for him to jerk me back, crushing me against his chest once again. But he doesn’t.

Behind me, Crispin laughs loudly at something, his voice carrying over the crowd.

Picking up my pace, I keep my shoulders back and my chin level as I move through the crowd, trying like hell to look casual.

While Crispin has always been the kind of alpha who treats every boundary like a suggestion, he feels extra aggressive tonight.

He's drunk, I tell myself. That's all.

He's had too much whiskey and his filter is gone and tomorrow he'll be back to the version of himself that my father finds so impressive.

I hate that he’s always at our house.

The hallway outside the main ballroom is so quiet my heels echo on the marble floor.

The bathroom is at the end, past a row of framed portraits of long-dead alphas.

I’m almost there, almost inside where I can run cold water over my wrists and take a breath without the fear of my parents watching me, when I nearly walk straight into someone coming around the corner.

"Whoa." Hands close around my shoulders, steadying me. "Hey—Lyra."

"Owen." I gasp the beta’s name, and the relief that moves through me is almost embarrassing in its intensity, but I don’t care right now. "I didn’t know you were here." What’s left of the panic I felt with Crispin mixes with my nerves, making my voice come out a little high-pitched.

Owen's holding his phone loosely in one hand, his bow tie slightly loosened, his reading glasses pushed up on his head the way they always are when he forgets they're there.

His brown hair is a little longer on top than the last time I saw him, a few curls falling over his forehead in a way that makes me want to push it back for him.

He looks exactly like he does behind the reference desk at the library, except he’s in a tuxedo, which is very…nice.

Yes. Nice.

That’s a polite way to describe a casual friend who is married and very off-limits.

"Tuxedo," I say, gesturing at all of him, then I immediately have to fight the urge to wince. Very smooth.

"I was—" He glances at his phone, then tucks it into his jacket pocket. "Sorry, I stepped out to take a call." Something crosses his face as he looks at me more carefully. "You okay?"

"Completely," I say. "Totally fine. Great evening."

Owen's hazel eyes pull tight at the corners, a small line forming between his brows. He studies my face and frowns slightly, almost like he can feel the fear still buzzing under my skin.

"Are you sure?" he whispers.

His hands lift, just a little, like he's going to reach for me, but then he stops. They drop back to his sides. My eyes catch on the simple gold band on his left hand and stay there for a second too long.

Why are all the good ones taken?

"I'm good," I say, smiling even wider. "There was—" I wave a hand vaguely back toward the ballroom. "Just a handsy alpha. You know how it is."

Owen’s expression shifts. Something quieter and more alert moves through it as he glances past my shoulder down the hallway. He does a quick sweep before turning those intense eyes back on me.

"Anyone I should know about?" His voice drops into something deeper than usual. Threaded with something that sounds almost possessive, and my stomach does an embarrassing little flip in response.

It always surprises me how much his voice affects me. After all, Owen is a beta, not an alpha, and yet that low register hits somewhere inside me that alphas have never reached.

"No." The word comes out breathier than I meant it to. I clear my throat and try again. "It's handled. He got pulled away."

Owen looks at me for another second. Then he nods, accepting it, because he's a gentleman and not a pushy asshole.

"You sure you're okay?"

"I'm sure." I smile, and it's almost a real one. Being near him does something to my nervous system that I have tried very hard not to think about. It also doesn’t help that he smells like heaven.

His natural sage and sweet lemon scent is just too good.

"Is everything okay?" I motion to where he tucked away his phone. It’s a little invasive, but I can’t think of what else to say. "Please tell me it's a rare book emergency. I'd love to live vicariously."

"My husband," he says and his charming smile returns. "He was checking in."

Right.

His husband.

Owen is married, I remind myself.

And I’m only a friend who visits the library three times a week because I love books and absolutely not because I engineer reasons to stand near him while he talks too fast about pre-industrial pack census records.

"Cool. Okay. Good." I close my mouth before more words can come out.

Owen’s smile grows, and it does something unfortunate to my chest.

"Are you heading back in?" he asks, nodding toward the ballroom.

I glance back at the ballroom. The muffled sound of the party floats toward us, laughter and clinking glasses and somewhere in there Crispin Maleth, drunk and handsy as ever.

"In a minute," I say. "I need to powder my nose first."

"I'll walk you back in when you're ready." He leans against the wall beside the bathroom door, settling in like he has nowhere else to be. "No more handsy alphas will be pawing at you tonight. Not on my watch."

I push through the bathroom door before he can see me smile.