Chapter 14
Rylan walks into the café ten minutes late—which is about five later than normal. His eyes are heavy, the circles under them dark, a bruise marring the serpent tattoo on his neck. It screams that he’s been out of town, out of his own apartment, though he’s freshly showered and in his own clothing. Rylan sleeps like shit anywhere but his own bed.
I wave him over, and he drops into the seat across from me, not waiting for the waitress before trying to steal my own flat white.
“Vaffanculo,” I mutter, slapping away his hands. “Order your own.”
He growls, low in his throat, his shoulders tensing in a heartbeat. The waitress stills where she stands about five feet away, a water in her hand, her wide eyes flicking between Rylan and me. The rest of the café quiets, the patrons shifting in their seats and the hostess messing with the menus to keep from being obvious in her eavesdropping.
“Rylan,” I murmur, dropping my tone until it barely reaches between us—and certainly doesn’t carry to the rest of the tables.
He finally looks up at me, and I mutter a curse that would have my mother smacking my hand. Though she’d smack me for telling someone to fuck off, too. I allow him to take the coffee and nod to the waitress. She turns on her heel and disappears toward the kitchen with hurried steps.
“Who the hell set you off?” I bypass any niceties. “You look like shit, amico.”
He takes a long drink of the coffee, closing his eyes and breathing deeply. “Fuck off, Dom.”
His eyes flash in warning, and I lean back in the booth. He doesn’t want to talk about whatever Omega has him riding the line of control so hard right now? Fine. This is why I take a rut suppressor, for fuck’s sake.
The waitress sets a new flat white in front of me, and I offer a small order for the both of us, not trusting Rylan to behave himself if he’s already so worked up. The rest of the cafe slowly returns to normal, and I relax into my seat, biting back my own questions so that Rylan can find some semblance of calm. The hostess glances toward us. I offer a subtle shake of my head before Rylan looks up from the coffee.
“What’s up?” Rylan breaks the silence eventually.
“I need help.”
That pulls him from wherever his thoughts are. His eyes flick up to mine, his gaze sharpening as he actually looks at me.
“You never need my help,” he says after a minute. His fingers tap on the small mug. “What the hell did you get yourself into that you need me? Can’t one of your brothers bail you out?”
I shake my head. “It’s a problem with my father,” I mutter and lean forward.
The second cup of coffee isn’t as well-balanced as the first, probably from the waitress’s nerves. I set the mug down after a small sip, holding back my grimace.
Rylan mutters an apology and switches the mugs.
“Your father? What the hell does he want?”
“For me to match.” Even trying, I can’t manage to say it in anything but a snarl.
Rylan tilts his head back and laughs.
“Stronzo,” I mutter.
He rubs his hands down his face before scratching at the tattoo.
“You have to see the irony here, Dom.” He drinks from the new mug, completely unaffected by the imbalance between coffee and milk. “What is he holding over your head that you’re actually pissed off by his demand?”
My phone vibrates, but I ignore it for the moment.
“My trust fund,” I say.
Rylan doesn’t miss a beat. “Fuck, yeah, that would do it.” He shifts forward, leaning on his elbows and raking his fingers through his hair. “What exactly are his terms?”
“I’m to submit to attending one gala.”
I don’t bother to hide my distaste for the entire premise. Is it better than what he’d initially required of me? Yes. Do I still detest it even days later? Absolutely.
Rylan glances up at me. “So you’ll need to register with the Council,” he says. “You have a plan for that?”
I shrug. “Was hoping you would be interested.”
He doesn’t immediately agree. My phone vibrates again, so I pull it from my pocket and check to make sure my father doesn’t need me. I find a text from Lorenzo about tonight’s fights. I ignore it in favor of the text from Jasper.
Would you like to go to the symphony Saturday? I have a discounted ticket.
Love to. May I pick you up?
“You know I want to be matched,” Rylan says, his words cautious. “There’s a lot of paperwork involved, though, especially since you’ll probably do everything in your power to not get matched that night, anyway. It won’t put me in very good standing with the Council.”
I set my phone down so I’m not distracted by Jasper.
“I’ll make sure it doesn’t count against you when you decide to make a more permanent decision,” I say. “Victor has a couple of contacts.”
He nods but doesn’t immediately say anything, his eyes unfocused.
My phone vibrates again, and I take the moment to work out details for the concert with Jasper.
“I don’t know of a third person,” he says after a while. “It’s part of why I haven’t registered yet. And finding someone who will be willing to do it only for show? That’s even harder to find, I think. There aren’t a lot of people who are willing to potentially piss off the Council with a ruse of a pack.”
The waitress sets the food between us, and Rylan attacks it with a force that belies his fatigue. Or maybe explains his fatigue, really.
“Thought you didn’t have a shift at the Haven this month.” I offer the comment in an offhand tone as I dig into my own food. Rylan glares at me without actually looking up from the plate. I can’t help but goad him just a bit. “Did he smell nice?”
“She,” he corrects through clenched teeth. “And yes. Something floral.”
My lips tip up. He must have really liked her to only admit to her scent being floral. God knows he probably knows exactly what flower.
“You are a sucker for floral.”
Rylan merely glares again.
Something clicks into place. Fuck me, no wonder he doesn’t want to just register for a single gala.
“I thought you were ready to deactivate with the Haven. What changed?”
The plate breaks under the force of his cutting. The couple in the booth behind him flinch, the woman grabbing her throat as she turns toward the sound.
“New pretty Omega flustering you in the symphony?”
He drops the fork and clenches his hands, the veins in his forearms even more pronounced than usual. I’m an asshole for egging him on like this. I never said I was nice, though, especially when it comes to securing my goals.
“If I agree, will you stop asking?” He bites out the question and shoves away the broken plate.
Nearly there. “I bet she’s blonde. You’re a goddamn sucker for them.”
“He,” Rylan snarls and shoots to his feet, “isn’t even an Omega.”
There it is.
I take another controlled bite of the food as I watch my friend. His chest heaves and his hands shake, his normally earthy scent carrying the tang of his protective rage. Must be one hell of an Alpha to get him so worked up like this.
He blows out a breath and stretches his neck before collapsing back into the seat.
“Want me to put up a profile in the local matching app, then?” he asks. “Or are you being a complete asshat just for fun today?”
I shake my head. “Can’t it be both?”
Rylan moves fast enough I don’t have time to brace for the hit.
“Accidenti,” I mutter. I drop into Italian as I shake out my arm. “Che maledettamente male, stronzo.”
“Does that mean it hurt? Because I fucking hope it did, Dom. You’re being an ass, even for your standards.”
I wave him off.
“If I find a third person, will you do it?” I ask.
Rylan doesn’t say anything, keeping his gaze locked on mine. The cafe is slower to return to normal. I make a mental note to tell my father I owe the owner for the disruption. He’ll be pissed if his favorite place to do business—outside of his office—no longer lets us in.
“You will do everything for it. And you’ll have Victor do whatever needs to happen in order for my standing in either regard to not be fucked over because of this.” He drains the last of the coffee. “And I’m not finding a third person. Let me know when you’ve picked someone.”
When I nod, he pulls cash and drops it on the table. I don’t protest simply because I know it’ll soothe that need driving him hard right now—protect, provide, procreate. That’s what the Council labels them as. I prefer fight, fawn, and fuck, but to each their own, I suppose.
“I’ll let you know if the person I’m thinking of works out,” I tell him as he turns away from the table.
His only response is flipping me off.