Chapter 6
Chapter six
Bianca
Three days later, Bianca’s skin still felt alive.
The memory of Daniel’s touch was branded into her skin. She knew she’d never forget the way his scent had engulfed her, or the sensation of his breath on her neck, or the comforting way his massive form had dwarfed hers, making her feel both vulnerable and protected at the same time.
Though she’d let the big alpha train with her a few more times, she’d made sure to keep him at arm’s length.
Her traitorous body ached for his touch, wanting those strong, surprisingly gentle hands of his to explore every inch of her.
She watched those massive, tattooed arms flex as he lifted weights, marveling at how effortless he made it look, thinking about how easily he could lift her if he wanted to.
He could take her, if he wanted to. If she wanted him to.
The thought made her old scar ache. It was a fitting reminder of the risks of listening to one’s hormones.
Bianca was furious at herself for letting the big alpha get so close. She deserved the torment of her touch-starved skin. It was the consequence of letting her guard down, and an admonition to be more diligent in her self-preservation.
She was too close to her goals to fail now.
Pack Willoughby had shown enough interest to assure Bianca that she could secure them if she wished.
And, according to Maude’s sleuthing, pack leader Bernard—who turned out to be a Bonafide British lord—was dealing with pretty serious heart trouble and his packmates already had two mild strokes and a near-fatal case of pneumonia between them.
If Bianca played her cards right, she could conceivably be a widow before she’d even been bred.
Then she’d be completely free to do as she wished, with a sizable fortune and no one to please but herself. It was all within reach.
So why didn’t the idea excite her?
She could hardly keep her mind on visions of her future as Lady Willoughby.
Her thoughts much preferred to dwell on the warm exhale of breath against her neck, and the sweet decadence of butterscotch and chocolate muddling her senses.
There was no escaping Pack King’s scents, with the penthouse now seemingly saturated with their pheromones.
At least one member of the pack was with her at all times, though they kept out of her way at home as promised.
Still, between their regular rounds and the time they spent in their security room, she couldn’t help but be acutely aware of their presence.
Even if she hadn’t memorized their schedule, she would know which alpha was on shift on any given day before she’d even left her bedroom in the morning.
If it was the big one, she’d hear his jaunty whistle in the halls and one of her assistants would appear with a protein shake and her workout gear.
If it was the pretty one, Maude and Amelia would be even bubblier than normal and often they’d bring her some thoughtful nothing he’d provided—like a cup of lime juice and honey tea on a morning after she’d been up half the night coughing.
And if it was the pack leader, she’d smell his caramel, whiskey, and tobacco sweetness in the air, since the first thing he did when he arrived was to peek in and check on her.
She always pretended to be asleep, but she never was.
She was always already awake, waiting for him.
The best/worst days were when she had an event because that meant all three alphas and the constant aching awareness of them.
The heady mixture of their scents constantly threatened to undo her.
It was embarrassing to admit to herself how much they affected her, but it was hard to deny when her panties were constantly damp and the slightest touch from any of them set her ablaze for days.
She’d taken to masturbating in the bathroom at increasingly frequent intervals, since it was the only camera-free room at her disposal.
Many nights she tossed and turned in her bed, aching to touch herself, but too afraid of getting caught in flagrante.
Of course, the pack leader had explained that once she went to bed, they’d turn off the camera in her bedroom.
They would physically check on her a few times a night or simply stroll by her room on their rounds, and Bianca couldn’t give in to the urge to satisfy herself when they might hear or see her.
The very thought of it was enough to have her core clenching and slick coating her thighs. The idea of them watching her get herself off was both thrilling and terrifying. There was no way she’d manage to keep from embarrassing herself by begging them to fuck her into absolute oblivion.
She was unusually relieved to get out of the house.
After several quiet days at home with her raging hormones and the objects of her lust, the distraction of a dull fundraiser was actually welcome, despite the fact that the event was being hosted by Serenity Rose Rhodes.
Bianca had managed not to be in company with the other omega for a few months, since the infamous article had thrust Serenity further into the spotlight, but she’d had no choice but to accept tonight’s invitation.
After all, Bonnycastle Charities was a major partner in Serenity’s Second Stitch Project.
They’d done an astounding amount of good together, especially with the added publicity from Genesis Valentine’s article and art exhibit.
Bianca was secretly proud of how she’d managed to build on the momentum to attract more private donors with big pockets and eagerness to virtue signal.
Some were the same people who’d previously voted for policies that contributed to the systemic abuse of omegas in this country.
Serenity probably would’ve never sullied her honor by courting such deplorable bigots, but Bianca was happy to take their money.
They could call it reparations or blood money or whatever else they liked, as long as they cut the checks.
Bianca brooded on her accomplishments, as billionaires milled around her, pretending they cared about anyone besides themselves.
She would never lie to herself that way; she knew that she didn’t care about anyone else.
She raised money for charity because she was good at it and it was the only way her fathers were willing to utilize her entrepreneurialism.
She had so many ideas on Pack Bonnycastle’s other businesses, but she’d learned her place long ago and stayed in her lane.
Those blithering idiots who called themselves her fathers didn’t deserve her insights anyway.
Making them richer wouldn’t make them appreciate her more, so what did she care if they were wasting her talents on philanthropy?
The crowd quieted as Serenity made her way to the makeshift stage that had been erected in…
whatever this big, sad room was called. Perhaps it was used as a gym or a multipurpose room of some sort?
Bianca wrinkled her nose at the paper tablecloths and handmade centerpieces on the cheap folding tables.
Serenity stepped to a podium and tested the microphone before smiling at them all.
She seemed more comfortable in front of a crowd than Bianca remembered.
A true rags-to-riches story, the kindhearted fairy tale princess had apparently already adjusted to royalty even though she grew up in the gutter.
How could anyone not hate her? This shit just didn’t happen in real life. In Bianca’s experience, there were no knights in shining armor, no escapes or happy endings.
You either became the dragon, or you got eaten.
“I’m so grateful to Gen V for sharing my story with the world,” Serenity was saying when Bianca bothered to start listening.
“Because of her publication, our collaboration on the art exhibit, and her forthcoming book, we’re finally having a national conversation about the ways our society has marginalized and harmed omegas.
The words you see embedded in tonight’s pieces are hers, so I’ll let her introduce the art before the silent auction begins. ”
Polite applause swept the room as Serenity Rose Rhodes stepped away from the podium to hug Genesis Valentine-Rossi before she took the stage.
Bianca glanced at her watch irritably. This was such a waste of time.
None of these guests really cared about the art, and most had already set their sights on what they perceived as the most expensive-looking or provocative pieces.
Instead of talking about the art, Genesis would be better off telling them how much other pieces from the exhibit had sold for—get them worked into a feeding frenzy and spark some serious bidding wars.
That’s what Bianca would do, but she was only attending this little fundraiser, not running it.
If she’d organized it, it’d be at Bonnycastle Privé or another upscale hotel rather than this sad little community center.
But Serenity had wanted donors to see their dollars at work.
So, she’d insisted they have the event here, in this repurposed historic downtown building that provided wraparound services for omegas in need.
The tour of the facility had been tragic, though the omega patrons seemed happy to be eating their terrible food and taking their free omega health and wellness classes and accepting their care packages.
Bianca had half expected someone to start singing about the arms of angels like in those depressing dog commercials.