Chapter 2
I loved concerts. They were my escape from everyday life, away from thoughts of money, unrecognized talent, and my dreams of my work being on the walls of an art gallery. For a few hours I take all the worries and concerns and stress I’d been carrying around, drop them, and go absolutely feral in a crowd of hundreds that were letting loose just like me. There was nothing like feeling the music in the pit of my stomach. Even bad concerts, where shouty, sloppy frat boy alphas spill beer down my back or girls shoot filthy glances filled with jealousy in my direction because I was just pretty enough to be a threat; even those are a great time.
Some people, like my family, thought it wasn’t the smartest idea for an omega to go to concerts alone. Some people had the outdated ideas that omega equaled weak, demure, submissive. Especially without a pack.
I was just like any other person, and I had just as much right to be here as anyone else.
The sweaty, thrashing, screaming, singing bodies around me? These were my people. This was my pack.
Omega Overdose were a metalcore band that were quickly rising in fame. This was their first show in Port Haven and in the ten minutes they had been on stage, they were absolutely killing it, and they were just the warm up band for the headliners, Scent of the Senseless.
I had floor tickets, which was always my favourite place to be. I didn’t usually go into the mosh pit, I’d rather experience the show on stage than bash myself against riled up alphas and betas. I was an enthusiast, not insane.
Omega Overdose ended their set to rapturous applause, though to be honest, at these types of shows, we’re all so hyped up that we’ll praise anything if it has the right energy. It doesn’t have to be good , just real . Lucky for the opening band, they were sincere.
The house lights came up, and the stage hands and roadies began to tear down and set up. A drudging process but necessary, and useful for the crowd to get refreshments.
I could use another beer.
I wove through the crowd, and many of us already had the thin coating of sweat glistening on our bodies. I know I did. So many auras. So many scents. I slid into the line, which was really more of a cloud, of a merch booth, and looked over the offers of t-shirts, stickers and patches all hung up on a display. Maybe I’d get an Omega Overdose shirt. I’d definitely get one of Scent of the Senseless.
When I had finally reached the front of the “line”, I selected a Scent of the Senseless crop top.
“Can I also get a packet of scent blockers?” I asked. I knew my nose was in a perpetual wrinkle, trying to ignore all the scents burning through the theatre. A few years ago, the use of scent blockers and suppressants were a social courtesy for things like concerts, sporting events, and fairs. Events where people gathered in large groups and brimmed with energy and adrenaline. Lately, “going natural” had become popular. It was annoying.
I couldn’t control what other people did with their scents and auras, but I could at least be courteous of those around me and let them enjoy the show without the distraction of my scent.
The cashier handed me the shirt and a packet of pills. I paid, and walked to a private corner of the venue to change into my new tank. I turned to face the concrete wall, pulled off my old Scent of the Senseless t-shirt and pulled on my new crop top. It came down just below my ribs and showed off my flat stomach. I nicked the scoop neck a little, and tore a vertical slit about an inch down, to really show off my chest. I shook out my pink and violet hair to give it some volume and craze, finger-combed it, and let it fall down past my shoulders.
At the bar, I once again stood in a cluster of people, waiting to get a beer. I was surrounded by scents and auras. I could feel them creeping along the naked skin of my arms, and getting caught in my hair. I’d need a hell of a shower when I got home.
But none of that mattered right now.
I finally got my beer in its sticky, flimsy plastic cup. It had too much foam and was a little warm, especially for the price, but it was all part of the experience.
Some people choose to go on cruises, some people want to go to theme parks, my escape is concerts.
I put my cup down on a ledge and opened the packet of scent dampeners. I popped one out of the blister pack, placed it on my tongue, and drowned it in a deluge of over-priced beer. Half way through drinking, the lights went down. Scent of the Senseless was taking the stage. How long had I been in the lineup for a drink?
I slithered through the crowd, shouldering and shimmying my way as close to the stage as I could manage. If I was lucky maybe the lead singer would notice me. Maybe I could swindle my way backstage. Maybe I could party with the band. It wouldn’t be the first time I got a free invitation to enjoy what goes on behind the curtain. I’d ridden my share of musicians for the fun of it. But Teryn Ross would be the notch to end all notches. The trophy of trophies.
His long, strong thighs in his tight torn jeans. His rippling muscles lacing through his stomach and wrapping like snakes around his bones. Broad shoulders, long silver hair just begging for me to pull it as he kisses me hard enough to bring blood to the surface of my pouting lips, swelling them, making them beg for him.
A girl can’t help what she wants.
The riot of the instruments invaded my body, the intense vibrations kicking at my stomach and thrumming under my skin. Nothing gets me as slick as feeling a powerful baseline hum deep in my core and the violent growls of a metalhead front man’s voice in the air.
The band was halfway through the second song when it hit me. At first I didn’t know what it was, what had distracted me from the show? Weed? There was plenty going around, permeating the oxygen like we had all agreed to hotbox together.
No.
It wasn’t the weed.
There was another smell.
Something out of place. Something that shouldn’t be here but none the less was. The sweet, tart scent that drifted into my nose and across my tongue. Cool, refreshing strawberry-lemonade. I could practically taste the cold, sour sweetness. And there was a note of caramelized sugar. Like a creme brulee with lemon zest on top. I imagined the crystalized sugar snapping on the tip of my tongue.
It was all I wanted now.
It was mine.
You know those cartoons where there’s a trail of scent? That’s what it felt like, like the scent was so strong I could almost see it, and it had a mind of its own, a personality, awareness, sapience.
It was… my scent match.
I turned away from the stage and shoved my way through the ocean of bodies all vying to get as up close and personal as possible to the band. That had no real draw to me anymore. Strawberry-lemonade and sugar did.
I smelled him. Did he smell me?
I nearly tripped as I stumbled to a stop. Oh shit. The scent blockers I had taken.
How long had it been since I had taken them? It couldn’t have been more than ten minutes. They were fast-acting though and were probably in my system by now, dampening my natural scent. Soon I’d smell as basic as a beta.
I had to purge my system, exorcize the drugs from my body if I had any chance of my scent match finding me.
I shoved my way through the crowd, struggling to the edge of the throng of sweat-drenched bodies. I bent over the first barrel-drum carved trashcan I found, stuck my fingers in my mouth, and retched out beer, foam, and hopefully pills.
Shaking, I spat the last of the mess into the garbage. The things we do for lust.
I was keenly aware of the fact that puke-breath might overpower my tamped-down scent. The world was a cruel and unfair place.
Well Caira, you’ve really done it now.
Maybe I could drown the smell with more beer? I spared a gaze at the refreshment stalls and while the customers had thinned out somewhat, fighting the crowd of concert goers between me and the taps was futile.
I acted without thinking and grabbed some girl’s beer right out of her hand.
“Hey!” She hollered but I had disappeared into the crowd before she even saw me. I drank down a deep swallow, then took in another mouthful and swished it around like it was mouthwash. I spat my backwash into the cup and tossed it into another drum-barrel trash can. From the back pocket of my jeans I took out a little container of breath strips and snapped it open. Only two left. I put both on my tongue and like cling wrap they immediately floated to the roof of my mouth where they stuck like glue as they dissolved. I breathed in. I breathed out.
Better.
I shook out my hands and shoulders, and tried to give myself to the music, the concert-going experience, and let the music take me while I meditated on the scent. I did my best to relax, and grasp that sweet lemony aroma. My brow furrowed as I tried to pinpoint the location. But the lemon was drifting off to the left. And the sugar to the right.
What was going on?
A combustion of light drowned the darkness behind my eyelids as the stage exploded in a conflagration of pyrotechnics. I opened my eyes and searched through the screaming crowd. The smell of smoke and flame clouded up everything and the excitement all around me made new scents and auras burst like fireworks. Lemons were fading and Caramelized Sugar was lost. My throat was parched and my chest ached. I felt so alone.
Fuck it. It was just a missed connection. Maybe I wasn’t meant to meet my scent match. At least, not tonight. Maybe never.
The thought made me wince, and pain lanced through my heart, planting anger. There was only one place where you could dislodge anger at a concert.
I prowled through the crowd and marched, heavy-booted, to the mosh pit.
Mosh pits are like black holes, like under tow. They pull you into their being, surround you, and you have to play with friendly fire to keep yourself afloat. I willfully sank into the thrashing bodies of the mosh pit, flailing and tossing my head, stomping my feet. Pushing my limits and being pushed. I could smell sweat, and hot breath, weed, slick, yearning.
Lemons.
Strong arms wrapped around my waist and pulled me to the shores of the pit. His thighs were at my rear, one leg between mine so I was sitting almost straddling it. A hole in my jeans let my naked skin brush against his denim. The scent of lemons overpowered everything else, almost like it was a sound, drowning out everything around me. I took a deep breath in, and fresh, sweet, tangy, ice-cold strawberry-lemonade slid across my tongue and to the back of my throat. I purred and leaned into his chest. His jacket, leather and denim, was like a cushion between us. The patches scratched pleasantly against my shoulder blade, the studs poked into my tender flesh. Even through all that, I felt the rumble in his chest as he echoed my purr.
He found me.
I was panting now.
He leaned over me, his lips at my ear. “I’m Raine,” was all he said.
“Caira,” I answered, but I doubt he heard me over the clamor all around us.
“Are you alright?” Even as he asked, his hands started roaming, exploring my body, and I knew he wasn’t checking for injuries. His palm ran across my stomach. His thumb and pointer finger slid under my tank top and grazed the bottom of my bra.
“Did anyone hurt you?” His teeth captured the cuff in the cartilage of my ear.
I looked down at his arms, at the tattoos peeking out from the sleeves of his jacket.
“No,” I rocked my hips against the zipper of his jeans. “Nothing happened. I’m alright.”
“Good.” He… Raine… cupped my left breast with his right hand. He slid into my bra and cradled it gently, like it was a precious, fragile thing. “Because if anyone hurt my omega, I would kill them.”
His thumb circled my nipple, making it hard. I trembled.
“Especially now that I had just finally found her.”
I turned my head and yearned for him to kiss me. All I could smell was his Summertime scent of strawberry-lemonade and cold. Fresh. It felt youthful, like he exuded a life-sustaining elixir. I wanted a taste, a little sip of his forever.
“You found me,” I said, putting my thoughts into words. “I’m yours.”
I pressed into his crotch with more urgency. I wanted him. Now. Here. There were hundreds of people all around us that could just forget about the band and stare at our little show. I didn’t give any of them a second thought.
The song changed, the intro to Smells Like Destiny plowed through the theatre, barreling through the fans like a stampede. Raine pressed his hand low on my belly, holding me close.
“This is my favourite song,” he said. “Dance with me.”
I reached up and wrapped my arms around his neck. His hair was over-grown but not too-long. Shaggy. Messy. I wondered what color. He had seen me but I had yet to see him.
We moved together. He grew a little more respectful and hugged me around my middle, protective and possessive. My alpha wanted to possess me.
The leather of his sleeve creaked against my bare stomach as he embraced me, murmuring familiar lyrics into my ear that I already had tattooed on my memory.
“I’d know you even in your grave. I’d find you though you’re far away. It only makes sense this way. It only smells like destiny.”
His tongue teased my lobe, and I felt a stud clink against one of my piercings. I imagined what his tongue-stud could do elsewhere and my core ached with want.
I turned in his arms and faced him. Under the undulating lights cast from the stage his skin flickered red and violet. His hair was dark and tastefully messy. He wasn’t too tall, and his eyes were so dark they looked like hollow sockets. I had never seen pupils so dilated from lust. I couldn’t imagine what my honey-brown eyes might have looked like as they flashed with my own arousal.
I wrapped my arms around him, digging under his patched leather jacket. His ice-cold strawberry-lemonade scent drew me closer and closer until I had buried my face in his shirt and drank in the smell of him. He buried his face in my silky veil of purple and pink hair and I held him tight, squeezing my eyes shut. It was a miracle he could find my scent through the drugs.
I looked up at him, and forgot about everyone else around us. It was just him, me and the music pounding in my stomach.
We kissed and I knew instantly that this was fate.
The toasted sugar scent grew stronger, and it was a cozy blanket against my back. A presence shadowed behind me, and I was half-aware of who it was.
A hand came around and clamped over my mouth. I inhaled the warm sugar and my eyes drifted closed. Another voice in my ear.
“Jackal. Pleased to meet you.”
Even above the music I could hear the sound of chains when he moved.
“My pack brother,” Raine said, but of course I knew that already.
I stuck my tongue out and dragged it against Jackal's palm, imagining I could taste the sweetness of his scent, and swallow it. He grinded himself against my ass, as if searching for a way inside of me. I moaned, and wondered if he could feel the vibration of it against his palm.
Finger by finger, Jackal released my mouth.
“I want inside you, omega,” Jackal said. It almost sounded like a threat, but I knew it was just the timber of his yearning.
“I want you inside me,” I admitted. Each hand curled against an article of their clothing. Raine's leather jacket, Jackal's grungy flannel. “I want both of you.”
Taking that as permission, Jackal’s fingers pressed into the seam of my jeans.
With the dexterity and strength of an alpha, and the ferocity of a wolf, Jackal tore into the seam of my jeans. He bisected them, parting them vertically down the middle and exposing my ass and black cotton panties. His nails scratched against the swell of my rear as he hooked his fingers into my panties to move them out of the way. I reached behind me and grabbed his belt, pulling him closer until his crotch was pressed against the parts of me that he had exposed.
The waist of my jeans loosened as Raine undid the button and drew down the zipper. I buried my face in his neck and rubbed my hair across his collarbone, marking him with my gentle linen and daffodil scent, and claiming him as my own. I captured the front of his shirt in my teeth as he sneaked his fingers under the zipper of my jeans.
My alphas wanted to take me right at this moment, and I wanted to be taken. Tonguing the bit of fabric in my mouth, I tasted Raine’s sweat and scent while Jackal discretely slid between my thighs and Raine teased my clit with his fingers soaked with my slick.
“Which one of you is the pack lead?” I asked with a clenched jaw and panting breath.
“Neither,” Jackal said into my ear as he barely moved his hips, perhaps content to be warmed by my thighs and wetted by my slick. “Do you want to be preserved for the pack lead?”
I trapped my bottom lip between my teeth to cut off a moan, then answered Jackal's question. “Ever heard of First right of the King?” I asked. “Shouldn’t the pack lead take me first?”
Jackal shifted and his knot pressed against the underside of my ass, between where my thighs met my rear. His thick shaft butterflied my pussy lips while Raine’s dexterous fingers continued to draw rapid circles against my clit. I gasped out a sound but again Jackal covered my mouth with his hand. He pushed his hips forward, forcing me to lift onto the balls of my thick-soled fuck-off army boots.
“Is that what you really want?” Raine asked, slowing his hand and forcing me to whimper between Jackal's fingers.
I wanted lemonade. I wanted melted sugar. I wanted Raine. I wanted Jackal. I wanted whoever was strong enough or charismatic enough to control both of them. I wanted so many things. I couldn’t remember being so full of want before, not like this.
I nodded, but contradicted myself by rolling my hips between Raine’s hand and Jackal's hips.
“We should go find the pack lead then.” With a sly smile, Raine started to step away.
“No!” Even behind Jackal's hand, the single word was clear. I grabbed Raine’s wrist and held him with all my strength.
“Oh, you want to wait until after the show?” Jackal guessed. “Is that it?”
Well, not really, but it was as good an excuse as any. I nodded, feeling strangely submissive.
“Come here,” Raine cupped my head and rested it against his chest, my eyes directed to the stage where Teryn was guttural screaming his lungs out. Jackal wrapped his arms around my middle and rested his chin on the top of my head. To anyone who might be looking, we just looked like a typical trio of alpha and omega, as common as any other. Except the truth of it was these two alphas were hidden in the deepest shadows between my legs.
The band played on. They were fire but I could barely register their scorching performance because of the ways the pair of alphas enveloped me. Raine continued to toy with the little seed of pleasure between my legs. Behind me, Jackal shuddered as Raine touched him in some way. I imagined he probably ran a finger along the head of Jackal's cock that was so brazenly nestled between my pussy lips.
Explosions burst forth from the stage in fiery columns and clouds as the finale blasted from the stage. The lights flashed and flickered like a thousand cameras. Then, it was over. The band left the stage, the lights came on, and Raine and Jackal stepped away from me.
I shivered, feeling suddenly alone and exposed, my ass hanging out of my torn jeans, my slick a dark spot that had seeped down to my knees. Then, I was covered in warm leather that smelled of vanilla, coconut and macadamia nuts. A long coat was draped over my shoulders and covered my shame. I looked to the scent and saw the most beautiful witchy woman to ever walk the world.
“This is what you brought me, boys?” she tossed her wild platinum waves of hair from her eyes. “I’m impressed.”
She lifted her hands to the spiked collar and chain leash around her neck. She undid the thick leather strap and rested it in her upturned palms as if presenting it to me.
"Here. Wear this.” She tucked a lock of purple behind my ear. “We would hate to lose you."
The scent of vanilla-soaked shaved coconut and macadamia nuts made my brain buzz, like I had taken a huge rip from a bong. I looked from the offering to her eyes. Green, like leaves, and bright against her wild pale hair.
I looked down at the collar, unsure of what to do. If I took it, was I making a deal? Would I become this pack's omega?
"Don't worry. It's just a collar."
It was like she could read my thoughts.
I gave a single nod of my head.
One of the male alphas gathered my two-toned hair and held it away from my neck as she slid the collar around my throat. As she did, her shining black vinyl corset pressed against my thin and helpless tank top, teasing my nipples as her body slid against mine. Her breasts swelled in a perfect sculpt in the cups of her bodice with every breath.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
It took me a few seconds to remember how to speak, how to decipher language, or even what the answer to the question was.
“Caira.”
She buckled the collar in place, then clipped on the chain leash. “Good girl, Caira. Come along now.”