Omega Captive of the Bad Boy Dragon (Alpha Dragons #5)

Chapter 1

Malin

The invitation came not through email or social media messaging, but in the real hand-delivered mail. A physical envelope with my name and address printed in neat, steady handwriting. A fun-looking card with colorful balloons on the front.

I took it into both hands and started to crumple it. It flew open. Inside, more neat handwriting. Larger print told me at a glance what I already knew.

It gave a date and a time and an address.

The neat handwriting was not from Dad. It was from that set omega of his that he’d deigned to marry. That interloper. That worthless wolf. Kirion.

Malin:

I hope this reaches you and that you are well. A lot of time has passed since we last saw you. Tane and I would enjoy having you as a guest at Remington’s birthday celebration. You have yet to meet your brother and your father would love to see you, as well.

Please think about coming. You will be received with open arms.

Sincerely,

Kirion

So many lies contained in so few lines. I was very sure Kirion did not hope “you are well” and would not “enjoy having” me as a guest. Plus, Remington was my half-brother, not my brother. And would Dad love to see me? I think not. The open arms bit at the end of the note was laughable.

After everything that had happened when Kirion came to live with Dad, it was clear they despised me. That was okay by me. I despised them. None of us had spoken in over six years.

I still lived off my trust. I still got into a few skirmishes. A year ago, I’d had a fight with one of my bar-hopping friends. He spent the night at a hospital and I did a night in jail before he dropped assault charges. Then there had been another fight with another alpha three months later….

I was a bad boy and a playboy. Since omegas were rare, I slated my thirsts on big, willing alphas. Sometimes things got out of hand. My temper easily fumed, a dragon temper, out of control. Especially if I’d been drinking. There were reasons. I couldn’t help it.

A sharpness pressed at the backs of my eyes.

Every day I woke remembering when I was ten and my omega father, Rupert, had died. I still blamed Dad. Father wouldn’t have gone flying that day with a storm on the horizon if they hadn’t argued. I was sure of it.

The last time I saw Dad I was twenty-one. He’d kicked me out of his mansion. The blame, the shame, the arguing—I was happy to leave.

Crumpling the stupid invitation, I tossed it in the kitchen trash.

I didn’t realize how hard I’d been biting the insides of my cheeks until I tasted blood.

I closed my eyes against the heat starting to form in my vision, strode to the living room bar and poured myself a drink.

Vodka. I downed it in three gulps, the flames behind my eyes growing only stronger.

I needed more of a distraction than that. Besides, it was never fun drinking alone. Grabbing my phone, I texted my friend Bish.

Malin: Party still on for tonight?

Bish: Yep. But you said you weren’t coming, asshole.

Malin: Changed my mind.

Bish: I know you always arrive in some fancy designer couture, but bar and catering are by the pool. Bring a swimsuit.

Malin: Hey spikeass, I’ll wear whatever I want to wear.

Bish: You haven’t been drinking already, have you?

Malin: Fuck you.

Bish: Which translates to you’re coming, right?

He knew me well.

I blew through my wardrobe in less than ten minutes before settling on an impeccable white turtleneck over which I slid on a striped wool jacket with tails. Black pants and leather boots completed the look. I’d be boiling in this getup but I didn’t care.

As an afterthought, I tossed dark blue swim trunks into a small carrycase. Both trunks and case were designer, of course.

One glance in the mirror before I left. My dark hair was to my shoulders and moussed back from my face. There were dark circles under my eyes from intermittent insomnia. It looked like makeup. That haunted look got me attention. The good kind. It would do.

By the time I drove up to Bish’s house, an hour had passed. Lots of cars dotted his long driveway. I could find parking for my Lamborghini only at the bottom of the hill by the gate. Well, fuck it. I was in good shape. I could hike that hill.

It smelled good out here. The vodka had left my body already or I would have hired a car instead of driving, but the after affects kept me in a heightened sort of daze.

I noticed all the colors of the flowers along the way.

The sweet pollen filling the air. The grass was like the thickest, plushest carpet in a shade of green that dizzied me. I wanted to roll on it.

I hadn’t done that since I was ten.

As I approached the house, I heard yells, splashes and laughter from around back.

I went to the front porch door and used the heavy brass knocker. Bish’s butler, whose name I could never remember, greeted me.

“Hello, Malin. And welcome. Bish said to expect you.”

“Thanks.” I moved past him, the grand interior of the home enveloping me like a giant, gleaming mouth.

“They’re all out back,” the butler said.

“I know the way.”

He didn’t tail me as I made my way past a lavish living room and a sitting room with a complete bar setup and a few people hanging out inside. I passed a huge bathroom with open double doors. Next door to that was a changing room.

I looked down at my carrycase. My swimsuit was inside. Should I change or make an entrance first in my fancy jacket? Before I could decide, I heard voices from within.

In a breathy voice, someone said, “I’m not wearing that.”

A lower voice said, “You’ll wear whatever the herdsman tells you to wear.”

“I refuse.”

“Brimstone Ranch is being paid a nice sum for you to be here and wear this. Now put it on!”

I heard the sound of something hitting a wall, glass breaking.

“Fuck you!”

“You little shit.” Sounds of a scuffle.

I didn’t care about guest privacy, especially if there would be a fight to navigate. All fine by me. This night was already turning out to be less boring than I thought it would be. I slammed open the door and I had to blink to be sure of what I was seeing.

A small omega with beautiful long golden locks stood by a bench facing off with a tall, older alpha with salt and pepper hair.

The omega was shirtless, wearing only jeans low on his narrow hips.

The only word I could think of to describe him was…

angelic. I hardened my gaze as my throat went dry and turned to the alpha.

The larger man had on some sort of weird, blue uniform apron over a black suit. Was I interrupting a lover’s spat?

But then the words I’d overheard finally sank in. Brimstone Ranch. Herdsman. I’d heard of the place. All I knew about it was it was a breeding farm out in the country filled with set omegas who hadn’t made the cut to be sold by auction to wealthy alphas.

As I stared from the doorway, both men looked at me, fury in their eyes. Dumbfounded, I heard myself blurt, “Bish hired set omega breeders for the party?”

It was the rudest thing I could say and I was somewhat sorry for that yet I arrogantly continued to speak to cover up my embarrassment. “How many?”

I’d been working on my filters with my councilor. I still had a way to go. Anger management therapy had been part of a probation condition, along with a hefty fine, for the fight I’d had nine months ago.

I was trying. I really was. Nine months fight-sober. That was a record for me.

I looked at the angry alpha and the helpless omega. The alpha took a step toward me. Was tonight going to ruin that record?