Chapter 32 Tessa
TESSA
LOS ANGELES…
When the shimmering material of the hood half concealing my face fell away, the room seemed to shift sideways.
That’s when my eyes found his.
Golden flecks sparkling within dark amber.
Even when Ryder’s gaze had been shadowed by the low lighting backstage, I’d been mesmerized by it.
I wondered if he smelled the same—like smoke, high dollar bourbon, and caramel.
I couldn’t tell though, not while his individual scent was mingling with those of the three other Alphas nearby.
The room was filling with their aromas, not fighting for dominance but instead weaving together in the most delicious way.
It took me precious seconds to realize that my body was responding of its own will, my Omega stretching and reaching and perfuming in a way that could only mean home. Home was… all of them.
Slowly, I shifted my gaze to Dixon St. James.
Storm gray eyes sliced through the air, holding terrifying promise.
Yet, beneath the dark cloud in his gaze was the guy who’d stumbled down the steps to help with Josie’s stroller.
Tray Rivers stood slightly behind Dixon.
The drum prodigy. I used to rewind Oblivion Haze music videos over and over again just to see the way he expertly spun the sticks in his hands before slamming out a beat.
A curl of dark, ash brown hair fell across his forehead and his eyes were nearly the same shade somehow, iris nearly disguising pupil.
Mac was a few feet apart, hovering near the closed door.
He was tall, more refined than the others.
Golden hair combed back and parted neatly.
His hazel eyes keenly watched, as if he could discover all my secrets with enough time.
Drawn by a magnetic force, I found myself looking into Ryder’s intense eyes once more.
That kiss—the one that I’d always irrationally blamed for ending my world—surged back with dizzying force. I closed my eyes, trying to fight the memory and the internal chaos it always caused in its wake.
“Tessa, I know that you’re overwhelmed,” the gentle Beta’s voice filtered through the past, pulling me back to the present, “but the sooner we can complete the product inspection, the sooner the Eros agents will leave. And that part of your life will over. Okay?”
I parted my lashes, shifting my body to find her face.
The first real signs of age marred her otherwise pretty face, wrinkles surrounding watery blue eyes.
Her hair was natural, streaks of silver interrupting fading mouse brown.
She was short, thick around the middle, and reminded me of the type of person who’d never be short on motherly advice or fresh baked cookies.
“What do I have to do?” I finally managed to push out the question, voice trembling.
I’d been so full of myself throughout this ordeal.
I’d held my ground against assholes like Beta ‘Loves to be a Dick’ and Beta Grouse.
Yet now that I was here… I didn’t know what to do.
Besides, I’d only been strong to save Josie.
I’d gotten my courage from her and for her.
Right now, I didn’t need to fight for her.
She was snoozing like an angel, her body resting against probably the softest bed she’d ever felt.
Being strong only for myself didn’t feel worth it. I couldn’t muster the adrenaline.
“Well,” Catalina looked uncomfortable, clearing her throat before lifting her tablet and bringing the screen to life.
She seemed to clinically detach herself as she read the most recent Eros email.
“The Institute outlines a full, um, inspection. They’d like the client to check you over, as thoroughly as possible. ”
I bit my lip, glancing down at the thin, fragile cape which now, suddenly, felt like my only armor.
I didn’t look back up. I didn’t want to see Cat’s face, which was likely sympathetic, or the men’s expressions.
If they seemed excited, I’d feel like all they wanted from me was a body, the right body, to satisfy their Alpha natures.
If they seemed disappointed, my already depleted confidence would hit rock bottom.
Hands shaking, I undid the two clasps that kept the hooded cape in place.
I took a deep breath, parting the material outward and then sliding it slowly off my shoulders.
The silky, crystal-speckled cloth pooled to the floor at my feet.
No one said anything, though I could hear movement from my audience.
I reached for both spaghetti straps. Do it quickly.
Rip it off like a Band-Aid. It will hurt less that way.
The thin straps moved easily, inch by inch, I let them fall down to loop around my upper arms. The dress was fitted well enough that the bodice didn’t immediately slip.
Just get it over with.
Dampness began to build in my eyes and a knot formed in my chest. I tried to swallow down the building sob, but it continued to rise higher, threatening to escape.
I curved my fingers around the gathered cowl neckline of the dress. I couldn’t do it. My hands were locked in place, unwilling to lower. A stupid tear slipped down my cheek. And then another.
“Stop.” That single word held so much authority and… malice. The knot grew larger, fear bloating it so much that the sob was going to become a scream before it exploded from my mouth. Now, I did look up. I’d made one of them angry. I hadn’t cooperated quickly enough.
It hadn’t been Ryder.
Dixon had stepped closer. His hands were fisted. His expression warped with rage.
“I’m… I’m sorry.” I stuttered out, the tears falling faster. “I’m just nervous. I… I can take it off. I will take it off.” I pulled the dress down.
Before my upper body was fully exposed, Dixon closed the distance between us so fast that I gasped, stumbling backward and losing my balance. His large, muscled arm wrapped around me, keeping me from falling. I was petrified, body shaking.
“Don’t you fucking dare be sorry,” he growled. Now that we were so close, I could see his own eyes—the color seeming to flip between winter platinum and palest blue—were glistening. “You are not a product. We don’t need to inspect you.”
He helped me stand upright and then Dixon fixed my dress with slow, gentle movements. He towered over me, hiding my entire body from the rest of the room. When he’d firmly seated the second strap back on my shoulder, some of his wrath melted away.
“I scared you,” he mumbled. “I’m not very good right now. Not at my best.”
“It’s okay,” I whispered, not sure how to respond.
He rubbed roughly at the back of his neck before turning away and rejoining his band mates. He said something to them, too low for me to hear, and then they all walked over to the Beta woman to talk. She nodded and left the room.
I crossed my arms, hugging myself and waiting to see what I should do.
Ryder was the first to approach me this time.
He moved with a strange mix of caution and purpose, as if I might bolt like a frightened deer.
I couldn’t blame him; that’s how I was feeling.
How hard would it be for me to sneak away tonight?
I’d take what I needed, maybe there was some cash in the house…
rock stars always have cash lying around, don’t they? Drugs aren’t cheap.
"Tessa," he addressed me, and just the sound of my name slipping from his lips sent a shiver down my spine, "Dixon’s right. You’re not a product. I think we understand a little how this has been for you.”
“You think you understand?” I lifted my brows, jutting out my chin in a weak effort to appear like I wasn’t struggling. “I’ve been prodded and poked and… and…” my voice cracked. I shook myself a little, then continued. “I can’t even blame anyone but myself.”
Ryder looked like he wanted to know more, but what he said next wasn’t a series of prying questions. “The Eros Institute may have matched us, but you're not merchandise. You're a person. We know that." Ryder pointed over his shoulder, indicating the rest of his band mates. His pack. My pack now.
The other three moved closer. Dixon still seemed a little wild, like a mustang suddenly yanked into domesticity and away from open land and free range.
Tray was smiling boyishly, dimples on full display.
Mac still hung back for some reason. I recalled an article in Modern Men of Music from a few years back.
The other guys had described Mac as their resident voice of reason.
Always the designated driver, always making sure they ate and exercised.
When the rest of them wanted to throw in the towel on a song, he doggedly kept at it until he broke down whatever barrier was in the way.
"We're not expecting anything," Mac added, his cultured voice carrying from where he stood. "No, I suppose that’s a lie. We wouldn’t have gone through this process if we weren’t expecting something.” He sighed, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I’m not saying this right.”
“You know things have gone sideways when Mac’s at a loss for words,” Tray playfully shoved his shoulder against Mac before clarifying. “I think what he’s trying to say is that we need you. Maybe as much as you need us?” That last bit was a questioned.
“But no one is going to pressure you,” Dixon added fiercely.
“This as your home now, Tessa.” Ryder brought my attention back to him. “Home is supposed to be a sanctuary. You’re not supposed to be scared when you’re there surrounded by people who—”
He suddenly stopped speaking. I knew what he was going to say though—love you.
A home. Safety. Surrounded by love.