Chapter 8 #2
“Yeah,” my eyes slide over to him, too lazy to lift my head. “I’m just bloody jolly. I’m freaking Santa.”
“Ho ho ho.” He responds, deadpan.
It’s not funny. It’s stupid as shit. His delivery is so monotone it makes me chuckle anyways.
Apparently I’m not the only one. Next to Evan, Ariana’s shoulders shake as she titters, giggling. It’s a far more pleasant sound than my barks of laughter, melodic like pressing on piano keys.
Jason’s scent takes on a hint of pride as she starts to wheeze into her glass. That’s new for him. I finally raise my head to look at him properly, but his face is as composed as ever. I squint, trying to tell if I’m imagining the faint tint to his cheeks.
“Ho ho ho,” Ariana toasts, raising her glass and then downing it. Something tells me she hasn’t exactly listened to her pack’s “only one” command.
If Jason’s cheeks are feebly painted pink, Ariana’s are slathered in the color. It’s quite cute. It suits her just as much as the pale purple of her dress does.
I need to stop looking.
She’s already bonded. And it’s not like she’s the only beautiful woman in this room. Everyone here is dressed to the nines. At least, I think they are. I haven’t noticed anyone else.
“Your pack seems busy,” I comment, searching for a reason to talk to her now that they’re not here supervising. “Business must be going well.”
She scoffs. “Yeah, they’re busy.” Her voice has taken on a defeated note, making me lean forward to listen closer. “Busy with their new omega.”
The four of us go still, staring at her incredulously. Whether encouraged by the alcohol or our shocked reactions, she continues.
“Yup! They decided to bring in a second one to our pack. Isn’t that crazy?”
Crazy’s one way to put it. It’s technically allowed, but it’s an outdated practice. I consider it cheating, though the law doesn’t. It’s frowned on by the general public, but some alphas think it makes them look more macho.
It surprises me and doesn’t at the same time. If there’s one pack I could see doing it, it’s hers. Traditionally, the omega is the center of the pack. That doesn’t seem to be the case for them.
“But they have you,” Evan’s more startled than I am.
“Thank you! Exactly!” It’s obvious she’s been bottling this in, because the words seem to burst out of her now.
“Did they find their scent match?” Nico asks, warily.
“They did.” She nods, a disdainful smile on her face. “Ten years ago. In me.”
“You’re their scent match and they still wanted another omega?” I can almost physically feel Evan’s mind being blown across the table.
Ariana shrugs sadly, making her hair slide off her shoulders. “I guess so.” Her dainty hands plunge into the glass of her empty drink, fishing out the cherry. She pops it between her glossed lips, pulling the stem away.
Something flares inside of me. I can’t decipher it. Concern for her, irritation with her pack, and something else that boils lower, hotter. Nico catches my eye and looks at me knowingly. He might know what I’m feeling better than I do, but I don’t want to dwell on the emotions.
I stand, walking to her seat and holding out a hand. She stares at it, then raises her amber eyes slowly to my face. They’re so pretty, gazing up at me. How could any man fill them with tears? And she had three men doing so. Not one of them thought to cherish her?
“Well, you’re here, not her. You may as well have some fun.” It doesn’t seem like her pack is going to dance with her. And what’s the point of a ball if she doesn’t?
Her expression and fragrance turn wary, focusing on my outstretched hand. “I have two left feet. I’ll step on yours.”
“Well, good thing I’m wearing closed toe shoes.
” I stretch my hand closer meaningfully.
She doesn’t take it, obviously pondering what to do.
She gazes towards the entrance, as if looking for her alphas to make the decision for her.
That’s not the first time she’s done that tonight. Just how far have they conditioned her?
“Please step on his feet. As hard as you can. Give me a signal before you do so I can record his reaction.” Evan encourages her. “No, but seriously. I promise he’ll be fine. His bones are as thick as his skull.” He raps his knuckles against the side of his head, jerking it towards me.
I don’t know if I like Evan being my wing man or not. Ariana does giggle and take my hand, so he’s at least a successful one. I would’ve considered it more of a triumph if he hadn’t painted me as dull to do so.
It’s definitely solidified as a victory once we’re made our way to the dance floor in the center of the room. My hand tingles from where she rested hers against mine. The music’s slow, an easy number for us to sway to.
Her warmth seeps into mine from our proximity, even though we keep a respectful distance. Her eyes continue to dart between me, the dance floor, and the door.
“Focus on me,” I mutter, making her eyes widen. It’s polite to look at your dance partner, isn’t it?
“Sorry.” She says it so quietly, so sadly, that I’m filled with shame. I twirl her around slowly, pulling her closer as she returns to face me.
“No, I’m sorry. Just relax,” I whisper, since she’s close to me. As if we’re sharing a secret. “I want you to have fun before you go.” I can feel it again now that we’re not separated by a table. The anxiety still hasn’t left her scent.
I understand her pack. Well, maybe. To a degree. If I had an omega like this, I would be possessive too. I can see it in their touches, the way they hold onto her.
But the way her face goes blank, the way she looks at them for permission to act. Even how little she speaks around them. It unnerves me. It’s like they’ve turned her into a doll, not a person.
I feel it then, dragging me out of my thoughts. Sharp, stabbing. Like a knife straight to my flesh.
She’s stepped on my toe.
“Oh my gosh, I am so sorry!” She stammers, looking down at our feet and retreating backwards.
“Don’t be,” I smile, fighting the urge to grit my teeth and pulling her back. “I barely felt it. You’re too tiny. Don’t worry about being perfect, just enjoy the music.” She is all skin and bones, I’ve noticed. The hand I’ve placed on her waist almost envelops her.
I’m only being half honest though. She may be small, but I felt it clear as day. But her panic’s replaced the anxiety lingering in her scent, and she’s so concentrated on dancing well it completely gives way to a perfume of strong, chamomile tea focus.
So every time she steps on my foot, I ignore it. Each time her head snaps up to look at me, I smile down at her. Eventually, she stops staring at her feet and just dances with me, probably assuming I don’t feel her heel on my shoes.
And she just comes to life.
She’s like a new person, now that her scent’s not plagued with worry. Her laugh is musical. It’s even prettier when it’s from genuine fun and not solely the influence of alcohol. I wish this was the way she was every time we ran into each other, rather than retreating into herself or being blank.