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Fuck it, I don’t care. I brush past the last customer entering and rush out, turning in a circle, looking for her.
But she’s gone.
4
KYRIAN
“Ky, have you seen Luna?” Roman hollers from behind the bar, a cocktail shaker in his hands.
“Nope!” I call back, taking him in. Bartenders dress up for the job, and he’s wearing a shimmering black shirt that matches his eyes. He looks good enough to eat, and my dick agrees, hardening in my pants. “Haven’t seen her today. Was she supposed to come in?”
“She’s supposed to take Eve’s shift.”
Luna is a dancer who works here at the Alpha Bet bar sometimes. And Roman is the beta of my pack.
It feels kinda strange to say that out loud. My pack. My beta.
Having a pack, a family, that’s a new thing for me. Sometimes I pinch myself. I have to, or I might think I’m dreaming.
We’re not an official pack, not yet. There’s a law that says you need an omega in your pack to register it. Legal bullshit. We’re fine the way we are. We don’t need more people.
I don’t, anyway. I’m so fucking lucky as it is.
I mean, who would want to be with someone like me? And yet Roman and Archer seem to think I’m worth it. I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop, for them to wake up and kick me out of their lives, but it hasn’t happened so far.
I haven’t managed to annoy them that much yet.
That reminds me of this guy I met the other day… Sawyer. An omega, I’d thought, from the slender cut of his body to his pretty face, and that sweet scent that went straight to my dick. Yeah, I’ll bet he’s a full-blooded omega. Who knew he was the owner of the café I randomly entered?
The guy I offended.
Fuck.
Then Archer strides out of the office at the back, distracting me, and I drink him in. In his gray suit, the alpha is damn hot.
Out of the suit, he’s even hotter, and the thought of having him at my mercy later tonight makes me smirk, even as my dick turns hard.
Well, harder.
These two are my men, my pack. Roman and Archer. Hot in everything they do, almost too hot to handle.
I’m one lucky alpha. That much is for sure.
But good luck sooner or later runs out, and that’s what fucking scares me. They are great guys, clever, beautiful, successful. Educated.
Sooner or later, they will get bored with the village idiot and leave.
Unless I fix this. Fix myself.
Somehow.
The night wears on without surprises. I’m a bouncer and I do face control at the door of the bar, but it’s rare I send anyone away. As far as I’m concerned, fancy clothes and arrogant airs don’t gain you any more entry in here than the devil’s kiss on your brow, as one of my foster fathers used to say. I’m an equal opportunities kind of guy, and only bounce the dickheads who pull dickhead moves.
Archer surfaces only once more from his office. He likes to take a look at the crowd, make his rounds. He meets my eye and nods with a smirk, and fuck if that doesn’t rekindle the desire in my gut. The man is so damn fine.
I catch glimpses of Roman juggling glasses and cocktail shakers or talking to customers from time to time, and I grin. He’s a performer and a flirt, but I know he won’t start anything outside our pack. He’s just an outgoing person, a bright flame, working as a bartender to finance his history studies, but I think he enjoys this job a lot. If he becomes a history teacher someday, his students will be in for a treat.
My heart beats harder whenever I glimpse my pack, and I can’t wipe the smile off my face, even if Sawyer’s outraged eyes keep intruding in my thoughts.
