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I’m so going to vomit all over myself.
She doesn’t hesitate. “Let’s go.” She grabs my hand and stands up. She literally hands her drink to some random employee. “Take care of this for me, will ya?”
She doesn’t once say anything about him calling me an omega.
My fingers tremble as I fumble with my phone, guilt twisting my stomach into knots. I manage to snap a blurry picture of Dash on stage, his figure haloed by the spotlight. Swallowing hard, I type out a message, deleting and retyping it twice before finally hitting send.
Aria: Proof I showed up, but something came up, and I have to leave.
I turn around and focus only on Willow as she leads me down the steps and out of the club.
The cool night air hits my face like a slap, shocking my system. I gulp it down greedily, the crisp scent of approaching rain a stark contrast to the stale, alcohol-laden air of the club. My racing heart gradually slows as the city sounds—distant traffic, rustling leaves, a far-off siren—replace the pounding bass that still echoes in my ears.
“Aria, this isn’t just about the crowd, is it?” Willow’s voice is gentle but probing as she leads me away from the club, her hand still in mine.
I shake my head, tears stinging my eyes. “No. It’s not,” I admit, but I don’t elaborate because I’m not sure breathing is natural to me anymore.
Willow wraps her arms around me, holding me tightly. “It’s okay. You’re safe. How about we go back to my place and watch a movie instead? Something fun and distracting.”
I nod, grateful for her understanding. “Yeah. That sounds good.”
As Willow leads me away from the club, I can still feel the panic coursing through my veins and my heart pounding against my rib cage. The night air helps, but it’s not enough to erase the memories that the alpha’s leering gaze and rough demeanor brought rushing back.
One of these days, I will escape the stranglehold Noah has on me. Just not today, and that’s all right.
34
MALACHI
The energy at the Red Door feels electric. The music pulses through the walls, and the laughter and chatter of the crowd fill the air. I stand by the VIP bar on the second floor, waiting for our drinks. My shoulders are relaxed, but my mind is a scrambled mess as I scan the room for any sign of Aria. She said she was on her way with a friend, and a part of me regrets not insisting on picking her up myself. As the leader of this pack, her safety is my responsibility, and the thought of her being out there alone gnaws at me.
I can’t help but glance at every woman with pink hair or an elven face. She’s wiggled under my skin, and I feel wrong without her by my side.
I should have picked her up.
I glance at the stage, where Dash’s band, Silver Strings, is performing. Dash is in his element, his carefree, playful nature shining through as he strums his guitar and sings into the mic. The crowd loves it, and I can’t help but smile at my friend’s infectious energy. He’s literally the alpha version of a golden retriever—until he pauses, holds up his hand, and winks at the crowd before he rips off his shirt.
I just shake my head and turn away as the crowd erupts.
Quinn is engaged in an animated conversation with a group of fans near the catwalk overlooking the stage. His eyes light up as he talks, his hands moving expressively. “So there I was, trying to explain quantum mechanics to a five-year-old. You can imagine how well that went,” he says, earning a round of laughter.
I honestly don’t think a single one of them has any idea what he’s saying. Okay, maybe the guy wearing a periodic table shirt.
Zane, on the other hand, leans against the wall, his arms crossed and eyes scanning the club. A few people cast glances his way, drawn by his resting bitch face, but he seems lost in thought, oblivious to the attention.
Logan Pierce is the only one holding down our table. There’s something almost endearing about his eagerness to fit in. His attempts at charm are a bit clumsy, but sincere. He laughs a little too loudly at jokes, his eyes constantly darting between pack members as if afraid he’ll miss something. It’s clear he’s trying hard to make a good impression, and I find myself oddly touched by his efforts.
Catching my gaze, he holds up his hand and smiles, beckoning all of us to him. At the same time, the bartender hands me my glasses and pitcher of beer, which I grab and take over to our VIP table, given to us by Dash.
Clearly, he has big rock star dreams.
I join them, taking a seat and pouring beers for everyone. Logan leans back in his chair, exuding relaxed confidence. “Here’s to opening night,” he says, raising his glass with a grin.
We all clink glasses, and the mood around the table feels light and convivial. I have no idea what any of them are talking about because the music is so damn loud, so instead, I watch Logan’s actions—how he leans in and makes eye contact, how he encourages the others and boosts them up. Logan’s charisma shines as he engages each member in conversation, sharing stories and jokes that make him seem like one of us.
I reach out through our pack bond, feeling the unique signatures of each of my brothers—Zane’s ever present caution, Quinn’s analytical curiosity, Dash’s vibrant energy. They’re all there, a comforting tapestry of familiar emotions that grounds me even here. We don’t know Logan, which is the whole point of this hangout, even though I hoped Aria would also be here. Dash seems to really like Logan, who appears to be the closest to his age. That’s the primary reason I want to give this a thought—not necessarily a chance, but consideration.
While Zane and I have always been close, and Quinn seamlessly blended with us, Dash has always been the odd man out. He’ll never admit it, but I feel it. I can feel his desire for a friendship closer than what he has with us.
