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Zane holds the door open for me, and I step inside, the air filled with the sounds of people talking, the sharp slap of feet against mats, and the occasional shout from a competitor. The air crackles with a palpable energy, a heady mix of adrenaline, determination, and the sharp scent of sweat. The rhythmic slap of bare feet on mats and occasional shouts create a primal soundtrack that sets my pulse racing.
He nods at a few men and women, but he never once leaves my side, keeping his palm on the base of my back the whole time. Honestly, it makes me slick a little, but so far, so good.
Zane guides me to a pair of seats in the back of the room, away from the main crowd. We sit down, and I glance around, taking in the scene. Women of all shapes and sizes are milling about, some in gis and others in regular clothes, all exuding fierce determination. It’s inspiring.
“So what do you think?” Zane asks, leaning back in his seat and stretching his long legs out in front of him.
“It’s amazing,” I reply, my eyes wide with wonder. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”
Zane nods, a small smile playing on his lips. “I thought you might like it. There’s something powerful about watching people push their limits, you know?”
I nod, feeling a surge of admiration for him. He’s thoughtful, bringing me to a place like this. It’s not just about impressing me, it’s about sharing something meaningful.
“Are they?—”
“Omegas? Betas?” he finishes for me as my heart thunders in my chest. Really, I just need to know what kind of women are in here. I need to relate to them. He leans in close, his leather scent tickling my nose as he points to the opposite side of the large open space. “See her?” he asks.
The woman in question has bright green hair, and three men watch her carefully. Actually, there are about five mats, each with a pack…
“She’s an omega,” I whisper in a hushed tone.
She’s like me.
I’m like her.
“She has a black belt,” I whisper reverently before I cough and get my shit together.
“She does,” Zane agrees before pointing to another mat in front of us. “Betas,” he says. “Only alpha women can judge these competitions.”
“Why?” I question, turning toward him. He’s so close, I can smell the coffee on his breath.
He glances at my lips before looking back into my eyes. “To keep it fair. The alphas have their own competition.”
He turns away to focus on the match.
As the first match begins, we settle into a comfortable silence, watching the competitors with rapt attention. The women move with a grace and precision that’s mesmerizing, their movements a perfect blend of strength and fluidity.
“So, Aria,” Zane says after a while, his tone casual, “tell me more about yourself. Where did you grow up?”
I glance at him, caught off guard by the sudden question. “Oh, um, I grew up all over the place. My aunt raised me, and we moved around a lot in SoCal.”
Zane’s gaze is steady and probing. “That must have been tough. Any place in particular that felt like home?”
I shrug, trying to keep my voice light. “Not really. Home was wherever Aunt Sara was.”
Aunt Sara was home. She was…everything.
He nods thoughtfully, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes. Suspicion? “What about your parents?” The question brings a pang of old pain, but it also stirs the deeper fear of revealing my omega status. If I can’t even talk about my past without feeling vulnerable, how will I ever tell them about being an omega?
Fuck, I need to tell them sooner or later.
I swallow hard, feeling a pang of old, buried pain. “They died when I was young. Aunt Sara took me in after that.”
Zane’s expression softens, and he reaches out to gently squeeze my hand. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Thanks,” I murmur, grateful for his kindness, but there’s something in his gaze that makes me uneasy, like he’s searching for something beneath my words.
Zane’s gaze sharpens. “That must have been tough. Any siblings?”
