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And confused. The poor, stupid bastard. Pumping out pheromones for his omega, not understanding why we can sense her need if we aren’t with her.
I barely manage to throw my entire weight at that flimsy internal door, holding all of my feelings in my own body instead of funneling them down the frayed, throbbing connection between us.
District 17 starts backtracking, nervously mopping at his sweaty forehead while he stammers. The rest of the room holds its breath, assuming anger is the reason for the noticeable shift in my mood.
I let them believe it. If I’m going to pass this Workplace Protection Act, I have to be extremely careful about the way I introduce Serena to the world.
The second she’s seen in public with my claim on her? People will assume she’s ours. Mine. Which will officially make me “biased” about omegas and their rights.
I’m not sure it would have been better if we’d courted publicly prior to this clusterfuck. It would have made news of our “bonding” less shocking, but courting would have given the media and political pundits plenty of time to poke holes at the concept.
She would have been subject to severe scrutiny. She still will be; possibly more than usual, if anyone catches wind of where we met. Or how we met.
Goddamn it.
I spent most of the night wondering if I should tell her what’s at stake here. She seems bright and sweet—she might understand if I tell her. Jonah seems to think so. Avery thinks I’m an asshole for caring about anything other than the woman I took a bite of.
And Spencer is probably halfway to insanity at this point.
“Senator?”
Motherfucking hell.
I’m flooding this room with pheromones. Aggression and need, all tangled and twisted around the roots of regret. Remorse. And this pulling, piercing pain.
Whatever Serena is doing, the arousal only rises. Higher and hotter and harder. Blood pounds in my ears, echoing the angry thump in my dick. I have to cover it up, keep anyone from getting suspicious.
Playing my pain off as disapproval, I make my face as severe as the stab in my center. “Yes?”
Whoever dared to summon me falls silent. Tension stretches over the table, but I can’t really feel it—because the pressure pulling at my groin doubles.
Goddamn it.
I could close her out. I’ve learned how to do it, but I chose to keep the passage from her to me unobstructed, needing to know she was okay. Trying to give her space without abandoning her.
But if I shut that final door, there’s no guarantee she won’t notice when I go to reopen it later.
And I won’t risk losing this connection to her.
Even if it means I’m about to lose control of my baser urges in a boardroom full of important people.
One of my aides wades into the fray, coming to murmur into my ear. I can’t hear what she says, too focused on the way her hand lands on my arm and the sudden, insane urge to rip it off.
She’s a beta, but the synthetic omega perfume she has on makes me see red. How dare she taint the scent of Serena that’s clinging to my jacket? Why does she think she can touch me?
My Alpha bucks and strains against his binds, desperate to roar in this woman’s face. Tell her all about the omega setting our blood on fire. Make sure no one else ever touches what’s hers.
But I’m Tristan Thorne.
It takes longer than usual to remind myself why that matters, to keep from losing my shit. Instead, I roll back from the table and smoothly stand.
I can’t stay long enough to come up with an explanation. Let the perfumed beta deal with that. I need to?—
My polished shoes eat up the hallway. I clip into my office and growl something about not being disturbed, unsure who’s even there to listen or follow my orders.
Not caring.
Beyond the ability to care.
