Page 10 of The Omega

That old bastard was a Beta wolf who’d weaseled his way into management of the pack. Benson was a rogue with Alpha strength. Bailey Pack made for easy pickings.

He knew that.

And so, as it always does in these situations, nature corrected the power imbalance.

“Benson is dead,” I said. No remorse. “But that still doesn’t mean Sunny wants to see you again.”

“That’s not…” Jay’s voice trailed off as he listened to his headpiece. “That’s my cue.”

I saluted him with my glass of rum as he sauntered off and then my gaze swept lazily over the ballroom. The Lunas were lining up at their tables. Julia from Maryland caught my eye. She was a dainty thing with curves just where I liked them and pouty lips that pulled into a seductive grin when she saw me.

No. My wolf growled.

I gave her a little wave anyway, just to see her blush. Maryland had been fun to tour when I was a kid. Though I didn’t get all the fuss about blue crabs. There wasn’t much meat to them and it took all night to pick an appetizer’s worth.

I downed the rest of my rum, deciding to make the rounds now that they were done filming the red carpet. Camera teams buzzed around each table like vultures, waiting to get a scrap of material to air from this no-talent bunch.

Hollywood fed on the drama—the scandal—not actual showmanship.

And if they wanted drama…

I was acutely aware when he entered the ballroom. Atlas Volk—certified asshole extraordinaire.

I’d have said it was ironic we were both mateless Alphas this season, but at this point, I just knew fate had a sick sense of humor.

Atlas walked into the room carrying his own dark shadow like a blight on the whole event. His broad shoulders and bulky frame made him fill too much space. Clumsy. Meathead. Stereotypical Alpha.

My wolf’s fur rose as he started to snarl.

We fucking hated that guy.

He looked like an idiot too, ready to burst out of his poorly tailored suit. But I knew better.

Atlas was smart enough to have Bailey Pack by the scruff of its neck—my neck—and held us over the legal fire. At least until I found a mate and solidified my claim for pack territory.

Speaking of which…

I dragged my attention away and refocused on the girls. Pick one.

No. My wolf growled again.

Oh, how I wanted to string him up.

Purposefully, I walked by the first table and blew Sherie from Alabama a kiss.

The ebony-skinned beauty in a lacy cream dress caught the kiss mid-air with a twist of her hand. “Are you going to come play with me?”

“Not tonight.” I winked, backing away as the scent of her clouded my nose. Floral and potent and—

Wrong. My wolf started snarling. Not our mate.

We’ve already been through this. None of them are, I snapped at my own annoying beast. Just settle for one.

I passed by the next table and thought twice before stopping. Cindy from Frazier Pack was a repeat this season, having been here on Season 7. Her red hair was done up in a mass of beehive curls and the southern Georgia charm was cranked up to ten as she beamed a smile my way.

Word on the street was that she was a man-eater.

With any luck, she’d catch Atlas in those jaws and I could live the rest of my life in peace.