Page 76 of The Omega's Alpha
“What are you doing?” It was the stylist. “No, no, put that last outfit back on.”
“I’m not going,” I told him steadily and continued to undress.
“What? Of course you are! It’s part of the job, and the reward.”
“If my Alpha can’t go, I can’t go.” I paused as I pulled my jeans on. “I’m not human, I’m a shifter. That’s why the tabs.” They’d worked them into the outfits for the show tonight, but now they shone bright, screaming yellow against the dark blue of my t-shirt.
He stared at me in open-mouthed bemusement. “Oh. I never thought of that. So you guys are kind of like a cult?”
Lysoonka help me.“No, we’re pack.” I stared at him in frustration, just short of growling. “And I’m not going to leave my Alpha sitting by himself in a hotel room while I go to a party. It’s not respectful.”
His eyebrows flew up, but his expression turned thoughtful. “I never thought about it. I don’t know much about you guys—you’re not at all what I expected.”
I wanted to ask him what he’d thought we were, but decided my nerves weren’t ready for that piece of truth yet. “We’re not that different from you.”
He gave me a sidelong, assessing glance. “Let me go see if I can liberate another ticket for your Alpha.”
I watched as he made a beeline for Martin, off in the corner talking to someone with a camera and a microphone.Great. Hope they don’t notice me.I just wanted to crawl into a corner with Quin for a few minutes and gather my energy for the rest of the evening. After that, I’d play tame shifter for everyone, but I wanted Quin for a few minutes first.
The stylist came back a few minutes later. “Just let the guy at the door know who he is and it’ll be fine. And put that last outfit on!”
“Thank you,” I told him, and obediently shoved myself back into the designer’s clothing before running out the door to look for Quin.
Chapter Sixty-Two
“At least they had beer,” Quin whispered in Holland’s ear, hoping to make the other shifter laugh. It didn’t quite work—Holland was hard at work being inoffensive and charming to everyone around them, so all Quin got was a sideways smile and a quick glance that promised a more expressive response once they were locked in their room for the night.
Speaking of… “We’d better say goodbye.” He drew Holland’s attention to the clock in the corner of the room, reading a quarter to ten.
“Oh,” was all Holland said, but he drained his tall fluted champagne glass of its last mouthful and looked around for a table to set it on. “I’ll go tell them we have to leave.”
“I’ll go with you.” Quin set the beer bottle down on the table beside Holland’s glass, and followed his mate over to the knot of people laughing loudly around the man who had designed the clothing Holland was wearing.
Holland slipped deftly through the crowd, as practiced at traversing enemy territory as anyone Quin had ever commanded. “Martin,” he said, plucking at the human’s sleeve. “Quin and I have to leave or we’ll miss curfew.”
“What? No, you can’t go now! The party is just getting started!” Someone gushed drunkenly. “We’ll vouch for you.”
“That’s very kind, but if we aren’t behind walls at ten o’clock, theywillarrest us.” He turned to the designer. “I don’t want to see your lovely clothes ruined in a jail.”
The designer frowned. “I don’t like that at all. What if I want to take you to London? No, you run along, I’ll have someone collect the clothes from you tomorrow. But we’ll have to do something about this foolish curfew. I can’t do what I do if I have to be thinking aboutrulesall the time!” He cast a glance around his circle of admirers and they all nodded agreement.
Holland smiled, and Quin repressed a growl as he watched the humans visibly lean towards him, like flowers toward the sun. He couldn’t blame them for it—Holland’s smile had very much the same effect on him—but he wanted to demand they stay a respectful distance from his mate, and do it with tooth and claw. Except that wasn’t civilized, and some of this trip, as Holland had reminded him several times during the course of the evening, was to prove to the humans that shifters weren’t so different or dangerous. “Thank you, Martin. I appreciate the effort you went to in order to have me here.”
The designer stepped away from his followers and took Holland’s arm. Holland laid a hand on Quin’s arm, as if he understood that the stress of standing around in the middle of a crowd of humans who kept doing things, things that would have been challenges or just plain rude in the enclave, was wearing on Quin’s nerves. He needed to spend more time with humans—the blunting of his responses that he’d developed in the navy was wearing off.
Or maybe he was just jealous.That could be it to.
Martin dropped about ninety percent of his affectations. “I’m still just starting out, but I think we can do a lot for each other. Just having you here brings the reporters, and then more people see the clothes.” He winked and stepped back. “You should go, there’s only five minutes left. You’re staying here, right?”
Quin nodded and Holland said, “Yes, they have a room for us.”
“Good, good. Perhaps we’ll have breakfast together. We can talk about the future.” He winked again and turned flamboyantly back toward his sycophants.
Quin took a firm grip on Holland’s arm and guided him to the door with as much speed as he could, one anxious eye on the clock. Their room was on the same floor as the ballroom, but it was down a long hallway and the seconds were ticking away. As soon as they were out of sight, Holland’s stride lengthened and Quin almost had trouble keeping up with him.
They were in the room with thirty seconds to spare, but they didn’t notice the heavy thunk of the automatic locks. Holland shoved Quin against the wall, fingers working nimbly at the fastenings of Quin’s jeans. “Don’t rip these clothes off me,” he muttered as he wrapped his fingers around the waistband of Quin’s jeans and pushed them down. “I have to give them back.”
“You were gorgeous tonight,” Quin told him and turned his face up for a kiss. “You should have heard them when you came out in this stuff.” He flicked the stiff leather of the jacket. “Best part of the show.”
