Page 4 of The Omega Verse

It leads to a short, covered walkway with strip lighting, and I sigh in relief to finally be out of the rain. Dropping my backpack at my feet, I take a moment to wring out my hair. I wasn’t kidding about the blow wave crack on my selfie – I actually spent ages styling my black curls before I left, but they’re now clinging to my neck and shoulders like seaweed.

Ugh.

Digging a compact out of my bag, I take in my washed-out face and pale lips, which are now a strange shade of blue. With a groan, I rub at my panda eyes, but it’s a lost cause. Plenty of other girls can rock the bedraggled look in smeared eyeliner and ripped jeans, but I’m definitely not one of them.

I guess it’s just as well you’re not here to impress anyone, right?

The vain part of me wants to protest the fact, but it’s a good reminder to keep my expectations in check. I’ve never been to a rock concert before, but based on some of the gossip on the fan sites, things can get pretty wild. Even if I make it inside, Steven’s bandmates might be too high or strung out to talk to me. Tom said they have a meet and greet immediately after the show, which is my back-up plan if I can’t get a moment alone with them. According to their stalkers who follow their every move, they then usually head out to a party or club, often with a trail of beautiful people in their wake.

Although… chances are, it’ll be a more sombre night, given that this is a kind of farewell for Steven’s bandmates, as well as his fans.

I had plenty of time on the bus to think about Tom’s warning that The Sundowners might be a mess. Since Steven was a founding member and the best friend of Jett Colson, the lead singer, I fully expect they’re reeling from his death. I know I am, and other than a few vague childhood memories, he’s a stranger to me.

Which is why I need to meet with at least one of them. Jett would be best, given they knew each other the longest, living together right through their late teens and early twenties. Cory and Rick, the bass and rhythm guitarists, are on the bottom of my list, since they only joined in the last year and are part of a different pack. But I saw a couple of photos with River Ryder, the band’s omega keyboardist, that made me curious. From everything I’ve read, Steven was as alpha as they come, and River is one of the most beautiful, talented omegas on the planet. It would make a lot of sense if they were closer than just bandmates and friends.

“Hey, you got a light?”

I turn around to find a tall female alpha behind me. She definitely kills the rock chick vibe with a tiny leather skirt and studded denim jacket. She’s heavily made up, her blonde hair pulled into a sleek ponytail and her brown eyes winged into an exaggerated cat’s eye. I take a step back as she strides towards me, but she distracts me by waving a cigarette in my face.

“I don’t smoke,” I tell her, right as she puts a long-nailed hand on my shoulder and presses down hard. “What the hell?”

“Hand it over, baby doll.”

“Get your fucking hands off me!” I’m trying to shake her off, but there’s enough alpha command in her voice to send me crashing to my knees. The impact jars up my spine, but it drops me right next to my backpack. I push the pain from my mind and scramble to grab the pepper spray from the front pocket. Tom bought it for me, and since it’s military-grade, he promised it could take down anyone short of a feral alpha.

But before I can thrust it at her face, she plants a knee against my chest and grabs my jacket collar. Fire dances across my throat and there’s an audible snap as she rips my V.I.P pass from my neck. She checks the front, those cat’s eyes lighting up with satisfaction, and then she gives me a smug wink. “Thanks a bunch, doll.”

Fuck that! I think about making another grab for my pepper spray, but I make a split-second decision to lurch after her instead. I ignore the pain radiating down my spine and stick out my leg, snagging my ankle around her booted foot. The killer heels she’s wearing have to be at least four inches tall and sharp as blades. I wouldn’t want to get kicked in the face by one, but they’re unstable enough to make her trip and smack into the wall.

“How do you like that, doll?” I snarl as she gives a furious shriek. She pushes off the wall, quickly getting her balance back, and her eyes narrow to slits. I scramble to my feet, but I’ve barely swiped my wet bangs aside when she swings her fist at my face.

I duck, but she lands enough of a punch to knock me straight on my ass. The cold concrete jars my spine a second time and my vision goes blurry, the strip lights swinging sickeningly overhead.

When I blink away the haze, I see her scoop my backpack up and swing it triumphantly over her shoulder.

“Fuuuuck,” I hiss, kicking out at her again, but my aching body refuses to rise. I’m pushing at the cold cement, but there’s just not enough strength in my arms to take my weight.

“Stay down,” she says with a mocking smirk. “It’s not like they’d let you in anyway, looking like that.”

“Fuck,” I whisper again, watching her stride away on those killer heels, her ponytail swishing in victory as it smacks against my drenched backpack.

Now what? It takes a while for the question to get past the stabbing pain in my head, but as soon as it does, I groan. Because not only did the bitch steal my pass and bag, but it looks like she snatched my phone as well.

“Tom is going to kill me,” I mutter as I drop my head onto my knees.

“Can’t be that bad,” a guy says, and I know he’s smiling even before I look up into his dancing green eyes. “How about you start by taking my hand?”

Cass

I jerk back against the wall, staring up at the guy looming over me. My first thought is rockstar, except he’s out here with me, instead of inside getting his makeup touched up - or whatever rockstars do before a gig. Which probably makes him either a fan or a roadie… or another bastard out to mug me.

I watch him warily, even though the vibes I’m getting from him aren’t exactly bad. “What did you say?”

“A hand.” His grin widens as he pulls one from the pocket of his dark grey hoodie and sticks it in my face. It’s close enough I can see a tiny palm tree tattooed on his wrist, which strikes me as a weird choice. But what do I know? Maybe he plans to retire to a tropical island. “It’s okay. I don’t bite. Much.”

I scowl at that, but when he wiggles his fingers at me, I take a cautious sniff. I’m relieved to find they smell like rain-washed skin, instead of the meatier, muskier scent of alpha. Definitely a beta like me.

He’s wearing old jeans and a dark hoodie, which he’s pulled up to protect him from the shitty weather. It’s a great frame for his bright green eyes, but now he’s under shelter, he pushes it back, revealing dripping silver hair. It looks as silky as dandelion fluff, falling into his eyes in a damp tangle, and brushing the side of his long, slightly crooked nose. Pouty red lips. Perfect dark stubble around a cleft chin… Damn, he’s pretty.

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