Page 7 of Knot Your Business

“I don’t know.”

Absolutely not.

There’s too much that’s happened. And that fucking letter he left me? I’d be arrested for assault if he came up to me right now, especially if he thinks he’ll end up matched with me.

Except four years is a long time. Maybe things are different. Maybe whatever he saw in me that he couldn’t stand is different now. Maybe…

“Not yet.”

I take a long, deep breath, recentering myself. He’s one person out of literally hundreds. I’m not going to let his presence ruin this night for me. I focus on Faedra.

“Did you notice anyone while you were looking?”

Four

RYLAN

“Iswear to God, Dom, you need to calm down,” I groan.

Dominic scowls from where he stands on the other side of Jasper. He messes with the black cuff links. They reflect the light in the room, the only part of his black-on-black suit that offers any kind of levity. Jasper is dressed more traditionally, tailored tuxedo and simple bowtie. But Dominic? He looks like he’s at a damn funeral, not one of the quarterly matching galas put on by the Council in their longstanding matchmaking tradition.

The acidic edge of Dominic’s scent grows stronger the more people filter into the large ballroom and the din of conversation grows louder. We’re tucked into the farthest corner from the dance floor, Jasper standing casually between us, his shoulder pressed against mine. A man in his early twenties starts toward us, his cheeks flushed but his eyes sharp. A low, menacing growl from the other side of Jasper has him pausing before redirecting his path to several feet to our left.

“Dom, you need to calm down, or we’re going to get kicked out,” Jasper whispers, leaning away from me. The black tuxedo hugs his body as he does, moving over him like water, and it makes my mouth fucking water.

For all he looks like he’s attending a memorial, Dominic’s dressed well, too, wearing some Italian designer I don’t know the name of that costs more than my entire guitar collection. In contrast, I’ve opted for a more standard suit, riding the bare minimum line of the dress code. I wear tuxedos every single week. My one weekend in New York City doesn’t need to include them, black tie required be damned.

Jasper adjusts as he whispers something into Dominic’s ear, and it makes the small pin on his lapel catch the light, the gold name emblazoned against the blue background.

Montegue.

As far as pack names go, it’s not the worst. Certainly better than Jameson, and I know Dominic is happy to be rid of his family name. Maybe they’ll want to keep it after we deactivate, too.

Dominic whispers something too low for me to understand.

“They’ll just make us come back for another one,” Jasper says, keeping his voice low, his body leaning toward Dominic. “What’s your actual plan for the night?”

“Seduce you in the bathroom to avoid having to talk to anyone, Tesoro,” Dominic murmurs.

I roll my eyes. “If you’re going to be that awful, just go get your alcohol and hide in the corner.”

Jasper elbows me in the side, but I don’t apologize.

Dominic mutters a curse in Italian and shoves his hands into his pockets before looking back at the growing crowd. There’s a rush of noise, and I sigh, turning toward the entrance, prepping to see the next wave of Omegas joining the party. Most enter in groups of two or three, laughing and smiling. Some are obviously nervous, messing with their hair and clutches and ties, their eyes darting around the large room.

Dominic says something else under his breath, but all I manage to hear is something about God saving him.

“Didn’t realize you’d given Jasper a new nickname,” I say, keeping my amusement off my face.

Jasper cocks his eyebrow and purses his lips. “You intentionally trying to get in a fight tonight? Because I don’t really feel like trying to separate you guys in a full tuxedo. The first time was bad enough, and I didn’t even have my jacket on that time.”

I shrug and finish the scotch and soda I’ve been nursing for the last half hour. For all of Dominic’s hatred of this, it’s not nearly as unbearable as the mingling events we have to do every so often as part of the philharmonic. Are there pompous, rich assholes here? Sure, packs tend to breed wealth, especially the ones that have been established for multiple years. Combined household income goes a long fucking way. But here, they’re the minority. The people here want to mingle, want to get to know others, especially the Omegas, since the hope is to be matched by the Council with one of them in the coming couple of weeks.

Well, for most of the packs, at least.

I chance a glance at Dominic again as I drop the empty tumbler onto a tray carried by one of the catering staff. His shoulders are stiff, his lips rolled until they’re a thin line, the creases at his eyes more pronounced under the warm lighting of the large room.

“I don’t feel like getting the shit beat out of me tonight, either, for what it’s worth,” I admit on a sigh.

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