Page 3 of The Gamma's Second Chance

“Au contraire, my friend,” Seb says, smirking. “I happen to have a picture of you with a dick on your head.” He reaches for his phone in his pocket. “Would you like me to show it to you to remind you who the ultimate dickhead is? Maybe I can even show it to some of the females here. I’m sure they’d be interested in—”

Reid lunges for him, and Sebastian sidesteps, spinning out of his reach before taking off at a run through the cookie-cutterhotel lobby, zigzagging around the mating ball attendees and the furniture. Wesley and I both laugh harder as we follow them, all of us ignoring the slight glares and looks of disdain thrown our way by some of the other werewolves here. The distraction my friends give me is worth the judgment we’re receiving from a handful of guests.

We slow down, however, when we reach the doors into the ballroom, where members of the royal council and the hosting pack admit us to the event, checking our names against their list of registered attendees. The momentary reprieve from my pressing, nauseating anxiety provided by my friends and their antics reaches an abrupt end as I step through the doors after giving them my name and pack name.

My palms sweat, and my heart pounds, blood rushing behind my eardrums. My vision blurs, and as soon as I’m in the ballroom, I step to the side, placing my hand on the wall for balance. The room spins, and my fingers scrape against the wall, my other hand clutching at my stomach as I swallow against the heaving of my gut threatening to bring my meager meal from dinner topside.

Wesley rushes to my side, the others close by, all of them shielding me as I work through the panic surging through me. None of them speak to me or acknowledge me; they instead talk to each other, creating a wall in front of me to block me from the view of any prying eyes as I compose myself.

And then it hits me. The scent of fresh watermelon mixed with daffodils. My wolf perks up from where he’s been cowering and whining in my mind all day, pushing me to act. I shove off from the wall and burst through the barricade my friends created, no longer drowning in anxious pain. I’m on the hunt now, searching for the source of that delightful, soul capturing scent, the scent that wipes away all sense of impending doom. I see nothing as I scan the ballroom—none of the decorations, none of the guests,none of the food and drink. I won’t see anything until I see her. The source of the scent. The one I’ve been waiting for.

My mate.

“Nolan?” Wesley asks, placing a tentative hand on my shoulder.

But I’m gone and out of his reach before I can reply or before he can say anything more, yanked forward by my wolf as that scent dances around our senses and embeds itself into the fibers of my soul.

She’s here. Somewhere. And I need to find her. Nothing matters more than that. Nothing matters more than the female meant for me and only me. The female I will claim tonight and love for the rest of my days.

I weave through the crowd, inhaling deeply every few steps I take as I try to find her. Her scent is heaviest near the entrance where attendees are checking in. I stop, searching the crowd, peeking around bodies and over heads, almost jumping to try to catch a glimpse of my mysterious, disappearing mate. My heart races again—I’ve lost track of how many times my heart has been this fast today—but this time it’s from excitement and the anticipation of finding her instead of from nerves and dread.

I zero in on her scent, on that surprising mix that hypnotizes my wolf and me, following it around the tables at the edge of the room and out a side door into a darkened back hallway of the hotel. It grows stronger again, and I pick up my pace to a jog as I round the corner.

A sharp, surprised gasp echoes in the space as dark chocolate brown eyes lock onto mine.

Mate.

My mate.

Her hand slips on the doorknob of the room she’s trying to enter, and it shakes as she wrings them both together in front of her stomach, her chest heaving and her eyes blinking hard.

I take slow steps forward, my chest mimicking her heavy breathing, her scent filling my lungs and seeping into my pores, into my cells. She tears her eyes away from me and backs up a step, into the corner of the door frame, her eyes flitting about the hallway, our staring contest broken.

I stop only a foot away from her, staring down at where she stands, backed into the corner, almost cowering away from me, something that displeases my wolf. But her eyes meet mine again, then they shut tightly, as she takes in a deep breath and my scent hits her lungs.

I take in the moment, studying every detail of her: her tanned skin; her blonde hair wrapped in a perfect low bun with sweet, curling tendrils framing her face; her thick lashes fanning across her shimmering cheekbones; the enchanting pink bow of her lips that sit parted as she catches breath; and her long, lean body draped in the softest pink, a pink that is a near match to the color of her lips and the tip of her tongue that darts out to wet them.

Her trembling hands press against the smooth surface of the door. Her chin tilts up as her eyes open again, drinking in my face and the unfiltered need for her on display there. I reach for her and brush a curled tendril from her face, my fingertips grazing her sun-kissed skin, the mate bond making both of us gasp and shut our eyes for a moment.

“What is your name, mate?” I ask, my voice husky and filled with desire as I reopen my eyes to gaze down at her, my hand wrapping around her neck, my thumb tilting her chin up more. The sparks playing under my skin from touching her are heady and addicting, a testament to the magnetic, unavoidable power of the mate bond.

She swallows, her eyes still closed, that tantalizing tongue of hers sweeping across her mouth again, ensnaring me with its movement. I’m holding myself back by a thread, and every little thing she does makes it more difficult for me to show anyrestraint. Everything in me urges me to lay claim to her, to prove myself as a male to her, my primal urges and needs drawn forward by the mate bond and the power of the full moon.

But I need her name first. I need to know the name of the female who will moan mine every night from now on, starting tonight.

“Kimberly,” she says, breathless, her lashes fluttering.

“Kimberly,” I repeat, the word rumbling in my chest as I roll it around my mouth and taste it on my tongue, memorizing the way it feels to murmur her name.

I move closer to her until I touch her with each inhale of my chest. My head angles down, and I slant my lips over her mouth, her warm breath fanning my lips, sending shivers of delight through me.

“What’s yours?” she asks, flinching back a hair before our lips touch.

“Nolan.”

“Nolan,” she says with a sigh, and I bite back a groan at how sweet my name sounds falling from her lips.

“I never realized how beautiful my name was until you said it to me,” I say, my lips brushing hers.

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