Page 52 of Feral Alphas

The familiar tingle the word omega always elicits runs through my veins. Maybe it’s my religious calling to feel they’re sacred, or maybe I’m simply a screwed-up kid who misses his mom. “Did he mention they referred to her as a bitch, and then went to snort unregistered haze in a back room?”

“Oh mother-fuckers! Yeah, flick that slime to the curb.” She huffs like she’s punching something.

I chuckle as I carry my mug to the sofa. She doesn’t swear hard often; neither of us do since mom never liked harsh cursing.

She sighs heavily down the line. “I’m sorry, Kye, I am.”

I click my tongue at her. “Who’s the one out-of-character now?”

“Ha! Fine, we’ll pretend this conversation never happened.”

“Good. Send me a text when you arrive at Dreamwillow.”

“Okay, I’m hanging up now.”

I set the mug down on the coffee table with a clink. “Hey, Rachel?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

She chuckles. “Sure. Seeya.”

I dig my phone out of my pocket, turn it to do not disturb, and pull my earpiece out, sitting the molded plastic next to my month-old phone. She’s right. Between his alpha pride and misogynist bullshit, Dad won’t make Rachel his heir, so will he turn to Fenton, my half-brother? The guy cut loose from the pack even before he reached eighteen, and he hasn’t got any kind of head for business.

It’s not my forte either, I guess.

Maybe I should’ve accepted the deal, just so I could claim the company, and protect both my sister and that poor West omega.

Well, the Romdine empire isn’t my concern anymore either. I need to worry about Kye, the cellist. I’ve put an ad out to hire a new manager, but so far I’ve only had greenhorns fresh out of basic certificate courses. At least George had a degree in public relations.

Fricking traitor!

I switch on the news to find the red-carpet premiere for the latest Alpha-Spy 15 movie, which I have a ticket for. I forgot about thatwith the events of the last couple of days. The gorgeous omega actress who plays the femme-fatale swans down the red carpet, legs for miles showing through her side cut dress.

The icon in the bottom corner of the 75-inch screen says live. Hmm, I shouldn’t waste a two-thousand-dollar ticket. I snatch up my phone and quickly list it on the local trade app, and within a minute I have twenty hits. I pick the first person and ten minutes later I’m getting a call from the lobby downstairs.

I lean against my apartment door as I watch the elevator floor numbers climb. A sleek beta in a double-breasted suit gets off and swings my way. “Hi. You got the ticket?”

I nod and pull the gilded envelope out of my pocket.

He crosses the tiled hall. “How do I know it’s genuine?”

Scoffing, I pull the card out and show him. “You’ll have to take my word for it.”

The buyer looks from the card to me. “You look familiar. Are you Kye Romdine?”

A thrill races through my chest. Fame is delicious, after all. “In the flesh.”

“Oh, man! You’ve got scores in the film? No wonder you have a ticket. You couldn’t attend?” He eyes my sweatpants and t-shirt and winces. “Sorry, none of my business. Is Alpha Cash fine with you?”

“Yes.” I pull out my phone and open the app, holding my phone out so he can pair his. Once the dollars flash up in my account, I hand him the ticket. “If you hurry, you might catch the end of the red carpet.”

“Thank you so much! We were missing a ticket, but now we can take our omega.” He grins and salutes. “Pleasure doing business with you, sir.”

His words hit me like a kick in the guts and I slam back into my apartment before the elevator doors close on him. Even a beta has an omega to take out for a night on the town.

My gaze falls on my cello sitting upright in its stand on the side of the open plan living room. “It’s just you and me, forever, Princess.” The red-carpet event still blazes across TV as dolled-up famous actors and actresses parade through the eager reporters and flashing lights.

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