Page 95 of Bonds of Hate

At this point, his total disdain for me is more humorous than it is insulting. “Good to know. What’s the embarrassment factor on a velour pantsuit?”

“No pants. The Alphas won’t like it.” Cillian gestures sardonically with his champagne flute, indicating the nearby racks filled with dresses. “Though I’ll be impressed if you manage to find a pair of pants made of any material around here.”

I don’t bother to confirm his assessment, because I’d already noticed something similar myself. Most of the clothing on display is of a very particular style — flowing dresses and skirts in pretty pastel colors for the Omega who spends most of her time barefoot and pregnant.

“I’ve also been instructed to only purchase undergarments in silken fabrics. No cotton or synthetics,” Cillian adds.

It shouldn’t surprise me that Logan simultaneously acts like he wants nothing to do with me while controlling me down to my damn panties. Balancing his whims is irritating, but at this point, I’m just tired of trying to guess at his motives.

I eye Cillian’s profile as he watches the attendant add items to the rack in front of us. The fact that he dislikes me so much inexplicably bothers me. I’ve always been someone who is easy to like, because I make a point of showing the world what it needs to see. Easily navigating social situations, regardless of my own feelings, has always been one of my superpowers. It doesn’t sit well thathe seems immune to my greatest strength.

I take a very unladylike gulp of my champagne. “It’s weird that there’s an entire department store just forOmegas. That’s practically discrimination against betas. How is that even legal?”

Cillian shifts slightly in his seat, but doesn’t look at me. His voice is bored, like he’s explaining basic math to a simpleton. “Technically, anyone can come here. But the sizing runs small and everything is overpriced because Alphas love to flex on each other by wasting money. Most betas would be wasting their time if they want to do anything more than window shop.”

“Oh, that’s interesting.” I cast around for another topic. “The staff here seemed to recognize you. Typical pack behavior making the beta do all their shopping.”

He drums long fingers on the chair arm. “It’s fine.”

Advocating for beta rights clearly isn’t my way into his good graces, either. If he feels any loyalty to his designation, I’m not seeing evidence of it.

Which is strange, I realize. Alpha posturing and Omega desirability typically make betas excessive in their displays of pride. In pretty much every one of the monthly phone calls allowed by the Enclave, my mother brought up how happy she was to be a beta. Though pride never stopped her from happily spending the stipend she received for me signing me over.

“You’d think Alphas would be more embarrassed about dressing their mates like overgrown baby dolls.”

He shrugs. “They appreciate easy access.”

“Maybe I can find some of those tear-away pants that basketball players wear. No easier access than that.”

Cillian chokes on a laugh, almost spitting out a mouthful of champagne. “That’s a creative compromise, but I doubt Logan would go for it.”

I smirk, proud of myself for temporarily breaking his stiffly dignified mask. “Bonus point, they get the pleasure of ripping my pants off of me while in a rut without destroying them. That’s just fiscally responsible.”

He just shakes his head. “You are funny. I’ll give you that.”

“I aim to please.”

“How typically Omega of you.” He reaches across me for the champagne bottle tucked in an ice bucket stand next to my chair and refills both our glasses. “Keep it up and you might actually survive.”

A soft scent unexpectedly wafts over me, reminiscent of baby powder and lilies. Betas don’t produce pheromones, so it must be his cologne. But it’s not quite like any other fragrance I’ve encountered before, especially when men usually favor muskier notes. My nostrils flare as I instinctively inhale more deeply. The scent lingers in my nose even after he pulls away, leaving me with that feeling you get when you need to sneeze and the motion just won’t come.

Is it normal to taste cologne?

The attendant distracts me by pushing a pile of fabric into my arms and hustling me toward a curtained dressing room.

When I glance back, Cillian is watching me with an unblinking gaze.

Cillian directs us back to the apartment when we return to the palace, despite how late it is. A servant will deliver the shopping bags filling up the back of the SUV,but Cillian insists the others will want to see the flowing pink sundress I wore out of the store.

As we approach Logan’s quarters, raucous laughter echoes down the hall.

“What the hell?” Cillian mutters.

We find Logan, Ares and Poe sprawled across the furniture in the sunken living room area, looking like they’ve made themselves entirely too comfortable. Logan has commandeered the largest leather couch, while Ares’s massive frame takes up an entire loveseat, leaving no room to spare. Poe perches on the arm of a chair like some watchful raven, his dark eyes tracking our entrance but without that unnerving intensity of his I’ve come to expect.

“Seven!” Logan slams down a card. “Everyone drinks!”

Ares tips back his glass while Poe groans. “That’s the fifth time you’ve played that card.”

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