Page 135 of Harley & Her Ferals

“Sorry.” I stumble on the next dance step.

“Ouch.Also standing on my toes.”

I wince. “Whoops.”

This ballroom dancing is harder than it looks.

It was my sister who concentrated on proper Omega lessons, which included dancing. I was always sneaking away to see Feral or join my brother’s tutoring with River about far more interesting things like science or engineering.

Plus, as Second Omega, I haven’t been invited to many grand events like this.

I glance out of the corner of my eye across the ballroom.

The room is in the heart of Battle House. It’s vast, large enough to hold the most important members of the eighteen chief packs of the Underworld.

It’s packed tonight.

The guests are dressed in black tie, smart suits, and glittering dresses.

It’s hard to recognize many of them, since I’ve only faced them bleeding in the darkness of the octagon.

But then, can they recognize me?

The room’s floors, walls, and ceiling are gold-threaded marble. The dance floor gleams. The room blazes with star shaped chandeliers.

A small orchestra of Beta musicians play pretty waltzes by Strauss.

Beta servants in black waiter uniforms wind with their heads ducked between the guests, carrying silver trays of champagne flutes. I catch a glimpse of River’s black curls amongst the waiters.

It’s typical Dad to make River work tonight as a server.

Dad is standing on a small built up stage at the far end of the room. Lionzio is at his shoulder, scanning over the guests.

Lionzio looks like an immaculate CEO again. He must have used a concealer on the shadows underneath his eyes. His black hair is neatly slicked back.

He’s wearing a silver gray tailcoat suit, which makes him look dashingly handsome.

I don’t miss the glances that many Omegas (and not a few Alphas), are casting my brother.

With his good looks and how he’s already standing with my Dad on the stage, I bet that most people think my brother is the next heir.

My heart hurts.

My Alpha brother should be the successor.

Normally, I’d want him to be.

Nerves flood me.

“Don’t worry. I won’t break,” Laurent assures me, as we dance amongst the other couples. Then he grimaces. “That wasn’t an invitation to step on my toes again.”

I draw back from him. “I feel like everybody’s looking at me.”

Laurent smiles. “They are.”

Not helpful.

All eyes should be on Laurent.

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