Page 118 of Psycho Alphas: Part Two
The woman jumped, eyes wide as she looked up at Thistle.
She looked Thistle’s age, though perhaps a bit younger. But I never wanted to think too much about eighteen or nineteen year olds in a place like this. She had thick blonde hair with large honey-coloured eyes, olive skin, and a slender face. She was beautiful, as was every server here. Beautiful and haunted.
“It’s so cute!” Thistle said, holding Bunny out to it like she was comparing them. “Bunny likes it, too.”
I realised she was looking at the top of a tattoo peeking from the young Omega’s shoulder. It was a small cartoon baby deer painted in watercolour. She seemed to notice the same moment I did, as she quickly hiked the sleeve up, a flash of fear in her eyes.
I knew why—I was already logging the image internally. Tattoos were identifiers. Good information for Doyle. Not the kind of thing Bella’s pack would want on display.
I noticed a few marks across her dress, colours littering her sleeves and skirt. She was a favourite of the room. My heart turned to stone as I tried to bury what that might mean for her.
Whatever information I handed to Doyle would be used to identify a corpse.
I thought of the Misfits. The ones I had saved.
The cost of their freedom was this: having to look into the eyes of all the ones I missed.
How many times had I thought about burning it all down? Taking as many out as I could in a blaze of glory. And it would barely scratch the surface…
“I used to cry every time I watched that movie,” Thistle said, still addressing the Omega even though the tattoo was gone. “My stupid brothers told me I was a baby for it.”
The Omega looked unsure, gaze darting between Thistle, Bunny, then me, and the glass she’d just set down. As she looked back up, however, her honey eyes went eerily blank as she caught sight of something behind me.
“I wonder if you wish Manzohadn’tsaved you the other night.” Rodrick Banner’s voice disrupted the calm blanket Thistle had placed over my temper. I turned as he stepped up next to us, leaning against the table, drink in hand, and I noticed the white-clad woman slip away as quickly as possible. “I can’t imagine it would have been a worse fall from grace than this.”
I placed an umbrella in Thistle’s drink and turned away. Banner shifted forward, clearly not in the mood to be ignored, reaching toward me.
From where Thistle perched on my back, she grabbed the chain attached to my muzzle before Banner could, snatching it from the air and hugging it close as her legs dug around my waist. A delighted giggle slipped out as if it were a game. I’d never before heard an Omega laugh with a hint of a growl rolling up her chest—but it was a sound as natural as it was unnerving.
“That’s not yours,” she whispered to Banner, voice low and delighted.
She was changing right before my eyes. Her faith in Ace was frighteningly unwavering, and it was emboldening her in ways I’d never seen.
I think Thistle was the queen Bella pretended to be—but she lived and breathed that energy. It wasn’t a mask; itwas undiluted possessiveness—the intangible dominance of an Omega who knew what she wanted.
She didn’t care that Bella was my scent match, and I wasn’t hers. Feeling the way her claim crushed all of that to dust was dizzying.
Banner didn’t push the issue, strangely stiff as he looked between us. His eyes lingered on Thistle for an age, and there was something hungry in his gaze that I didn’t like.
“You like my bites?” Thistle asked. “You can’t keep your eyes off them. Does Bella have more Alphas than she can handle?”
Banner’s lip curled. “Bella lets us follow any urges while she keeps her body pure.”
Thistle snorted. “For the next Alpha once she’s done with you?”
Banner’s eyes darkened, but I took a step away, handing Thistle’s drink to her before either of them could carry on. I don’t think we were supposed to be trying to make the tensionworse.
Banner stepped back, still a little too intense for my liking.
When I returned to kneel beside Rogue, it was to follow Banner’s behaviour as the party continued. He was too confident. Either he was close to a rut and his instincts were getting the better of him, or they thought they had the upper hand somehow.
He had watched our pack kill his Alphas, and it wasn’t beyond consideration that his instincts were haywire. It made this whole thing harder to read. Thistle, however, seemed to have no survival instincts left for the night. Her Ace-drug was making her insane.
It was a while before Rogue demanded another drink. With the burning ache of ongoing humiliation, this time I didn’t argue. Instead, I walked straight to the table and poured him a glass of straight lemon juice.
“…Evan Green was another. Last bid before Knox, actually.” When I returned, Rogue was talking to Ace. Not hushed enough to give them privacy, either.
“Green?” Ace perked up, eyes scanning the crowd. “That checks out. Did my eyes deceive me, or was he here tonight?”
