Page 5 of Lilacs and Leather

Following her directions, we find Lex in her favorite chair by the window, a breakfast tray on the table next to her. Her dark hair is pulled back in a graceful twist, hazel eyes scanning back and forth as she reviews a document on her tablet. At the sound of our approach, she looks up and smirks.

“So, His Highness graced us with his presence after all,” she says indifferently.

I chuckle as Mateo sputters his indignation. After leaning down to kiss her cheek, I place a muffin on a napkin before settling in a chair nearby. Mateo and Lex trade playful barbs, Lucas adding a quip now and then, but I quickly lose track of the conversation. There’s a lilac tree outside the window behind Lex, and I find my mind pulled back to that omega at Wickland House. Who was she? I didn’t recognize her as an employee, especially not dressed in a blue apron. Was she staying at the hotel as a guest? Or was she there for an event?

“Lex, do we keep track of the vendors who work weddings at Wickland House?” I ask, talking over Mateo.

The silence is heavy as I look her in the eye. I try to keep my face disinterested, even as Lex’s brow creases in the center.

“Not specifically, unless there’s a security reason to do so,” Lex says slowly, leaning back in her chair as she considers me.

“But do we use an approved list, like we do at The Valencia?” I ask, the little hopeful bubble in my chest deflating.

“Why?” Lex’s question is more of a statement, ice creeping in.

“Is this about that omega from earlier?” Mateo asks.

I can hear the smirk in his question, but I refuse to look away from Lex. Her frown deepens, eyes hardening to a glare.

“What omega?” she asks, words clipped.

I shrug. “I just caught her scent from across the room. But, for your information, Mat, it isn’t about that. A client asked if I knew any good bakeries, as they want to do a show cake for an opening. We don’t do those in house, so I wanted to pass along business to a partner.”

I concentrate on keeping my scent even and my expression bland. Lying to the pack, lying to Lex, would only be worth it if this worked.

Lex examines me for another long, silent moment. Then she turns back to her breakfast, picking up her tablet.

“I’ll email you the vendor PDF,” she says, taking another bite of scone.

I smile and take a bite of my pastry. A gamble, but one I hope will pay off. Or at least, won’t cost me.

Little flower, I will see you again. Even just one more time.

Three

Lydia

I roll over in bed, breathing deep.He’s here, the blond alpha. His heady whiskey scent draws me in, and I close my eyes, reaching for him blindly. My hands find his chest, warm and hard beneath my fingers. Large hands trail from my hips, skating feather light over my ribs, brushing over my breasts and back down. I shiver and arch into his touch, a little moan escaping my parted lips.

One of his legs slips between mine, and I gasp as his thigh comes in contact with my bare sex. His hands press into the soft flesh of my hips, dragging me close. My entire body tingles with awareness, my nipples hard and aching. I rock on his muscled thigh, the warmth of his fingers spreading across my lower belly. My core grows molten with liquid heat until it drips from me, drenching his skin with my essence. Our breathing is heavy, each exhale tasting like warmth and intoxicating desire on the back of my tongue. My hands scrape up his chest to his neck, my fingers sliding into his soft hair. My lips brush the column of his throat, his beard scraping deliciously along my face as I seek his lips.

The alpha pulls me closer to his chest, his face coming to my neck as he inhales deeply.

“So sweet, my petal. My omega.”

That voice.Hisvoice.

My eyes fly open, and I pull back. Blue eyes have been replaced by muddy brown, golden hair by rusty red. His thin mouth is twisted into a sneer, a cruel chuckle echoing around my head. I struggle to pull away, turning in his grip, trying to escape. A hand fists in my hair, the other between my shoulder blades. The touch is cold, freezing and burning as I’m pushed onto my stomach, held down. I can’t breathe, the weight on my back pressing me down, down, down. I can smell blood, the salt of my tears driving out whiskey and all warmth until I’m drowning in ice-cold fear. Sharp pain in my shoulder drags a scream from my throat. Ripping, shredding pain. The scent of tobacco smoke and clay and bitter almonds clogs my throat, choking me.

“My omega. Forever.”

I wake from the dream with a shout, my back hitting the floor as I scramble out of bed. My heart slams against my ribs, trying to break from its prison and flee the dream. My shoulder aches and I lie on the cool floor, gulping down air to clear my head.

It didn’t take. They said it didn’t take. It didn’t take. It didn’t take.

I repeat the phrase over and over, counting my breaths. I stare up at the ceiling, syncing my breathing to the ticking clock on the kitchenette wall. After several minutes, my body relaxes as it realizes there’s no threat. I become aware enough of my surroundings to realize that it’s still a few hours before I normally wake up. The wedding at Wickland House was yesterday, and Grandmother Wila’s is closed on Sundays, and I curse myself for not being able to sleep in on my day off.

Resigned to being awake, I peel myself off the floor and shuffle to the kitchenette and start my coffee. I check my phone and see I received a couple of messages overnight.

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