Page 7 of Knot Forever

Ahead of me, Seth is lounging, one ankle crossed over his knee and a glass of scotch dangling precariously from his hand. “At least try to look mildly entertained this evening, Marcus. We don’t want to scare anyone off.”

I bare my teeth at him. “Why am I even here?”

I can’t think of a single worse way to spend my evening than choking on the sweet, floral scents of dozens of omegas crammed into the private members club where they’re holding the omega auction. The only thing stronger than their scents will be the desperation soaking into the walls. Each one looking frantically for an alpha pack to sink their claws into. And the alphas aren’t much better. Slick, greedy assholes with money to burn and the cruelty to match.

Not bothering to respond, I switch my glare to Asher. He’s typing furiously on his phone, his expression as neutral as always. My pack brother doesn’t give anything away outside the house. Not even here, even though a tinted window separates us from our man in front, one of the many we have working to keep the balls in the air.

Knowledge is power. And Asher refuses to give away even the smallest potential of a slice.

He responds to my silent question without looking up. “It’s work, Marcus. We won’t be long.”

Shifting in my seat, I frown. “And it needs all three of us?”

Seth grins. “It’s been a while since we had a night on the town.”

I switch my glare between them. “Which is it? Work or play?”

I don’t like uncertainty. In any aspect of my life.

Seth sobers. “Work, Marcus. You can stay away from the crowd, work the edges. Listen out for any information on Adam Williams or his pack.”

Nodding, I turn my attention back to the world outside. Relief softens the tension in my shoulders. Work the edges.

That, I can do.

We hear the auction before we even enter the building, the thrum of excitement, adrenaline,lust,all of it hanging in the air. Voices pulse, entwined with music and laughter as two members of staff in black shirts open the gilded double doors for us.

Heads turn when the three of us walk in, staring at us as we approach the top of the long, thickly carpeted stairs. Crystal chandeliers lit with hundreds of flickering candles shed light across the room Like Asher, Seth and I adopt expressionless masks as our eyes roam the room. Whispers ring out, people turning to murmur behind their hands.

Nobody approaches us. They’re too scared, but after the shock wears down, I have no doubt that some of the braver matchmaking mamas will throw their omega daughters towards our pack. Rumors or not, money talks.

Luckily, Seth will no doubt get the brunt of it. My aversion to touch will keep me far away from the chaos. I nod to Seth and Ash. “I’ll see you later.”

Turning away from the melee, I take measured strides down the long flight of gray stone stairs. Making my way to the mahogany bar that runs up the left hand side of the room, I order a scotch from the attentive bartender and slide behind one of the large stone pillars, taking advantage of the billowing white silk drapes. Finding a quiet space, I lean against the wall, my eyes scanning the room.

I’ve picked a strategic position halfway between the bar and the bathrooms, one secluded enough for me to catch hushed murmurs from the alphas and omegas that move past me on the other side of the pillar.

I stay where I am, motionless, listening. I hear about affairs, who’s picking whom in tonight’s fucked up little lottery, which packs are biting off more than they can chew financially.

I take it all in, storing the information to be picked through later.

It doesn’t take long to catch the scent of the prey we’re working on tonight.

Two alphas move past me, their mutter making my ears prick up.

“…we’re not to bid. Williams won’t have it, said she’s theirs. Julian…”

Annoyingly, they move on before I can hear more, but it’s a start.

I pull out my phone and shoot off a text to Seth.

Williams bidding tonight.

The three dots show for a second.

Good work. Find out who.

Still looking at the screen, I take a step around the pillar, only to collide with a small, warm, undeniably female bundle.

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