Page 3 of Ready or Knot

“I suppose that explains my own phone going off,” I mutter. I don’t bother reaching to double check.

Where Harper goes, Melanie follows. It’s unfortunate but infinitely better than if Melanie moves first. Harper, for all her flaws, is significantly less cruel in her methods of keeping her claws in Carter. I intentionally don’t think about the last time Melanie moved first.

My phone vibrates again, and I hold back another sigh so it can’t turn into a scream. Neither woman was so insidious when Iris was involved. Or maybe they had been, and Iris diffused it. It didn’t really matter now.

The third vibration has me pulling out my phone and shutting it off, but not before I see a flash of a picture. Melanie’s in a racy set of lingerie, posing for the camera, her lips a bright red. I linger on it longer than I care to admit before deleting it.

That’ll be a problem for tomorrow.

“What can I get you three?” the bartender asks, a smile still on her face, the purple pin on her collar sitting in stark contrast to the shirt’s crisp white.

“Three whiskeys, please,” Logan says. “Neat.”

She nods and grabs three tumblers from below the workspace, grabbing a mid-level whiskey from the rows of alcohol options behind her and pouring a generous knuckle’s worth in each glass.

Carter hands her the green tickets before we take the drinks, and I hand her a moderate tip. Her eyebrow ticks up before she can control the reaction. Moderate tip for us, at least. I suppose four hundred in cash is large for some packs in attendance tonight.

“How do we want to do it this time?” Logan asks once we’re out of the way of other Alphas trying to get to the bar. Most are vaguely familiar at this point in the same way the thousands of students on campus are. You pass them enough times, and you’re almost sure you remember their names. “Same as usual?”

I take a sip of the alcohol, letting the burn distract me from the fact that this has become the usual. Every three months we fly out to Manhattan and do this. Most packs only attend a handful before the Council puts them out of their misery, but we’ve had the esteemed privilege of being at more than ten of these events.

“I think I’d rather start on the edge,” Carter says, tucking his hand into his pocket, the TAG watch he wears just visible. “See if anyone is brave enough to venture near us.”

Logan, in his own sign of fatigue over these damn things, doesn’t argue, following Carter to a spot along the far wall, about halfway between the bar and the string quartet. From here, we have a good view of the entryway as well as the smattering of cocktail tables set out near the dance floor.

A rush of sound precedes the first wave of Omegas, and Logan throws back his whiskey all at once, not even flinching at the burn.

“Fuck, I’m getting tired of these,” Carter mutters.

That makes two of us.

Two

FAEDRA

“Can I just get a soda right now?”

The Omega in front of us looks around, clearly nervous, and fiddles with his jacket buttons.

“Of course,” the bartender replies, eyes softening a bit. She pulls a tall glass with ice from behind the bar and sets it in front of him a moment before she opens a soda and pours it in. “Just keep that drink ticket with you until you want something with alcohol, alright?”

The guy nods, takes the drink with a shaky smile, and then turns towards the room. I can’t help but watch him, my chest clenching at how uncomfortable he clearly is.

“Here,” I say, handing my ticket to Violet. “Can you grab me my usual?” Her eyebrows furrow, and she glances at the bartender.

“I heard her, so it’s fine. What can I get you, ma’am?” she replies, and I turn around, taking quick steps until I’m next to the Omega. My hand touches his forearm before I can think better of it. He pauses, looking at me with a frown, and I smile.

“Want to hang out with us for a bit?” I ask, nodding towards Violet. The frown smooths out, and he offers what seems to be a genuine smile.

“I’m alright, ma’am. Thank you.” He rubs the back of his neck, cheeks reddening.

“I hope you enjoy the night, then,” I say, and he smiles again.

“I’m sure I will,” he assures me before turning toward the back corner of the room, his eyes quickly assessing the groups of Alphas around the edges.

Violet steps up to me in the next moment, and I take the copper mug from her hand.

“Honestly, Fae, only you would try to help out someone else at your own Matching Gala.”

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