Page 184 of Psycho Pack

I square my shoulders in the mirror.

Time to play my part.

The dressing room opens into a dimly lit corridor lined with black marble. Our footsteps echo off the polished stone as wemake our way deeper into the club. The bass from the main room thrums through the floor, vibrating in my bones.

I keep my gaze lowered, but I'm aware of everything around us to the point the hair on the back of my neck is prickling. The cameras hidden in the ornate light fixtures. The armed guards with loose posture despite their suits and the assault rifles strapped to their chests. The emergency exits marked in glowing red.

Old habits die hard.

Whiskey's bulk shields me from view as another group passes, their raucous laughter bouncing off the walls. Wraith's low growl is barely audible over the music, but I feel it in my chest.

They're all as on edge as I am.

Maybe I'm just better at hiding it.

We reach another set of doors, these ones manned by two more guards in suits. They give us a cursory once-over before stepping aside. The doors swing open, releasing a wave of sound and scents that nearly overwhelm me.

The Alpha's Alpha assaults my senses as we step inside. Pulsing music vibrates through my bones while strobe lights paint everything in harsh neon colors. The massive central stage dominates the main floor, where performers in elaborate costumes writhe to the thundering beat. Multiple levels rise above us like circles of hell, each one promising more exclusive forms of entertainment. Private booths line the walls, their thin curtains doing little to hide what's happening behind them.

Then the scents hit me, making my ears ring. They're all blending together in a disgusting bouquet. Fruity vape steam, expensive perfumes, and the tangy stench of sweat and arousal. Blanketing it all is a sweet, artificial stench that almost smells like bubble gum, and when I look up, I spot fog coming from the air ducts, highlighted by the pulsing lights.

And everywhere I look, there are alphas.

All of them searching for their next thrill, their next conquest.

None of them suspecting that the real predators just walked through their door.

We're in.

Now the real hunt begins.

"What is that smell?" I mutter to Plague as we move deeper into the club, keeping my voice low. He seems like he'd know more than anyone else.

He leans in close. "Specialized pheromone-masking incense," he explains quietly. "They're pumping it in through the ventilation system."

"Why?" I ask, though I'm not sure I want to know the answer.

"It serves two purposes," he continues as we make our way toward one of the private booths. "First, it heightens arousal. Makes everyone more... receptive. But more importantly, it prevents alphas from catching an omega scent that makes them lose their minds."

My eyes widen behind my rabbit mask. "You mean..."

"Can't have an alpha becoming obsessed with a specific omega's scent in a place like this," Whiskey chimes in with a low chuckle. "Would make things real fuckin' messy, real fuckin' quick."

"Convenient," I say dryly, watching as a clearly drunk male alpha stumbles past with two female alphas flanking him, decked out in leather from head to toe. An omega in an elaborate peacock costume dances in a nearby crystal cage, her movements almost hypnotic as alphas teem beneath her.

"Hey, I ain't complaining," Whiskey mutters. "Last thing we need is some rich asshole thinking he's found true love in the middle of all this."

He's right, of course. The artificial sweetness might make my nose itch, but it's probably the only thing preventing an all-out war in here. I've seen what happens when alphas get territorial over omegas they think belong to them.

As we pass one of the premium private rooms with its curtains partially open, Valek freezes, his entire body going rigid as he stares into the room. The other alphas follow his sharp gaze.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Plague growls.

There, lounging on plush velvet cushions in all his foppish glory, is a lean alpha with a mane of blond hair and a mask that resembles a golden raven's face. He's draped across the lap of a massive male alpha with a gilded bear mask that suits him well, while a voluptuous omega with flowing dark hair and a swan mask feeds him grapes as he rests his head on her soft belly and thighs.

"Well," Valek drawls. "This is... unexpected."

He looks up sharply at the sound of Valek's voice, shock flicking across what I can see of his features beneath his mask.