Page 9 of Pack’s Prize

I’ve taken the liberty of submitting the necessary paperwork to Ardor’s coordinators, in advance of tonight.

I was confused for a moment. What paperwork? Then I remembered Ardor’s nickname, what it was known for, the reason I’d picked it:Club Heat.

The paperwork.

The same–or similar–paperwork that I’d filled, documenting my status, my likes and dislikes, my soft and hard limits, my past heat partners–

I smiled to myself.

Forget dinner.

I was looking forward todessert.

* * *

I tookmy time getting ready, soaking in the cramped bathtub of my apartment. Roman’s pack’s house had a big two-person tub.It had more than one room besides the bathroom,I thought, unable to help myself from feeling a bit pathetic as I stepped into my own single room. The boxes hadn’t magically unpacked themselves while I was in the bathroom, either, but I managed to dig through the one I’d already opened to find a second dress suitable for a dinner out followed by, I hoped, a night of–

I froze, my towel clammy around my dripping body.

What if–

What if it was terrible?

What if it was awful, and awkward, and I had given up on the best thing I’d ever get, just because I had wanted too much. What if–

I shook my head.

I wouldn't think about that now, not when I was about to go on my first first date in three years, not when–I checked the clock–when I had only enough time to do my makeuponce.

CHAPTERTEN

Elias

My suit was too tight.

I’d had it made–or rather, Michael had had it made for me–a few years ago, I couldn’t remember what for. Some event or another, a gallery opening or an auction, but I hadn’t had much use for it in the intervening years. Michael was the one who had to wear suits. Theo, occasionally. They looked damn good in them. I felt much more at home in my jeans and a flannel shirt.

“Remind me again why we have to take her to Chez Valentin?” I asked Michael, who had finished straightening his already impeccable cuffs, links glinting in the buttonholes and was smoothing his hands through his hair in the mirror. He’d cut it years ago, to look more respectable, but I still sometimes missed the long hair, the scruffy beard he’d had when we’d first met. It had made him look human, had made me feel like I was almost fit to stand next to his sharp, masculine beauty. Michael’s suit fithimperfectly, of course.

He, for one, hasn’t been working out his frustration at the weight rack,I thought, and the picture brought a smile to my face: imagine, Michael lifting weights. His lean muscle was just that of a natural alpha physique–the only exercise he got was chasing after artists for the gallery.

“It’s the obvious choice,” Theo said, rolling his eyes. He was sitting on the couch, sipping a pre-dinner glass of white wine. “The place to take a date who you want to impress. Or, alternately, a high-class escort.”

I was across the room before I knew what had happened.

“Say that again,” I growled. My heart thumped wildly in my chest–it wasn’t just my suit that was too tight, but my skin. I’d met the omega only once, but you don’t talk about a woman like that. Especially not my woman.

Not that she was.

Not really.

Not yet, my instincts whispered.

Shut it, I whispered back.

He didn’t even flinch as I stood, staring him down. “What?” he asked, the wine glass dangling from his long, elegant fingers, his legs crossed in front of him. “Isn’t that what this is?”

“Hardly,” Michael laughed, still looking at himself in the mirror, adjusting his collar now. He wasn’t wearing a tie. French cuffs and no tie would look silly on me, but on him it looked effortless. Elegant.European, probably. I glowered. “If she were a prostitute, we would be paying herforsex, notinit.”