The Omega He Couldn't Find

Chapter 4

Lark

I took another sip. Let the bubbles sit. Let myself feel something that wasn’t dread or caution or Isolda’s voice telling me to be smaller.

The music slowed. Couples moved onto the floor, finding each other through scent, through that pull I’d heard about my whole life. My mother had felt it in this exact same hall twenty-five years ago.

I finished the champagne too fast and set the glass on a passing tray. One glass was enough. One glass, the music, the candlelight, and five more minutes before I went back to my corner and took off the mask and pretended this never happened–

Heat.

Not warmth. Heat. Like a lit match behind my sternum that spread through my arms and up my throat and into my face until my skin was flushed and my hands were gripping the pillar behind me because my knees had gone soft. And then the pull—this physical, full-body tug behind my ribs, telling me to move, to go, to find.

And then, behind the sealed door where my wolf was supposed to be—where there had been nothing for twenty-two years, not a sound, not a flicker, not a breath—

Something moved.

It was so faint I almost missed it. A warmth. A stirring, like an animal lifting its head after a very long sleep.

I couldn’t breathe. I forced air in and it came in wrong because across the room, through the crowd, my eyes found him.

Everyone in this room knew who that alpha was. Even from forty feet away with a half mask on—taller than the men around him, broader, dark hair falling across his forehead. Two men flanked him, one sharp and watchful, one grinning like the whole night was entertainment.

Callum of Thornhollow. The man Isolda wanted for Rowena.

And he was staring straight at me. His body completely still, chin lifted, nostrils flared, chest expanding with a breath too deliberate to be casual. He was scenting me.

No. Why would he be scenting me of all people? There were dozens of other females around. Ones from good families. Pretty ones. Powerful ones. Anyone was better than me.

He started walking. The crowd moved out of his way without him having to ask and he didn’t even seem to notice because his eyes hadn’t left mine, and oh god he was coming over here. He was actually coming over here and I was standing against a pillar in a too-big dress with safety pins and scuffed flats and no idea what to do with my hands.

I should run. I knew I should run. Everything Isolda had ever taught me was screaming at me to disappear through that service door before he got close enough to realize I was nobody. But my feet were rooted and something was pressing against that sealed door like it wanted to break through it and he was ten feet away. Five.

He stopped in front of me. His scent hit me full force—cedar, rain-soaked earth, dark amber—and I had to lock my knees to stay standing. I wanted to close my eyes and lean into him and never move again, which was insane, because I didn’t know this man and he didn’t know me and he was going to figure out any second now that he’d scented the wrong person.

“Hi,” he said.

His voice was warm. Lower than I expected. He sounded almost uncertain, which didn’t match anything I’d ever heard about the Alpha of Thornhollow.

“Hi,” I said back, and my voice came out steady, which was a minor miracle.

He was staring at me like he couldn’t believe I was real. His amber-brown eyes moved over my face, and I watched him swallow.

“I’m–”

“I know who you are,” I said. “Everyone here does. Callum, alpha of Thornhollow.” I blushed. Why was I telling him that? He knew who he was. “You, um, have a reputation.”

“I see,” he said with a chuckle. “Would you like to dance then? Or has my reputation scared you off?”

I didn’t know how to dance. I had never danced in my life. I’d watched Rowena and Liana practice in the drawing room for years while I stood off to the side awaiting any order. I knew the steps, but actually having done them? That was entirely uncharted territory.

“I’m not scared,” I said. Apparently my mouth had stopped consulting my brain.

He offered his hand. Large, calloused. When I placed mine in it, his fingers closed around mine and his breath caught. Mine did too. It felt like two halves of something locking together, and whatever it was pressed harder against the door.

He led me to the floor. His hand found my waist—careful, like he was paying attention to exactly how much pressure he was using—and we started to move. His body guided mine, and my body understood the language of it even though my brain was screaming you don’t know how to do this on repeat.

“You’re shaking,” he said quietly.

“I’ve never danced before,” I said, and immediately wanted to take it back because all the young females here knew how to dance. It was drilled into them since before their first shift. This was the event to find their mate. Dancing was part of that.

His expression softened. “You’re doing pretty well for your first time.”

“You’re doing most of the work.”

“I won’t tell anyone if you don’t.”

A sound came out of me. Small, startled. Almost a laugh. I clamped down on it immediately but he’d heard it. A soft smile lifted his lips and his hand tightened at my waist. He looked pleased, like that half-strangled sound was exactly what he’d been hoping for.

I stopped thinking about the steps. He smelled like cedar and rain and he’d made me almost laugh and something was awake inside me and I was dancing at the Lunar Ball and none of this was my life. None of this was supposed to happen to me. But it was. And I didn’t want these five minutes to end.

“So,” he said. His thumb moved against my hip and my body shivered in response. “Are you going to tell me your name?”

My name? Of course he’d want to know. We were dancing together. It was normal. Reasonable. But I couldn’t. If it got back to Isolda–

“No,” I said too quickly.

“No?”

“That’s how this works, isn’t it? Masks come off when the bond is confirmed. Until then, it’s a mystery.” I scrambled for an excuse. Would he be mad? Alpha’s were notorious were getting angry at being defied. And with his reputation especially, anyone who defied him would be the stupidest person on the planet or the most suicidal.

He chuckled. “All right. I like a challenge. If I guess your pack, maybe I could find your father and he’ll tell me?” His gaze dropped to my side where the fabric bunched. “Safety pins on your dress.” My shoes squeaked against the floor. “Scuffed shoes and never danced before.” He spun me out and pulled me against him, my back to his chest. Heat flooded through me as his head dipped to the curve of my neck and I could feel his intake of breath. “And there’s herbs mixed in with your scent. You’re from one of the country packs, right? Timberlake? They’re one of the poorer farming packs.”

Oh god. He thought I was some poor country girl without an ounce of grace or etiquette. I wanted the floor to swallow me.

“I-I, no,” I said, stepping out of his hold. What was I doing here? He was trying to guess my name, my pack. I had to leave. This was too dangerous for a silly whim. My five minutes were up. I had to get back to reality.

I looked for the closest service exit only to feel his hand clamp onto mine. “Wait!” His eyes were wide as if he’d realized he’d made a mistake. “I apologize. s**t. I didn’t mean for it to come off as insulting. I thought it was a game. Like you were playing hard to get or something,” he said quickly. “f**k, this is like the curtains all over again,” he muttered.

I couldn’t believe it. He was stumbling over himself, reprimanding himself, over some perceived insult. He, the alpha of Thornhollow, the one who’d slain dozens of rogues single-handedly, was nervous. Because of me.

A laugh bubbled past my lips, and he looked at me when the sound came out like I’d given him a gift.

“You have a beautiful laugh.”

My heart seized. I had no idea what to do with a compliment that wasn’t backhanded or designed to make me perform better. I’d never gotten one before. I just stood there and let it sit.

He held out his hand again for me and against every part of me that knew it was the worst idea imaginable, I took it and we were dancing across the floor again.

“Curtains?”

He groaned. “Don’t ask. I almost caused an interpack incident with that. Reid was fuming for weeks.”

“Reid?”

“My beta and the brains behind everything. Without him, my pack would probably have burned to the ground by now. But enough about me, I want to know about you. I want to know everything. What are your likes? Your dislikes. Everything that makes you special.”

He spun me—gently—and when I came back I was closer than before. His hand had moved to the small of my back and I could feel every finger through the silk.

There’s nothing special about me. It was right there on my tongue.

“You first,” I said instead. “What makes Callum of Thornhollow special?”

He eyed me for a moment as if he could see right through me. “And if I tell you, you’ll promise you’ll tell me something about yourself?” he asked.

“Okay,” I said. I couldn’t. Anything he knew about me could lead him back to Ashvale and Isolda. But learning about him? There was no harm in that. Or at least, that’s what I told myself. He was a dream. A fantasy that I could hold onto the memory after tonight.

The song was ending. I could feel it in the strings pulling long and the drums going soft, and I wasn’t ready. I’d had one dance. And that wasn’t nearly enough.

“Another dance?” he asked. “Unless you have somewhere to be.”

“I have nowhere to be.” It was the truest thing I’d said to him.

We danced. And again after that. He told me his gamma, Chase, who had once bet him twenty silver to cliff dive off a fifty-foot cliff. He’d taken the bet against his beta Reid’s advice and spent the next week in the pack clinic nursing his injuries. But he’d won his silver. Another laugh bubbled past my lips and his grin only widened in response.

He kept talking and I kept listening, soaking up every detail of this mysterious man who was gliding me across the dance floor. His parents had passed during a rogue attack a few years ago and he had to step up as alpha before he was ready, still grieving his parents and unsure about how to lead. Only through his friendship with Reid and Chase had he found his footing. Now, after years of leading, his pack was urging him to find his mate.

“And you?” he asked. Gold flecks were sparkling in his eyes. “You promised.”

I bit my lip. No names. Nothing that he could trace. But something I could offer for his stories. I told him about when I was young and I had mixed up some yarrow and wormwood and how it’d left my tongue numb for hours. He laughed—deep and surprised—and his hand pressed flat against my back like he was pulling me closer without thinking about it.

“It seems to be working fine now, though,” he whispered.

By the third dance his forehead had dropped close to mine. We’d stopped really dancing by then. Just swaying. His thumb tracing slow circles on my lower back through the silk. My hands were on his chest and I could feel his heartbeat and it was fast, and knowing that—knowing the Alpha of Thornhollow’s heart was racing because of me—did something to my chest I couldn’t name.

“I don’t know who you are,” he said quietly, his breath warm against my temple. “And you won’t tell me. And I should probably be more concerned about that than I am.”

“Probably,” I whispered.

His hand came up to my jaw. His thumb traced the edge of the mask. “This. Whatever this is. I’ve never—”

He couldn’t finish. He tried again and couldn’t find the words and the look on his face—open, raw, like he was trying to hand me something he didn’t know the name of—made my chest ache.

That door inside me was banging like something was throwing itself against it to try to open it.

I rose onto my toes. My hand slid up to his neck. We were close enough that I could see the flecks of gold in his eyes and the end of a faint scar that must have bisected his eyebrow.

“Me too, I–”

“Lark?”

Rowena’s voice cut across the room, but I’d know that voice in my sleep. She was scanning, holding a wine glass, saying my name to Liana: “Where the hell is Lark? I need my glass refilled.”

His hand was still on my jaw. “What’s wrong?”

I looked past him. Rowena was across the floor, looking toward the east wall where I should have been standing with a tray. She hadn’t seen me yet. But she was turning. And if she spotted me, she’d recognize me in a heartbeat because Rowena noticed everything that could hurt me.

“I have to go,” I rushed out.

“What—”

“I’m sorry. I have to go. I’m sorry.”

I pulled away. His hand dropped from my face and the loss of it hit me in the chest, but I shoved it down because I couldn’t afford this. I couldn’t afford any of this.

“Wait—” He reached for me. His fingers caught my wrist and the heat that shot up my arm blurred my vision. “At least tell me—”

“I can’t.” I pulled free. My eyes were burning. “I’m sorry. I can’t.”

I moved through the crowd. Head down, mask on. Behind me I heard him call out, “Wait, please—” and the raw edge in his voice almost stopped me.

Almost.

I made it to the service corridor. Through the door. Down the hall to the storage room. I closed the door behind me and slid to the floor with my hands over my mouth.

I was shaking so hard my teeth chattered.

The heat was fading but my heart was still hammering in my chest. And whatever had happened on that dance floor—the pull, his scent, the way he’d looked at me like I was the only person in the room—there was a thread between my ribs and wherever he was standing right now. I could feel it. I didn’t understand it. But it was there.

It doesn’t matter. You’ll never see him again. And even if you did, if he knew anything about you, he’d hate you.

But even that couldn’t stop the pain lancing through me.