Page 5 of A Promise of Forever (The Vallaverse #3)

Caelan shoots me a confused look and I have to bite back an exasperated nonverbal response because there’s no possible way he didn’t fucking smell the Omega in that room.

I merely just look toward the door, but my brother doesn’t pick up on what I’m gesturing at, so I leave it alone.

The meeting drags on for what feels like hours as we discuss fighter contracts, venue security, and payment structures.

Every minute feels like torture as my awareness of the hidden Omega becomes more consuming.

"The new venue in the warehouse district should be operational by next month," Hendricks continues, oblivious to the internal war I'm fighting.

"Security installations are complete, and we've got the local authorities squared away.

I think that covers everything," Hendricks says finally, closing his tablet and standing to leave. "Same time next month?"

"We'll see," I reply noncommittally, eager to get them out of my office so I can deal with my unexpected visitor.

After what feels like an eternity, my business partners finally gather their materials and head for the door.

The moment they're gone, I head across the hall, preparing to coax out whoever has been hiding there for the past hour.

I round my desk and drop into my chair before twisting around to look down at the small form beneath my desk.

And there he is. A small figure curled up in the shadows, practically vibrating with terror.

Dark hair that looks like it's been soaked by rain, pale skin that seems to glow in the dim light filtering under the desk.

An Omega, definitely, and one who's been through absolute hell if his scent is any indication.

He's wearing what looks like an ill-fitting black suit, probably borrowed or stolen, and I can see tear tracks on his cheeks even in the shadows.

He looks young, maybe mid-twenties, and so fragile that I'm afraid even speaking might shatter him completely.

Intrigue swirls through my chest at why an Omega would choose this room to hide in when so many people find a Valla’s scent too harsh to endure, but I never get a chance to ask as the door bursts open and slams against the wall.

"Where is he?" An Alpha, and not one I recognize from my usual business circles, stalks inside, dressed from head to toe in a decorative police uniform. It’s not even from this city, but I assume he’s either on duty or here looking for better prospects.

Either way, he has no fucking business in my office.

Three other uniformed officers stride into my office without invitation as well, the main Alpha scanning the space as if he’s going to find something.

The Omega under my desk goes perfectly still, his terror spiking to levels that put me on edge.

My lip curls up in a snarl as I lean back and place my hands in my lap, fighting the urge to rip the officer’s trachea from his throat. "I'm sorry, who the fuck are you?" I ask, my voice dropping to a dangerous register.

"Detective Wilson Cromwell, MPD," the lead officer says, flashing his badge like it gives him authority over me. "I'm looking for a runaway Omega. Sterling Ramirez, about five-three, dark curls, probably scared out of his mind. Someone reported seeing him enter this building."

Sterling. The name fits somehow, delicate and precious, like something that should be protected rather than hunted. But the way Wilson says it pisses me off. There's possessive malice in his tone, the sound of a predator discussing his favorite prey.

"I haven't seen any Omega," I lie, my Valla instincts shifting into protective mode without any conscious decision on my part. My scent probably reflects the change, becoming more dominant and territorial, and I notice Sterling responding to it with what feels like relief mixed with desperate hope.

Wilson's eyes narrow as he takes a step closer to my desk. "This Omega is defiant and worthless, but he belongs to me. If you're harboring him, you're interfering with police business." His nostrils flare with the influx of Sterling’s scent, but I make no move to reveal anything.

The casual cruelty in his description makes something violent unfurl in my chest like a living thing. Defiant and worthless. "Like I said," I repeat, my voice dropping even lower, "I haven't seen anyone matching that description."

The temperature in the room seems to drop several degrees as I let my Valla nature rise to the surface.

Wilson's two companions shift nervously, finally recognizing the danger they're in.

My reputation in this city is built on violence and ruthless efficiency, and most cops know better than to corner a Valla in his own territory.

But Wilson seems too obsessed with his hunt to care about self-preservation.

"You know I could have this place searched," Wilson threatens, though his voice lacks conviction.

Desperation creeps in around the edges of his authority.

"I could make things very difficult for whatever business you're conducting here. "

"You could try," I agree, letting him see exactly how much that prospect amuses me.

A cold, predatory smile spreads across my face as I thread my fingers across my stomach and cross one leg over the other.

"But I think you'll find that my lawyers are very good at making police harassment disappear.

Along with the officers responsible for it. "

It's not an idle threat. I have judges and district attorneys on my payroll, connections that run deep enough to destroy careers and end lives. Wilson might have a badge, but I have power that goes far beyond what any government authority can provide. One phone call from me and Detective Wilson could find himself facing internal affairs investigations, federal scrutiny, or worse. Besides, I’ve never even fucking heard of this Detective Wilson before today, which means that he can’t be all that big of an issue.

When Wilson refuses to stand down, I just sigh, my gaze moving to the single red rose in the crystal vase on my desk.

A decorative touch added by the venue staff probably meant to emphasize the romantic theme of the evening.

The flower is perfectly pristine, its petals just beginning to open.

An idea forms in my mind, cold and calculated and absolutely perfect for the situation.

I reach for the rose, Wilson watching with growing confusion, clearly not understanding what I'm planning.

His confusion turns to shock as I crouch down beside my desk and extend the flower toward the shadowy space where Sterling is hiding.

Up close, I can see him more clearly. He's beautiful in a fragile, broken way, gorgeous tattoos covering light brown skin along his neck and disappearing beneath his collar, those dark brown eyes looking up at me with a hope I really don’t want to shatter.

"There isn't much I can do," I say, meeting those terrified eyes in the darkness, "but I can do this."

I lay the rose at Sterling's feet, the red petals stark against the dark carpet. A formal offer of protection and courtship that carries legal weight under gala regulations.

All Sterling would have to do is return the rose to me, and I could claim him as my intended mate. Wilson's authority as a police officer doesn't extend to interfering with sanctioned mating rituals, especially not at an event with this level of political and social protection.

It's not really about Sterling, I tell myself. This is about proving a point to an Alpha who thinks his badge makes him untouchable. About showing Wilson that there are powers in this world greater than whatever petty authority he represents.

But even as I form that rationalization, I know it's not entirely true. Something about this terrified stranger hiding under my desk has awakened instincts I didn't know I possessed, protective urges that go far beyond simple territorial dominance or business calculation.

Sterling stares at the rose with wide, disbelieving eyes, fresh tears streaming down his face.

I can see the exact moment he understands what I'm offering.

Not just immediate protection from Wilson, but a way out of whatever hell he's been living in.

A chance at safety, at belonging to someone who won't hurt him.