Page 50 of Knotted By my Pack

Her spine stiffens. “I’m on a date. You’re making a scene.”

“Let that animal touch you one more time,” I murmur, my voice sharp enough to slice through her, “and you’ll see the kind of scene I’ll be making.”

Her lips part. Her vanilla scent thickens in the air, and for a second, I forget how to stand still.

There’s defiance in her eyes now, but beneath that, heat. Interest. Something she’s trying hard to smother.

“You’re out of line,” she whispers.

“I’m being generous,” I bite back. “Respecting your night. Respecting the fact that you’re trying. But don’t play games with me, Cora. You know damn well he’s not enough.”

Her hand tightens on her glass. “He’s safe.”

“He’s nothing.”

She stands up straighter, smoothing her dress with trembling fingers, lifting her chin like she’s composed. Like I didn’t just catch her looking at my mouth. “You need to walk away.”

“Try me,” I say quietly. Low enough that only she hears. Then I walk back to my table and sit, watching her with sharp eyes as she takes a steadying breath and tries to pretend she’s unshaken. She isn’t. Not even close.

The Beta returns. He leans close again, unaware, maybe sensing the tension but too dense to understand it.

She forces a smile and says something light. He laughs. And I sit in the shadows, jaw clenched, watching the Omega who dry-humped me into madness try to pretend she belongs to someone else.

It’s almost admirable.

Almost.

The Beta keeps talking like he’s got something worthwhile to say, leaning in, gesturing, laughing like this is the best night of his life.

I sit there, sipping my whiskey, eyes locked on them while Beckett keeps going on about the build schedule like nothing happened. I nod when I’m supposed to, but I’m not really hearing him.

Not when she’s still perched on that barstool, legs crossed, lips parted in a small, strained smile. She’s trying too hard to look like she’s enjoying herself. And then, just like that, the mood shifts.

Cora leans in and says something to him. He stops and blinks, looking surprised. She’s apologizing.

I can read her lips, even from here. Something came up. The Beta’s trying to play it cool, nodding, offering some stupid reassurance about rescheduling.

Of course he would. He probably thinks he still has a chance. Poor bastard.

Then she’s sliding off the stool, smooth and elegant, that tiny dress catching the light as she straightens. She’s halfway to the door before she turns her head toward me. Her mouth moves, and I catch the word. Asshole.

The corner of my mouth lifts as I watch her walk out. She can be mad. She can throw whatever words she wants my way, but she’s not sitting beside him anymore.

That tells me everything I need to know.

I reach for my wallet and pull out one of my black cards, sliding it across the table to Beckett. “Drinks are on me. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

He raises a brow, but I’m already on my feet, pushing through the bar’s heavy door and stepping out into the cool night.

She’s standing there, arms crossed, her back to me. Inside the bar, there were too many scents for an Omega to pinpoint like I would.

That’s why she didn’t notice me as soon as she walked in. Out here, the air is clean. No sweat and smoke, no clashing scents. Just her.

She turns before I even call her name, her eyes locking on mine, and I see it—recognition. Fury. Need. All tangled up in one tight thread.

“You ruined my date, you arrogant son of a bitch.”

I walk toward her slowly, watching the way her chest rises, and how her fists clench at her sides. “Did I?”