Page 1 of Not an Assistant (Tales of the Dreggageggon #4)

First Night on the Executive Floor

Z ahara

I make my way through the top floor of the building, making sure everything is perfect before moving to my final destination.

It’s my first night on the executive floor and I need to make sure no one can complain about my services.

The pay raise is exactly what I need, and I won’t take any chances that I could lose this job.

Pushing the frosted glass door open, I assess the room in front of me, making a mental list of all the things I need to do. But my mind short-circuits as a scent collides with me and I stand in the open doorway to the CEO’s office.

Rich, bitter, and darkly masculine, like espresso soaked in sin and sharpened with something ancient. Something primal. The scent punches into me like a fist, low and deep, winding around my senses and tugging at the part of me I’ve buried so deep I pretend it doesn’t exist.

My suppressant patch, the only thing that keeps my omega designation hidden, itches, and I rub at my arm. My knees are weak. That’s something new.

I blink twice, trying to ground myself, but the weight of the scent lingers in the air like smoke, curling invisible fingers around my throat.

I shouldn’t feel this drawn in by something so simple.

A fucking scent, really? I’ve been working night shifts long enough to recognize every cologne brand worn by the power-hungry Alphas in this building .

.. but this? This isn’t cologne. This is a predator’s scent trail. An Alpha’s.

And my body, that traitorous bitch, reacts like a fucking switch was flipped.

I grip the frame of the door to steady myself, my cleaning rag forgotten in one hand.

A flush crawls over my skin like fire, heating me from the inside out.

I feel it in the pit of my stomach first, a tight coil of tension that pulses low and hot.

Then higher, under my ribs, where something stirs that I can’t explain .

.. something that aches and begs to be seen.

My omega instincts rear up, sharp and uninvited.

Not now, I think desperately. Not here.

But it’s too late. My mouth goes dry, and my thighs clench on instinct, like I’m bracing for impact. I swallow hard, shaking my head as if I could clear the fog pressing on my brain. That’s all this is. Some rogue scent triggering a phantom heat. It happens. Right?

Bullshit, my mind screams at me. This is something else. Run. Now.

I ignore my inner voice and force myself to move. One step and then another. Each one feels heavier than the last as I inch my way deeper into Acheron Draven’s office—the top floor of Draco Worldwide, where men make and break fortunes and the little people like me will never belong.

The man who owns this building, this city, maybe the whole goddamn realm with how people speak about him in whispers and fear. No one comes up here alone. Except me. I am the only person in the world right this minute with unsupervised access to his office.

The scent gets stronger the closer I move to the window.

I try to focus on the tasks in front of me, dusting the white leather sectional, wiping the sleek glass coffee table, polishing the mahogany desk, but I can’t concentrate.

My hands tremble and my breath hitches every time I move through the thick trail of whatever the hell this is.

I’m not stupid. I know this feeling. I’ve read about it.

I’ve listened to enough smutty audiobooks to know what a fated mate bond is supposed to feel like.

But that’s a fairy tale. A fantasy for desperate omegas and the few surviving elite Alphas clinging to bloodlines and broken legends.

Fated mates haven’t been seen in over five hundred years.

Everyone knows that. It’s just biology. Evolution.

Not the romance bullshit to sell books and lull us into false hope.

And yet, the moment I step in front of his desk, it slams into me harder than before. Heat and need. The desperate, devastating urge to fall to my knees and submit to an Alpha. To the Alpha who smells like coffee and sin.

I stagger, one hand gripping the edge of the desk again, the other pressed flat over my chest like I can keep my heart from exploding through my rib cage.

My eyes flutter closed for half a second, and in that moment, I swear I see a shadow move behind my lids.

Not just heat but wings . Darkness and fire curling toward me with eyes like embers and teeth like blades.

I jerk upright, gasping. My skin is damp and my core slick with need I haven’t felt in ... gods, ever. I’m a fucking virgin for God’s sake.

“What the hell is wrong with me?” I whisper.

There’s no answer, obviously. Just the slow crawl of that scent as it bleeds deeper into my pores. Something inside me wakes up and it’s hungry. And honestly, it scares the ever-loving shit out of me.

I try to finish cleaning as quickly as possible, avoiding the desk now like it’s a live wire, like it could bite me even though I know I’m acting like a damn crazy person.

Yet, every time I get close, my thighs clench and my nipples tighten beneath my thin cotton bra like I’m one step from going into heat right here on the goddamn executive floor. And that cannot happen.

I’m not an idiot. I know how dangerous this could be. If someone finds me like this—scent-drunk and slick with arousal—I’ll lose everything. This job. My dignity. My carefully constructed illusion of safety.

Because I’m not just some meek little cleaner trying to fly under the radar. I’m an omega. And Alphas are not known for their control around omegas at the best of times. But me walking around like a fucking bitch in heat will drive an Alpha to the brink of insanity.

I quickly, but thoroughly, finish wiping the last of the pristine glass panels and roll my cart back toward the door, breathing through my mouth, desperate to get out of the scent radius before I do something stupid.

Like press my nose to the desk and whimper.

Or even worse, strip down and roll around on the fucking carpet as I try to get closer to the intoxicating scent.

My skin feels too tight. My clothes cling uncomfortably to my body.

Even the air feels weighted and charged.

Static kisses my skin with every step I take away from the CEO’s office.

The moment I am across the lobby, I press the call button for the elevator three times in a row and curse myself for shaking.

The steel doors open with a hiss, and I don’t breathe again until they close.

The ride down to the main lobby feels like an eternity, but I barely have the time to center myself.

I stare at my reflection in the mirrored wall and frown.

My face is flushed and sweat beads my brow.

I can’t do much about my appearance but swipe away the hair sticking to my forehead.

Calvin, the night security guard, raises an eyebrow the moment I reach the lobby.

“Are you okay, sweetheart? You look like you ran a marathon.” His concern is both sweet and unwanted.

“I’m fine,” I lie. “Just hot up there.” My footsteps are quick as I stow my cleaning cart.

He frowns. “You’re flushed and your eyes are glassy. Are you getting sick or something?”

“No, just ... it was a long shift.” All I want to do is get out of this godforsaken building, but I can’t just run out. Calvin is my friend, and I don’t want him to worry about me. So, I smile for his benefit.

His gaze lingers, sharp and assessing. Then he nods slowly, handing me a sealed bottle of water from the personal cooler I know he keeps under the security desk.

“Drink this,” he says with the kindness I have come to expect from him. “And get some rest. There is a bug doing the rounds.”

I nod with another forced smile. “Thanks, Calvin.”

I keep my steps measured, even though I want to sprint until I am safe in my little apartment, forcing myself to walk casually out the front doors even though everything inside me is screaming. I can feel Calvin’s gaze on my back the whole way.

Outside, the streets are quieter than usual, and I am thankful for that.

There are fewer people and fewer questioning gazes and stares caressing my already feverish skin.

The night is cool, but I can’t stop sweating.

My skin burns like I’ve got a fever, my core throbbing in time with my racing pulse.

By the time I reach the bus stop, I feel like I’m going to explode.

All I want to do is make it home where I can safely hide from the rest of the world and whatever the fuck is happening to me. I want to disappear into the safe little cocoon of my apartment.

Malik, the night bus driver, gives me a strange look when I climb onto the bus.

“Rough night, Z?” he asks, concern coating his deep voice.

“You could say that,” I mutter as I pass him to find a seat.

He doesn’t push. Just nods and flicks on the overhead fan. I slump into the first available seat, clutching the water bottle like a lifeline, and close my eyes. Trying to breathe. Trying to stop shaking.

It takes another twenty minutes to make it home to my one-bedroom shoebox on the third floor of a building that always smells like damp carpet and broken dreams. I make it inside without seeing a single person, deadbolt the door, and lean against it, letting out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.

Once I catch my breath, I make my way across the carpeted floor of my tiny apartment, I strip down to my skin and step into the shower.

Opening the water, I set it to ice-cold, hoping to shock whatever is happening to me out of my body.

It doesn’t help ... not even a little. My body pulses with awareness, heat licking every nerve ending.

I slide my hand between my thighs, slickness coating the tips of my fingers.

I zero in on my distended clit, rubbing harshly, desperate for relief.

A growl of dissatisfaction slips from my lips as I shut off the water.

I can’t even get myself off, what the hell?

The need inside me only continues to grow and nothing helps or even takes the edge off.

I dry off with trembling hands and crawl into my bed naked.

The sheets feel like sandpaper against my oversensitive skin, and I feel like crying.

I bury my face in my pillow and try to breathe through it.

Praying to whatever deity will make this end before it gets worse, and I have a really bad feeling it is going to get a lot worse.

But the scent is in my head and embedded in my flesh. I can still feel him, Acheron Draven, even though I never saw him. When sleep finally comes, it brings fire with it.

I’m dreaming, I know I am, but it feels too real. The heat. The darkness. The air full of smoke and something else. Power? Hunger, perhaps? All I know for certain is that it is just another overwhelming phenomenon to add to the ever-growing list of things I don’t understand and can’t explain.

From the shadows, he comes to me with wings of midnight and eyes like molten gold. His voice is thunder, and his presence is scorching flame.

Mate.

He doesn’t say the word, but I feel it inside me. Like a thread snapping tight between us. His claws graze my thighs before his mouth seals over mine. He doesn’t ask. He takes. And I want it, more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my entire life.

A brand sears across my soul and I know nothing in my life will ever be the same again.

I wake up moaning, my sheets soaked through, my body spent and aching, but I’m still unsatisfied. The arousal thrumming through my veins is painful, but I don’t know what I can do about it. None of this is supposed to be happening.

I do know one thing for sure, though—something has changed in me. I can feel it and I know, deep in my bones, that this is only the beginning.