Page 120 of Psycho Alphas: Part Two

I felt a flare of jealousy and stamped it down.

I could spot the pink, raw cut on his upper arm peeking from beneath rolled-up sleeves. A little heart, jagged and messy. It seemed to dance in my vision for a moment, brighter and louder than life, a proclamation of frosted moonflower.

A claim. Trust. Her safety.

Now I had one just like that, too, it was the most precious thing I think I had.

Had Rogue paid enough?

The question lingered, stretching out into oblivion, as if it knew I couldn’t reply.

THIRTY-ONE

ROGUE

By the time Thistle had finished drawing little red hearts onto Ace’s collar, a moonflower bomb might as well have gone off on our end of the table.

The packs nearest to us didn’t say a thing—in fact, I kept catching them giving us nervous looks, as if they were afraid they might offend us.

“Never thought to use them like that,” Lorelai Hunter told Thistle, coming over for a visit.

“You… haven’t?”

Thistle looked back at the table of guests, then at the little ‘xoxo’ she’d drawn on Ace’s collar, a frown creasing her brows. I felt a brief flutter of panic from her, as if she was running back through everything she’d seen to work out where she’d messed up.

The markers were the language of monsters—an indication to Bella of what taste her guests had when it came to unwitting victims. Of course no one had thought to paint all over their co-guests.

Very slowly, Ace cocked his head, the movement so careful that Thistle didn’t notice as he locked eyes with Lorelai.

Lorelai blanched, glancing between them. “No, no, of course I have. I just mean… the designs aren’t… ones I’ve seen before. You have great taste.”

“Oh.” A relieved smile split Thistle’s face. “Uh… thank you.”

She was trying desperately to fit in and not look like a crackpot Omega with an unhealthy obsession for her Alphas, but the benefit of hanging off Ace Maverick’s arm was that it didn’t matter. She could do the strangest things tonight, and every anxious onlooker would smile and pretend it was utterly normal.

Another gift from Ace, I supposed.

I noticed Knox, in particular, was drenched in Thistle’s scent—frosted moonflower woven with ink and antique wood from the little floor visits she’d paid him. I didn’t know if it was a warning to the other Alphas in the room, to Bella, or to me—to go easy on him.

Not that I could do that.

We were here to put on a show. If I went easy on Knox, no one would believe this ruse for a second. He needed to be humiliated to a degree that not one prideful soul in this room had a flicker of doubt that this was as real as it got.

The one thing I could say about Knox was his ability to sacrifice for his cause—and that included his dignity.

I was justhelpinghim.

The worse I made it, the more these idiots would buy into the lie.

I knew, however, he was clocking every single curve on my lips as I did it.

All evening I’d been making an effort not to focus on the white-clad servers who would sometimes offer food or drinks. I knew what they were—a Morgan pack special. But one in particular became impossible to miss.

She slipped beside Ace to pick up a drink.

“You’re, uh… really pretty, by the way,” Thistle whispered. My gaze snapped to them, and I found myself looking at a young Omega with long blonde hair, and olive skin.

Through the bond, Thistle became an instant bundle of anxiety and shyness. The Omega paused, and I saw a flash of uncertainty on her expression—as if, compared to the other guests who had left a rainbow of colours across her dress, she didn’t know what to make of Thistle. She settled on a quick nod before stepping back, but Thistle caught her arm.