Page 49 of The Alpha's Fake Mate

He made me laugh, just because he was so good, though I barely saw him crack a smile. That presence he had, so raging, so full of what he wanted but thought he could never have, took up the entire room. He was maybe five six. Maybe a hundred and thirty pounds. I was six-three and two hundred pounds. But sometimes he made me feel small, and to catch up with him I wanted to give him stuff. Give him everything.

In almost every sense, I had. He would never go hungry. He would live here always, or wherever the money I gave him access to took him.

When he wasn’t aware, my eyes would draw down his body and imagine the scars he might have. I had read the reports. The broken bones, the sprains, the bruises, the abrasions. What about scars unseen but still there? It made me crazy to think about it as I watched him bend to finish yet another game as he sacked the eight-ball.

“That’s it!” I clapped him on the back.

He jumped, but took it without comment, his small body barely giving way. I had been gentle but thoughtless, forgetting he might hate any touch.

I had never been anything but a gentleman with any Omega.

But his chin came up and he acted as if my little smack had never happened at all.

We moved on to air hockey. Then ping pong.

We finished the night with beers, some pinball, and a fast action movie.

We didn’t really talk much but it was nice to have company. His company. Hell, I’d lived for his emails and messages.

“So,” he said. The hour was late. “When am I getting my office?”

“You will. Everything has been ordered to be delivered tomorrow. It will be set up by noon.”

“We work. We play. It’s a life.” His tone came out low, almost clipped.

“It’s good to have someone else living here.” He had to know l liked him.

He turned toward me. His perfect stance, hair, clean unwrinkled clothes, demeanor all unruffled. But inside, what must he be thinking, feeling?

He was displaced. Surrounded by Alphas now, the enemy. All strangers.

“You do know you are allowed to have friends visit. From Zilly’s. Plan ahead and we’ll send a car.”

He shrugged as if to brush off my offer.

“I want to know,” he began. Stopped. Started again. “I want to know if others can detect it. The claim. If they can tell it’s fake.”

“The scent changes with a bond but mainly for the couple alone. Certainly you know that. But a claim is paperwork only.”

“Oh.” He took a deep breath until his chest puffed up.

“What? Ask me anything.”

“Bosk said he’d made a bond with me. Doesn’t that supersede a claim? Any claim? Even one with fake blood tests showing a mate-bond?”

“I will be honest. If his bond is true, it would. But you have no feeling of it. So it must be a lie.”

He bowed his head.

It was a legitimate worry. It was no surprise these questions were on his mind.

“Tell me,” I said. “Do you feel anything?”

“There was no bond. How could there be? All I ever knew was fear and pain. It couldn’t happen. It takes two, doesn’t it?” He glanced up, then down again. He turned and picked up his beer, shaking the bottle and finding it empty.

“Yes. Your scent would change. And the blood samples taken to prove a mate-bond show in the testing.”

“How?”