Page 5 of Unbonded (Pack’s Companion #3)
A quick scan of the room suggests it isn’t going to be an easy task.
There are alphas everywhere , and many of them are tall with fair hair and eyes that could be either blue or green.
I can’t exactly go up to each one and peer into his face, so I look around for the seating chart.
It’s up near the band – closest to what I assume are the extra expensive tables – and I make my way slowly through the crowd, my ears primed for Corbus Janssen’s name.
I might not recognize Dash’s date, but I’m certain he’s important enough for the other guests to be gossiping about.
Other than being handed empty glasses that I pass off to the servers, no one seems to notice me as I scan the seating chart.
As expected, C. Janssen is placed at a nearby table and to the left of the mayor.
A quick glance tells me they’re not in their seats, and I look around anxiously.
What if he’s gone off somewhere for whiskey and cigars?
Or worse still, given up on Dash coming back to the table and left altogether?
I could run a masterclass in being abandoned by your alpha, but I’d hate for Dash to be in need of my wisdom.
“Is everything alright?”
I look up at the man beside me, stunned that such a huge alpha got so close without my hindbrain screaming a warning.
I’m not afraid of alphas, exactly, but I’ve got good at listening to my instincts, and the man next to me is a walking red flag.
Huge all over, with a dark crew cut, strong jaw, and the kind of flat, unimpressed stare that fixes on me with a little too much interest. “No, I’m fine. ”
“You were just studying the seating chart.”
“Yes.” I look him over again, taking in the black suit that fits his massive body like armor.
Not a tuxedo, like the majority of guests, but something more workmanlike.
It doesn’t flatter him – too tight around the shoulders and boxy at the waist – but it does scream physical dominance. “Um, are you with Security?”
To be honest, he looks a lot more intimidating than the guys who work in the security room downstairs, but it would make sense that they’ve brought in a professional team for such a high-profile event. “I have a message for Mr. Janssen. Have you seen him?”
The question is barely out of my mouth when I feel a sharp pinch on my arm, and I whirl to face Mrs. Gladstone, the hotel’s Guest Services Supervisor and my boss.
“Ms. Valentine, what are you doing in here?” Mrs. Gladstone lives by the motto that staff should be rarely seen and never heard, and my heart sinks at the outrage on her face. “Leave immediately .”
Her bony fingers are hurting my arm, and I have to resist the urge to slap her hand away. “I’m delivering a message to a guest.”
“This is the last straw!” she hisses, her furious gaze landing on my neck.
It’s hotel policy for employees to keep their hair tied back, which means I have to hide my unbonding scar under a Band-Aid.
I try to make it as inconspicuous as possible, but Mrs. Gladstone, who’s an alpha, has accused me of flaunting it on more than one occasion and making guests uncomfortable.
“The last straw?” I repeat numbly, my exhausted mind growing hazy with anger. It’s like a mocking echo from my appointment with Dr. Green, and I can’t stop myself from glaring right back at her. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Gladstone, but you have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Malice tightens her mouth, her scent bitter in my nose. “You need to clean out your locker and hand in your building pass. We won’t be requiring your services again…”
I don’t wait for the remainder of my marching orders, turning to the security guard and saying, “Can you please tell Mr. Janssen that I have an urgent message from his date? If you’re able to step out of the ballroom with me, I’ll pass along the details.”
Mrs. Gladstone’s face has gone an alarming shade of puce.
I only catch a glimpse of it out of the corner of my eye, because a tall man in a tuxedo is turning towards me.
His platinum hair gleams like winter sunlight under the chandeliers, but his fingers have carved deep furrows through it, and his icy blue eyes flash with concern.
He casts a quick glance at the security guard before extending a hand in my direction.
“I’m Corbus Janssen,” he says in a lightly accented voice. “You have a message from Dash?”
I stare at his hand like it’s a snake about to strike. “Yes.”
It’s the most I can manage, because as stunning as this man is, I’m tempted to turn around and run for my life.
“Is he alright? Please, I’ve been trying to call him…”
“He lost his phone,” I murmur, watching as his hand goes straight to his own pocket and comes up empty. “He slipped and hurt himself, which is why he asked me to find you.”
I sense the security guard stiffening beside me, and even Mrs. Gladstone has gone silent, but I can’t tear my eyes from the alpha.
Dash’s walking dream. Of course I can see what he means, given the aura of authority swirling around him, not to mention those piercing eyes that seem to look directly into my soul…
But I’m not sure that’s a good thing. In fact, it might be very, very dangerous.
Because if my messed-up senses aren’t playing a wicked trick on me, Corbus Janssen isn’t just Dash’s date.
He’s also my scent match.