Page 4 of Worthy or Knot (Serendipity Omegaverse #3)

Four

MEGAN

C harlotte leans onto her elbows, resting her cheek on her palm, as the nervous man slips away from our table, responding to someone grabbing his attention somewhere else in the room.

The low drum of the pop music’s heavy bass rides the line of being too loud, so it covers whatever conversations are happening around us.

Charlotte sighs and picks up one of the scattered petals on the tablecloth.

“He’s been gone a while,” she says, worry bleeding into her tone. She messes with the red pin situated at the top of her shoulder. She’s positioned it where her sleeveless dress gathers near her collarbone and gives the entire ensemble a Grecian feel.

Harper .

It’s a great pack name, honestly. Simple and easy for people at my work to call out without being too common. After over a year using it, it’s finally become second nature, an identity I feel instead of wear.

“I’m sure he’s fine. You know he has to do this sometimes when his bond becomes overwhelming,” I offer, squeezing her hand before grabbing one of the chocolate-covered cherries.

Not my favorite, but they’ll do since I don’t feel like wading through the crowds of people to get back to the dessert tables.

Marcus, over the last three years, has had to step out of conversations when the accidental bond he has with an unknown Omega becomes overwhelming for him.

It doesn’t happen all that often, and it sucks it happened here.

How much of his nervousness on the subway getting here was coming from the bond?

Charlotte breathes slowly as she traces the rim of Marcus’s half-finished wine. Hers sits empty beside it along with our picked-over dessert plate.

I let my gaze wander. The tables have understated centerpieces, a small cluster of hydrangea blooms floating in a shallow dish of water.

Some of the petals are scattered around the table, too.

The lights, thankfully, are turned lower, the sconces that edge the entire room giving most of the illumination.

It creates a faux-intimate ambience despite the nearly thousand people that are crammed in here—and that’s not including any of the catering staff that walk through the tables, picking up empty glasses and abandoned plates.

My eyes catch on a woman around Charlotte’s age wandering through the cocktail tables, her gaze wary and her shoulders stiff.

There’s no pin anywhere on her dress. It’s been nearly an hour since the last Omega came through the entrance, but the Omegas don’t look much more comfortable than at the start.

For most, there’s too many people, too many new smells, for this to be anything less than overstimulation central.

When the woman glances our way, I give a soft smile that hopefully puts her at ease.

The level of discomfort the Omegas have to endure at these things sets me on edge.

But I can’t think about that when Marcus is already dealing with his bond. One of us out of control is enough for one night.

I grab another of the small cherries and shove it in my mouth, needing something to distract me even as the woman shuffles closer to us.

She holds a clutch in one hand and messes with a small pendant necklace with the other.

Before she makes it to our small cocktail table, a young man taps on her shoulder, smiling brightly.

After a few minutes, she’s flushing and he’s guiding her to the dance floor that’s crowded with other couples and groups.

I let my attention drop. After a few minutes, the dangerous irritation does, too.

“How do you feel about calling it a night when Marcus gets back?” I ask Charlotte, finally finishing off the Bloody Mary I’ve been nursing for the better part of an hour.

No one has caught our attention for more than a few minutes at a time.

In April, at least, there was an Omega we spent several songs dancing with.

Charlotte had been enamored, and Marcus hadn’t been completely put off.

I’d been planning on asking her out for drinks afterward when she just disappeared off the dance floor entirely.

At first, I thought she’d gone back to a pack of Alphas that she’d been dancing with before us.

But when they weren’t with her, I’d had to accept she’d left the gala.

When we weren’t even short-listed afterward, it was a significant hit to our morale. How did some packs do this for years ? I’m not sure I have the patience for it, honestly. This is our third over the last year, and I’m ready to be done with it all.

Charlotte sighs and shrugs her shoulders. “Yeah, I think that would be fine. That feeling that something was going to happen tonight is gone.”

Yeah, it’s gone for me, too. We’d walked in here pretty hopeful, a sense that something about tonight would be different. The only thing different is the lack of chemistry we seem to have with every Omega that’s in attendance.

“We can grab gelato from that place down the street,” I offer.

“You’re still wanting more after eating all of this?” She points to the mostly empty plate of desserts.

“It’s gelato. It doesn’t count,” I say with a smile, happy to have her losing the morose air about her at last. “It’s part of my ‘this was a really shitty shift’ ritual when I leave the hospital. Figured it might help tonight, too.”

She snorts. “Must have been getting a lot of gelato recently,” she says.

Yeah, it’s been a pretty crappy summer, but I’m refusing to think about it tonight. Work will still be there Monday morning after all of this.

“Sure, let’s go get gelato. Maybe we should just see if we can find Marcus?” Charlotte pushes off the table, looking around the room. “I still don’t see him.”

I pop the last cherry into my mouth and then turn away from the table, grabbing my clutch and sliding it onto my wrist. We edge around the dance floor, Charlotte linking her elbow with mine.

Several people without pins pass us, Omegas that are still perusing the room or who have opted for a break from dancing.

As we finally break through the last large group of people blocking the exit, Charlotte draws up short. The sudden stop has my feet tripping over themselves as my arm is pulled back toward her.

“Shit,” I mutter as I trip on the hem of my dress.

“Sorry!” she whispers.

“It’s fine,” I say, though I’m more irritated than I’m willing to let her see. “What’s wrong?”

She points toward the entrance, her eyebrows furrowed.

When I follow her hand, I hesitate, too.

Security isn’t something I’m unfamiliar with.

Working in one of the largest level-one trauma ERs in the city has taken away most of my unease in working within such close proximity of police and other first responders.

But at these functions, they’re normally on the other side of the doors, verifying everyone at the entrance is supposed to be here.

I’ve never once seen them block the doors to get out of the event space.

“What’s happening?” Charlotte asks. “Is Marcus all right?”

“I don’t know,” I say. The music mostly drowns out our conversation, so I’m not too worried about someone hearing us. I guide us toward the man on the left, blocking a door to the hall.

He takes us in before glancing into the hall.

“Just a minute, ladies,” he says, “you’ll need to go through the side entrance. This one is closed for right now.”

He points toward our right. I glance over my shoulder, realizing they’ve opened a secondary set of doors along the far wall that I’ve never seen messed with before. What happened that this area has to be closed during a massive event?

“The other member of our pack is out there,” I say in my professional, don’t-fuck-with-me voice. He raises an eyebrow. “Is everything all right?”

“Who’s your packmate?” he asks without answering my question.

“Marcus Harper,” Charlotte offers.

He leans out into the hall again, his voice muffled by the music. “You got a Harper out there?”

There’s a reply that’s drowned out by the noise. The man looks back at us and then ushers us through the doors.

There’s police everywhere , it seems. Thirty or so people, most with red pins, stand around the entrance area.

Nearly all of them are in conversation with a police officer, various looks of worry tightening their faces.

A couple people with no pin at all stand off to the side, leaning uneasily against one wall, clearly shaken by whatever’s happened.

Their gazes dart around the room, and one chews on her lower lip.

Even with how lackluster of a night it’s been, I have to tamp down the urge to cross the space and ease their discomfort. They probably wouldn’t appreciate a random Alpha approaching them right now, anyway.

Charlotte drags me to the other side of the room, her worry evident in the tight grip she keeps on my elbow. It’s hard enough it’ll probably bruise, and any other night I’d force her to let go. Tonight, though, I bite my tongue and force my attention away from the Omegas.

What in the hell happened out here?

“Marcus?” Charlotte asks when we’re a couple feet away from him.

His scent permeates the area, rich and sour with his rage.

When he turns toward us, that anger is evident in his eyes, too, burning so bright it makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

His jaw whitens with the force of him clenching it.

The police officer that stands beside him raises an eyebrow as we close the distance before tucking a small notebook into his pocket.

“As I said, Mr. Harper, you’re free to go,” he says, though his eyes are on me.

Marcus stiffens, and a growl builds in his throat.

Whatever’s happened has him on the fucking edge right now, and the last thing anyone needs is an Alpha losing their cool at one of these galas.

If we get banned from attending, it’ll make it nearly impossible to find an Omega that we’ll all mesh well with.

The officer scowls and turns his attention back to Marcus. He feels vaguely familiar, but I can’t place him. God knows I see too many of them in the ER to keep track of them all. I offer a polite half-smile and quickly guide Marcus away.

“What happened?” Charlotte asks, looping her elbow with his the way she’d done with me.

The sour edge to his scent intensifies until we get out the main doors and onto the busy New York sidewalk. Wordlessly, Charlotte flags down a taxi, still keeping a tight hold on Marcus.

He’s silent as he lets us herd him into the car and give the driver our address in SoHo.

I inwardly flinch at just how much the fare is going to be, but there’s no way we can get Marcus onto the subway if he’s this wound up.

It takes several blocks for him to calm down enough that I’m less worried about him completely freaking out.

When he takes a deep breath and his shoulders drop, the worry leaves me completely. At least until he looks from Charlotte to me.

His voice is hoarse and full of disbelief as he whispers, “He was there.”