Approaching an alpha willingly

MARVEL'S POV

All the messages came from unknown numbers.

Was the last one from the prince?

My stalker had never called me his mate before. But Alaric had, right before he left. Why was my stalker suddenly borrowing his word? Or was it truly Alaric?

And why wouldn't he tell me who he was?

I scrolled through the thread. Three unknown numbers. Three different messages. Could be one person with three phones. Could be three separate people. I couldn't tell anymore.

"Fuck!"

I threw my phone onto the desk.

I was already wrung out from failed experiments, months of work, and the serum had broken down again at the final stage. Now I had a crown prince claiming I was his mate, and a stalker threatening to kill him for it.

Any one of those things would have been enough for one day.

If the serum had just worked, none of this would matter. I could've stopped being anyone's anything.

I picked up my phone and called my father.

No answer.

I tried again.

Nothing.

Calling my grandfather was pointless. He hated everything I stood for. Old-fashioned, obsessed with bloodlines, convinced omegas existed for one purpose and nothing past it.

He'd nearly killed some of his own children for marrying the wrong ones. That's what he calls anyone that isn't an alpha or omega. Bloodline first, family second- that was the order he'd built his whole life around.

I wouldn't put it past him to be the one who'd talked my father into signing that pact with the royal family in the first place.

My family was a mess.

Somehow I was the one paying for it.

I waited all afternoon, chewing my nails down to nothing, until Jade finally walked in.

He pushed open the office door past nine, looking like he'd aged a year.

"Couldn't get the prince's blood sample from the organization." He dropped into a chair like his legs had given up on him. "The whole process died the second they heard 'Hayes Biotech.'"

Of course it had.

The government had been after my company for years. My research, they claimed, was tanking the birth rate, suppressants gave omegas control over their own bodies, and apparently that was the real crime.

Protecting omega rights was fine, as long as the government got to define what those rights were and hand them out on a schedule.

I wasn't holding my breath for a favor from anyone wearing a government badge.

I dragged a hand through my hair.

"It's just us left, Jade. Let's call it a night."

"I can drive you home, Doc."

"Go home."

He hesitated.

I gave him a tired smile. "I'll be fine."

His eyes dropped to my neck. "Your patch is gray."

I touched it. He was right; the scent-control patch had changed color, its indicator lit by stress hormones.

"Change yours before you go."

He gave me a reluctant grin. "Night, Doc."

"Night."

The door shut. Silence took over the office, and I couldn't stand it.

I grabbed my keys and texted my driver to take the night off.

Tonight I was driving myself.

By 10:50, I was still on the road and no less miserable for it.

I needed a drink.

I pulled into Beauty's Beast, my usual spot for being alone without actually being alone. Low light, low music, the kind of place that didn't ask questions. I skipped the VIP section and took a seat at the counter.

"Manhattan."

The bartender nodded and reached for the bottle.

"Manhattan?" A voice from beside me. "Someone's trying to get drunk."

I turned, ready to attack.

He sat two stools away, martini in hand, watching me like he already knew how this would go.

And that was how I forgot what I'd intended to do.

Black hair, slightly tousled, like he'd raked a hand through it and given up on fixing it. A jaw too sharp for someone this annoying. Straight nose, dark lashes, a mouth that looked permanently one second from a smirk.

Sleeves rolled to the elbow. Tattoos disappearing under the fabric, ink I wanted to trace and had no business wanting to trace. A silver watch worth more than most people's salary, worn like he'd forgotten it was there. I had one similar to that…

Then I saw his neck.

A scent-control patch. My company's patch.

Most alphas treated the product like a personal insult, proof they couldn't handle their own instincts. This one wore it like it was nothing.

Interesting.

He caught me staring. Dark eyes, faintly amused.

I looked away first.

The bartender slid my drink across the counter.

"Isn't that martini stronger than this?" I nodded at his glass.

"Mm." He took a sip. "High tolerance."

"And you know I don't have one?"

He looked at me properly this time. A slow smile.

"I don't."

I stood and closed the space between us, the first time I'd ever approached an alpha willingly. Up close, he was worse. The kind of handsome that made staring feel involuntary, like my eyes had stopped taking orders from the rest of me.

"You're too pretty to be an alcoholic," he said.

"You're right." I lifted my glass. "I'm not one."

"Then what are you?" He tilted his head.

"A very pissed person wanting to get drunk."

His smile widened, and I should have looked away. Instead, I studied him.

Something about him was off. I couldn't smell his pheromones at all, just coffee, warm and faintly bitter. Familiar. I couldn't place why.

For once, being near an alpha didn't make my skin crawl. It should have. But it didn't.

Maybe it was the patch. Maybe the alcohol. Maybe I just didn't care tonight.

He lifted his glass. "Bet?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Bet?"

"Whoever gets drunk first pays the bill."

"And if I say no?" I asked.

"You won't." He said it like a fact, not a challenge.

I glanced at the watch again. Rich enough to survive losing. Confident enough to assume he wouldn't have to.

"Fine."

I closed the remaining distance. He stood to meet me, taller than I'd guessed, broad-shouldered under the dark shirt. Unfortunately, exactly my type. What do you expect from a pure omega? Of course alphas are biologically my type.

I didn't ask his name. Didn't give mine. That was the point.

And after the day I'd had, I wanted the distraction.

Our glasses clicked.

"May the best man win." His Russian accent curled around the words, smoothing out something that shouldn't have sounded that good.

"Try to keep up," I said.

His eyes dropped to my lips, then back to mine.

"Gladly."

I took the first sip.

For once, I wasn't thinking about the prince. Or my stalker.

Just the alpha in front of me, the way his sleeves sat rolled at the elbow, the silver glint of his watch, the fact that he wore my patch like it was nothing.

I intended to make the most of it before the night reminded me why I usually ran.