Omega Hunted
He was sitting alone at the edge of the VIP lounge, sipping something blue from a glowing glass.
He was an Omega, petite with soft silver hair that caught the neon lights, and his scent, sweet, like crushed vanilla beans, was practically begging for attention.
I walked over, making sure my steps were deliberate. I stopped right in front of his booth, looking down at him.
"Is this seat taken?" I asked, my voice cutting through the bass.
He looked up, his eyes widening slightly as he took me in. He ran his gaze down my leather jacket, his nostrils flaring just a fraction as he tried to catch my scent, only to find nothing but the clean, sterile block of the patch on my neck.