1. Asrar
The crowd writhed; the waves of heads and arms aligning with the mad beat perfectly. The light was dim at best, and the anonymity it offered allowed many to be brave. Bodies rubbed against each other, necks were provocatively exposed, and hands were possessively placed around the catch of the night. It was the time when everybody sought out a final dance partner, potentially for the whole night. Asrar prowled the perimeter, considering where to move into the crowd. Normally, he didn't actively seek out a bed partner; mostly relying on people falling into his lap. He just had to pick.
But tonight, he was on the hunt.
He scanned the throng and lingered on a bright mane of hair. The man was comfortable moving with the crowd, his eyes closed, entranced by the bass powering through his rib cage with every throb, head thrown back, a light smile on his face.
He looked ethereal, like an angel who’d fallen into hell’s mouth and tried to blend in, but it was hopeless. For Asrar, he was like a bright shining beacon, and the alpha wanted to put his mouth to the throat that was so gracefully offered.
A dark-skinned woman danced alongside, but she looked like his chaperone, or maybe he was hers. Who knew. Asrar was sure that she’d step back if she approved of him, though so far, nobody seemed to be worth her approval. He weaved his way through the crowd. Even if he was rejected, he would mourn, but only for about five seconds. His clubs offered his bed plenty of volunteers.
Asrar gently touched the man’s hip, tracing the narrow pale strip of exposed skin that had formed between the high-riding shirt and pants. He leaned in and inhaled greedily.
Beta! I knew it.
The scent of clean sweat, the sweet smell of the club’s artificial smoke and a concoction of alphas who didn’t have a chance with this beautiful man was intoxicating, and the urge to conquer was almost palpable. There was an underlying trace of strong coffee, which made Asrar sweat with desire.
The beta didn’t push him away, so Asrar slotted his chest to the man’s back, carefully keeping one hand around the moving hip. He matched the moves, body rolling along, and after a heartbeat that Asrar deemed long enough to say no, pulled him in tight. The gasp of the beta was drowned in the music, the rhythm pulling them both along like hand-puppets. Asrar met the gaze of the female friend, and she considered him for a moment before recognition dawned.
Asrar knew he had a reputation. He had a penchant for betas and a harsh policy for alphas who didn’t treat omegas right. His violent outbursts towards alphas who didn’t abide by the rules were well-known. Beware of the youngest Bardin, the bad boy who fights too much. He wasn’t proud of the gossip, but the hushed murmur kept the assholes out of his space. In here, he ruled with an iron fist.
She nodded, deeming him good enough for her friend, and turned around, granting him privacy within the mass of people.
As if the beta felt her positive vetting, his head fell back against Asrar’s shoulder, exposing the long plane of his throat and face flushed. Up close, the cheekbones were high, and combined with the long, graceful limbs and the long blond hair, which felt soft like butter to Asrar’s rough cheek, it gave him the ethereal look of an elf. Asrar wanted to devour him.
He anchored the beta and rolled his hips, grinding into the tight ass, offering what he’d wanted to do all night. Maybe two. He felt insatiable right now.
The beta gasped, then chuckled and pressed back. His hand entangled in Asrar’s hair, dragging his head closer to his mouth. “The poor thing’s gonna break.” He pushed back against Asrar’s dick, his hips rolling downward.
Asrar groaned. “If you keep doing that, it’s gonna fall off in agony.” He nipped on a lobe, his tongue brushing his skin, and the beta’s breath punched out of him. Asrar murmured, “Come home with me tonight.”
He wanted this one. Only this one.
“Asrar!” A hand clamped down hard on his shoulder and dragged him backward. Asrar growled, the disturbance disrupting his plans.
“What?” he growled.
“A fight between alphas. Emmi was hurt,” Monty said, and Asrar swore.
Not tonight. Can’t they give me a break just for tonight?
The beta halted his movements and was about to turn around when Asrar growled into his ear, “Wait for me, I will be back in a minute. Please.” He rubbed his cheek against the silken hair and vanished into the back of the club, then out the backdoors.
Two drunken alphas were being held back by several employers, and the police had already been called, but none of them was stopping the men from trying to hurt each other.
“Zip them up,” Asrar spat. “I don’t care if the police give us shit for it. Where’s Emmi?” He looked around and spotted her crouched by the delivery door, an ice pack pressed to her cheek. She looked glum, mascara smeared under her eyes, and her white shirt stained with drops of blood.
Asrar fumed. “Whose blood?”
Emmi looked down and groaned. “Mine. But it already stopped.” She sniffed. “An elbow got me. And then the fucker pushed me against the wall!” She yelled the last part, and it was the first time one alpha looked at least a bit remorseful.
Asrar squeezed her free hand lightly. “Take the rest of the week off. Paid. But please stay long enough for the statement. One of the guys will drive you home, okay?”
Her lower lip quivered, but she nodded and mumbled her thanks. Asrar considered going inside. Loris had been contacted, and Monty could handle the rest.
But just as he was about to vanish, the police turned the corner, front window down. An officer already waved at him, annoyed by the late-night disturbance at his club. Yet again.
Asrar sighed.
When he reached inside forty-five minutes later, the beta was gone.