19. Resa

Chapter 19

Resa

T he party is in full flow when I step into the ballroom.

When I see how many people there are, I almost wish I hadn't been in so much of a hurry to leave Everleigh, who might want to talk about things I'm not ready to talk about with anyone.

The party is to celebrate the soon to be open Ever Safe location. From the brief snatches of conversation I pick up, it's in the last phase of construction. In under a month, the city will have another Pack Ashe owned free heat clinic, with another to follow two months later.

It's like they're planning to fill the city with Ever Safe clinics the way they're throwing them up. If they're doing it for Everleigh, and for omegas who won't have to worry about an alpha sneaking into their heat suite like what happened to me, then maybe I might learn to like alphas after all.

No promises, but maybe.

Reporters sip on glasses of champagne as betas and alphas mingle. I'm not getting a whiff of omega scents, but with potent alpha pheromones dominating, there's a reason for that.

Somewhere in this mass of bodies, Vaughn, Garrison, and Roman are weaving through the crowds. They must do this stuff all the time, yet they spent the forty-minute drive here talking it out like it was their first time.

Blaine would be in the back of the room, tucked in a corner, but still alert.

And hiding his scars , I'd thought when I caught him tugging the sleeve of his shirt down over the back of his right hand.

Garrison, Vaughn, and Roman would circle the ballroom, entryway, patio, and the garden, regularly changing directions to avoid falling into a pattern of behavior someone could exploit. Frost would be at the front door and walking the driveway in case trouble hurtled this way.

I would talk with Everleigh, and after, I could join Blaine at the back of the room. But only if I wanted to. Since they planned this party two weeks before, the guest list is confirmed, and no new arrivals added to it meant no one could sneak in at the last minute. And it's not like they had told anyone—other than Pack Ashe and Everleigh—that I would be here.

It would be safe.

But like any event or job, it was their business to manage risk and ensure there were no surprises. So expect it would be safe, but plan for something to go wrong.

And everyone, without exception, would check in every ten minutes using the skin-colored earpieces they stuck in when we pulled up at the house.

Even me.

I hadn't been expecting an earpiece, but I got one too.

I knew why they were talking about something they didn't need to. They were doing it so I knew what was going on and exactly where I fitted into the plan. And just like back in the house, I had another of those thrill moments where I felt I had a role to play.

"This party is in Pack Ashe's home," Garrison had twisted in his seat to tell me before we'd climbed out of the Hummer. "We've gone over and over the guest list, but any gathering always has the potential to turn, including ones thrown by friends. You're welcome to sit out the party with Everleigh."

I didn't want to hide out in a back room—still don't—even though I don't like the crush, the smells, the sweat. But I like the way people see my all-black outfit, assume I'm part of security and move out of my way.

It makes me feel like I'm something other than an omega when I've gotten used to being nothing else for years.

So I weave around the perimeter of the room, though I'm not sure I would recognize trouble until it smacked me in the face. I keep my eyes open, stay alert, watchful, like I'm an experienced hand at this security business.

I spot Blaine standing on the back wall, hands stuffed in his pocket, expression strangely… fixed at the same time I hear it.

"…dance. Then I saw his face. All half-melted, like some nightmare," a woman in an ice-white dress says, shuddering.

My lips flatten.

I know exactly who she's talking about and why Blaine's face is so fixed.

A scar is just a scar.

It does not turn someone from a person into an object to be ridiculed.

The rage this woman's words ignite has me reaching into the waistband of my jeans before I tell myself this is not a stabbing situation.

I spot a server with a tray of red wine and that's when I know exactly what this deserves. Fight ugly with ugly. Veering right, I snatch up a glass from the tray and stalk straight toward her. I don't hide my intention behind a stumble or an accidental trip.

I toss my drink at the woman's dress. White silk ruined. Instantly.

She whirls around with a shocked gasp.

"Oh, I'm sorry ! Did I accidentally get you in the dress instead of your face?" My voice is saccharine sweet. "I'll have to work on my aim."

Her nostrils flare and I spot the exact moment she realizes what I am.

"Omega bitch," the woman says, taking a step toward me.

I shove my glass onto a passing server's tray and close the distance between us, nose to nose, tuning out the surrounding whispers. "Omega bitch with a black belt in karate."

The woman hesitates, her expression turning wary.

"Go ahead. Try it." I have no clue how to defend myself, but you can be as sure as hell whatever I do, I'll make sure it hurts.

More people angle their heads toward us, asking each other in low voices what's going on.

Maybe it's my stare that convinces her to back off, or maybe it's all the attention we're attracting, but the woman glares at me and swings away.

I wait until she's disappeared into the crowd and then walk to the back of the room, leaving a space between Blaine and me as I lean on the wall.

And I mentally process what the hell I just did.

I'm here to speak to Everleigh. To stay out of the way. Yet here I am, the source of the trouble that Garrison warned me might happen at parties even among friends.

You have issues, Resa , I tell myself. Serious issues.

But I don't for one second regret what I did.

"Omega bitch with a black belt?" Blaine's voice is faint and his expression is blank when I peek at him.

"So?"

"Nothing." He peels his gaze from me and stares straight ahead. After a moment, I do the same. A few people glance my way, but no one comes to question why it looks like security tossed a drink at a woman's dress.

I fucking hope to hell that dress was designer, and she never gets the stain out.

I get angry again at what she said. She wasn't even trying to keep her voice down, and Blaine was right there. It's like she wanted him to hear her.

Maybe it was a stabbing situation after all.

"About what happened in the kitchen…" Blaine starts in his low, raspy rumble.

"I think I understand," I cut short what sounds like the beginnings of an apology. He scared the shit out of me more than I would willingly admit, and I'm not even close to forgiveness or forgetting. But I think I understand.

"You do?"

"Some people only see what's in front of them."

It's why this world needs to change. After I perfumed, I told myself I'd still be the same Resa. I was wrong. Suddenly I was Resa, the omega, and that's all I was.

Resa, who every three months spent four days in a heat clinic riding out her heat.

Resa, who no one could understand why she was with a beta like Henry instead of an alpha like all omegas should want.

I looked in the mirror and I was the same person I had been for most of my life, but no one else saw what I did.

Mom lucked out with Dad. They weren't scent matches, but Mom, an omega, found true love. They didn't have much, but they didn't need much when they had each other. He was the owner of a car dealership he later sold, and she was fresh out of college and a wannabe journalist.

Her dream of being a journalist changed when she found out she was pregnant with me, and they moved to the suburbs while Dad gave up his struggling business to find a job that paid more to support his growing family.

Even my mom and dad asked me if I was sure about Henry after he proposed. Didn't I want a nest and soft, snuggly things a wealthy alpha could give me? Didn't I want to be special?

No. I just wanted to be the same person I'd always been.

Blaine's scars and me losing my identity are not the same. But I think I can understand why Blaine would lash out when all someone sees when they look at you is a part and not the whole.

"I wish I'd punched her in the throat," I mutter.

He makes a choked sound that might be a laugh. By the time I swivel my head to face him, he's walking away. Has he had enough of this party?

When he disappears from view, I resume watching the party

"Here."

I retreat, but it's okay. No need to run. It's just Blaine offering me a wine glass filled with something pale and gold.

"To toss in a woman's face?" I look around in case that bitch came back while I wasn't paying attention. "Because red wine works better for staining."

His lips flatten, and because I did the same thing when Vaughn was bandaging my foot, I know he's trying not to smile.

"To drink ," he says.

"I can't drink." There's a lot I don't know about being pregnant, but staying away from alcohol and caffeine is one of the few things I heard, read, or learned through TV.

"It's apple juice."

"Oh. Thanks." I take the glass.

We go back to watching the party with inches separating us. It's enough space that he doesn't feel the need to hide his scars from me, and I don't feel the need to reach for my knife. He drinks nothing. He's working, so I guess it wouldn't be professional for people to see him with a drink in his hand, even it's non-alcoholic.

"Omega bitch with a black belt," he repeats. This time, his tone isn't inscrutable. It's amused.

I lift my glass to my lips. "It worked, didn't it?"

This apple juice isn't the artificial, too sweet stuff I remember from childhood. This is cool, slightly tart, fresh and delicious. Fancy apple juice . I drain the glass in under two seconds. A new taste unlocked and I'm eager to hunt out more.

"Did you ever want to learn?"

I abandon my search for more delicious apple juice to look at Blaine. "What?"

"Karate. Or any kind of martial arts."

I wrinkle my nose. "Not really. Aren't I too old? I thought it was something only kids do."

At twenty-five, I'm probably too old to learn anything new. I heard the older you get, the more set in your ways you become, and I feel pretty set in my ways. At least about some things.

"It is not something only kids do. It's both an excellent way of defending yourself and improving self-confidence." He gives me a long look. "I could teach you."

Unexpectedly, I find myself considering it. I've seen enough movies to know that's going to involve coming into close quarters with an alpha. It would involve something else I thought he would want even less than I do. "But wouldn't that involve… you know, touching ?"

"It might." The barest hint of tension threads its way into his voice.

"And you wouldn't have a problem with that?" I recall the way Blaine leaned out of the way to avoid Vaughn's accidental shoulder bump.

He shrugs. "It's just a thought. No need to agree if you don't want."

I consider it some more. More than I would have a couple of days ago.

If we did this, there would have to be conditions. Big ones.

I narrow my eyes at him. "If you teach me, I will, without hesitation, kick your ass if you do something to deserve it. There won't be any ‘you taught me, so I respect you as my master' bullshit." I consider what else I've seen on TV about martial arts training. "And I won't bow. Or wax cars."

The corner of his mouth lifts in the trace of a smile as he raises his hand, confusing me for a second until I realize he's flagging down a server.

He plucks a glass of fancy apple juice from the tray and offers it to me. "That sounds fair."

His glasses slide down his nose, and I have the strangest urge to push them up.

Glasses are practical. Nothing worthy of more than a passing glance.

So what the hell am I doing noticing the way Blaine looks in his?

To occupy my sudden fascination with his glasses, I take the juice from him, hand him the empty one when he motions toward it and nod my thanks. "Good."

He passes the empty glass off to the server, and we lean on the wall at the back of the party, not speaking, but I don't mind the silence.