The process hasn’t taken long. This wasn’t the first time he’d been put into a three-piece suit, though he admitted part of him was a bit disappointed by the implications. Then again, it was his own fault for momentarily thinking too highly of the alpha. After dropping that much coin on Fen’s body, of course Oberon wanted to parade him around.
He was no different from Michelle, no matter how much better he smelled or how good his touch had felt.
The conversation between them hadn’t been lacking either. Fenrir couldn’t believe he’d cursed the man out. He never would have dared swear at Michelle for fear of retaliation, butthere’d been no anxiety afterward when he’d told Oberon to fuck off.
To his credit, the alpha hadn’t seemed all that upset about it either. He’d even laughed. As though he enjoyed Fenrir’s temper.
Fen met his own gaze in the mirror across from him and stilled. Oberon wouldn’t be fond of his temper if he truly experienced it. If he had to deal with Fenrir during influx. Would the alpha even be able to recognize what was happening, or would he wrongly assume Fenrir was going feral?
Would he put him down like a rabid dog first, and ask questions later?
Fenrir couldn’t risk it. Couldn’t lose himself like that in front of a member of the White Frost. This mission he’d been given had to be completed fast, before there was even a chance of him slipping. Already, his pheromones had been put to more use tonight than usual. If he wasn’t careful, could he lose his grip on the energy coursing within him and end up overloading?
His palms flattened on the sink counter as his stomach clenched painfully. It’d been months since his last episode, and there was no reason for him to worry about suffering a relapse. The whole reason Michelle was loosening the leash and allowing him to attempt this was because he’d finally stabilized. She hadn’t needed to pull him back from a violent outburst in a while.
So long as he was careful, didn’t overdo it, he’d be fine.
Wiping his damp brow with a hand towel, Fenrir urged himself to get moving. Hiding in here, freaking out about all the potential what-ifs, wasn’t conducive to his goals. He smoothed his palms down the crimson silk suit jacket he’d been given, then adjusted the beige vest, and straightened the red tie. Satisfied that he looked his best, he pulled open the bathroom door and entered the room.
Only to be assailed by strong alpha pheromones that knocked him back a full step. His arm immediately went to his nose, trying to block out as much as possible, his eyes seeking out the source.
Michelle stood by the bed, beautiful features twisted into a look of disdain. She was a classic beauty, with curly dark hair and a signature red lip. More than once, she’d been mistaken for a movie star, told her looks were wasted running the Wardrobe when she could easily be famous on the big screen.
Sometimes she humored the flatterers.
Sometimes she used her dominant pheromones to bring them to their knees.
It depended on her mood.
And it was abundantly clear that right now, her mood was shit.
An alpha could use their pheromones any number of ways, but there were bonds that could be formed between them and an omega, making their smell more potent. During his darkest time, she’d appeared and pulled him from the darkness, leaving her mark as a result.
Fenrir had lost time in the lab. Weeks bleeding into months, until a whole year had been stolen away. There were mere snippets left, moments he could barely picture properly, but one thing was devastatingly clear.
Michelle, standing over the dead body of the head researcher, reaching out to Fen.
Her pheromones had felt different from all the others. Soothing in a way he hadn’t ever experienced before. It wasn’t like he enjoyed the smell or the feel of them, per se, in fact, mentally, he’d rejected them time and time again. But something about her pheromones could do the impossible.
They pulled him back from the brink of insanity. Coaxed him into the world of the sane.
She was both his jailer and his savior, a cosmic joke that wasn’t lost on him. If ever there was a chance to truly escape her, he would take it in a heartbeat, as it were…Leaving her was impossible. She’d proven that over and over again. It was her favorite lesson to teach him whenever she was displeased.
Influx on its own could typically be treated and managed. If Fenrir was a born omega, or if he was pure alpha and nothing else, not only could his condition most likely be fixed, he wouldn’t even suffer from it in the first place.
“You let him put his filthy hands on you.” Her angry gaze swept down Fenrir’s body.
“I was trying to be obedient,” Fen lied, knowing better than to let on that he’d gotten swept up in the moment. That he’d welcomed Oberon’s touch for no other reason but that he’d wanted to experience it. “The alpha had yet to sign the contract.”
Whether she believed him or not was impossible to glean. It was never easy to decipher what she was feeling or why. To an outsider, it might even seem like she was jealous of Oberon, but that wasn’t the case.
There was nothing romantic between Fenrir and Michelle, despite the various rumors floating around about her secret lover, known only as the Wolf. It was a nickname born of calculation, however, not fondness. She’d needed a way to refer to her future weapon in public without risking unveiling his identity.
Up until this point, she’d only used him on small things. To take out a pesky defector or silence the competition.
As a damn ice maker when her drink got warm or she found her tea too hot.
If people knew what really happened behind closed doors, that she used the Wardrobe’s “secret weapon” so frivolously, there was little doubt they’d both become laughingstocks. Yet another reason Fenrir was putting himselfthrough this little test of hers. If he passed, he’d been promised a proper seat at the table.