The only bars he’d been to had been at hotels during those extremely rare occasions he’d been ordered to travel with Michelle, or the ones built for parties at the estate. The clientele in those instances was upscale, and after seeing Evergreen, he’d imagined Oberon preferred those types of glitzy locations as well, but this could hardly be considered that.
Posters and postcards papered the walls, some faded and browning around the edges, others coated in dust and cobwebs. Knickknacks from various alcohol brands were chaotically displayed on random shelves, a hodgepodge collection that seemed to have lived there for years.
“O!” An extremely friendly bartender waved at them from across the room. He’d been in the process of wiping down the tabletop but tossed the rag over his shoulder and beamed at Oberon. “Fancy seeing you here. Thought you said you’d be skipping this season?”
“Change of plans.” Oberon straightened as best he could, but when they stumbled forward, it was obvious he was injured.
The bartender started around the counter, worry causing his brow to furrow. He was too far for Fenrir to get a read on, but whatever his presentation might be, he was certainly attractive. About a head shorter than Fen, with slightly curled light brown hair that leaned blondish under the golden light orbs.
His concern for Oberon seemed real, and when he stepped around the bar and came into full view, Fenrir got a good look at his fit form. The tight black t-shirt he was wearing did nothing to conceal the outline of his toned midsection.
Fenrir’s arm tightened around Oberon, and he bared his teeth before he could stop himself.
The bartender came to an abrupt halt a few feet away, eyes widening.
“Steve,” Oberon tipped his head toward Fen. “Meet my omega.”
The bright smile was instantly back. “Congratulations!”
Fen’s possessiveness didn’t abate, but he couldn’t act on it, especially not when Steve returned to his spot on the other side of the counter, giving them a respectable amount of space.
“Whatever you need,” Steve said to Oberon, “it’s on the house. My gift to you and…?”
“Fenrir,” he growled his name, hating that he was acting like such a prick, yet unable to reign it in. In his defense, his Shout nature was used to dominating, and it wasn’t like jealousy was a trait strictly experienced by a single presentation. The Shout in him wanted to bite Oberon to make a point, while the omega in him wanted to scent mark him.
He could get away with the latter…
His arm slipped lower, the gland on the inside of his wrist rubbing against Oberon’s hip. He released pheromones as he did, trying to be subtle about it.
Steve’s gaze dropped to his hand and then back up, the smile never wavering.
So much for subtle.
“We’ll take whatever’s on tap,” Oberon said. “And can you call Claudio for me?”
“Want me to tell him you’re injured?” Steve asked.
“No need.”
“Yes,” Fen corrected, glaring at the bartender as though daring him not to listen. “Tell his secretary to bring a doctor along. And a change of clothes.”
The alpha rolled his eyes. “Precious, it’s fine.”
“Should we put that to the test? If I let go and you fall over—”
“Please tell Claudio to bring Fiora,” Oberon told Steve.
“No.” Fenrir stiffened, a wave of fear gripping him tightly. His vision clouded over, and he missed the way the alpha winced.
“Is he all right?” Steve’s voice sounded far away.
Visions of the small dark room he’d been kept in during the change assaulted his mind, yanking him back to that nightmarish period where he’d been nothing more than another test subject for a group of vile doctors and scientists.
Fiora was the Butcher of the White Frost mafia.
She knew what Fenrir was.
He grabbed a fistful of Oberon’s shirt, clinging to him. “Don’t let her touch me. Don’t let her take me away.”