Oberon King, the billionaire dominant alpha, had gotten used to having a partner on hand for readily available sex. He feigned developing anger toward the Wardrobe for selling him a hybrid and talked ad nauseam to everyone who would listen on the phone about how he wanted to confront Michelle.
Koah and Baal both suggested he attend another auction and simply find someone else to take his frustrations out on. They’d each mentioned different companies on purpose, leaving the Wardrobe out of the discussion entirely.
Levi, however, told him bluntly they could storm the estate if he was that serious about it.
It was that last part that finally gotten them the desired result.
An invitation to a last-minute auction arrived on Oberon’s desk just this morning.
Michelle had taken the bait.
Which was fucking fabulous, because it meant O wouldn’t have to suffer through separation anxiety for another damn night.
“Still, that’s cold, even for you,” Fiora said, pulling him back into the conversation.
“Not as cold as he was,” Oberon snorted. They couldn’t be certain that Michelle was listening right now, but the point of this call was to help ease the tensions and ideally lure her out.
Threating to storm the estate had pushed her to organizing this auction, most likely meant to appear as an olive branch. She wouldn’t be pleased with O, since he’d technically stolen Fenrir right out from under her nose, though it was debatable whether she’d care about his death.
What mattered was they knew she was here, in the building, and that she’d brought Trick along with her. That alone meant half the plan had been a success.
Now if only she’d play along so they could get the second half going…
On the surface, the plan seemed rather convoluted. There were too many moving parts, and yet with the limited amount of time they’d had to concoct something, Oberon felt he’d done a rather good job.
An auction this large, and held this last minute, meant extra security. They’d been counting on the fact Michelle anticipated his attendance, and she hadn’t disappointed. There was more than three times the amount of security personnel roaming around than there’d been the night of the heat auction.
Which meant less people guarding the estate.
“Are you still feeling like shit?” Fiora asked, the sound of a bone saw and a squish momentarily cutting her off. “My offer to test out the new vitamins I created still stands. It’ll help you expel all that pent up energy and unclog your pheromone blockage a lot faster than finding a bedpartner and training them will.”
“That’s why I’m here,” he replied. “The Wardrobe trains them already. Say what you will about the last product I purchased, but his skills in the bedroom weren’t the issue.”
“I doubt you would have bitten him if they were.”
“That was a mistake,” he growled, “and you know it. You said it yourself. It was his hybrid pheromones. They momentarily had me possessed. But I’m better now. Or, at least I will be, once I purge myself of these lingering traces.”
“Severing a mating bond is no joke. Plan to be holed up for at least a week. And pick a strong one. If they happen to have a dominant omega for sale, go with them, be it male or female. You’ll need one.”
“Disgusting.” He made a big show of smoothing a hand down the front of his suit, as though attempting to rub dirt off his body. Oberon couldn’t be certain that the eyes he felt on him belonged to Michelle or one of her spies, but it was worth acting like they were, just in case.
“I know you prefer men—”
“I prefer a pretty face,” he corrected. “You’re telling me to settle.”
“Do you want to feel better or not?”
“Fine.” Oberon pinched the bridge of his nose just as the countdown began to flash from sixty on the projected screen at the back of the stage. As it counted down the seconds to the start of the auction, he felt his impatience grow. “At this point, I’d fuck anything to make this feeling go away.”
“Sir,” Claudio’s voice on the other side of the velvet curtain sectioning off his balcony was like music to his ear. “The Mistress of the Wardrobe is requesting an audience.”
“Gotta go, Fiora.” He ended the call and then snapped his fingers. “Let her in, Claudio.”
The fabric swished, and then a set of heels clicking on the marble ground came a moment before the mistress settled into the empty seat at his left.
Oberon purposefully didn’t look at her, pretending to inspect the product on stage some more. He brushed a finger across his lips and hummed. “Miss Ophelia. I hope this is a friendly visit. The auction is about to begin, and I would hate to cause a scene because you feel the sudden need to rescind my invitation.”
“I would never,” Michelle replied in a friendly tone. “You misunderstand me, Mr. King.”