Page 19 of Knot Their Princess

I force a laugh to break the tension inside me. I may be nervous about going to the party, but I’d rather be there than up here right now. This sudden possessive streak Petrov has been showing off has my head aching from my constantly taut brow.

He’s been nothing but kind to me, and yet, the vibe has changed. It’s less of a client relationship and more personal.

The ring sits very heavily on my finger.

Maybe he wants to be sure we look believable at the party. There has to be a reason he needs to pretend he’s engaged to someone. It isn’t my place to ask, but maybe his family wants him to marry someone he hates. Doesn’t that happen in the big-money corporate world?

“We really should go to the party. It’s important.”

He sighs, frustrated. “You’re right, of course. It’s very important, in fact.” Petrov checks his watch. “It should have started about ten minutes ago. We’re properly fashionably late.” He offers me his arm, and I take it, letting him lead me out of the suite and into the elevator, where his eyes burn holes into my body.

I want nothing more than to regain control of this dynamic between us, but my senses keep telling me something is still off. So, my guard remains up, evidenced by the pain now forming in my shoulders from tension.

“I almost forgot.” Petrov reaches into his pocket and pulls out two black bands, handing one to me. It looks like a watch band with the same kind of clasp, but there’s no watch face on it, only a raised rectangle outlined in gold. “That’s your ticket into the party.”

I blink at it, realizing the rectangle is some kind of scanning feature. “That’s… very high-tech.”

Petrov actually snorts. “Our hosts own Helix Biosciences. Amongst other things,” he says under his breath. “High-tech is the name of their game.”

I’d heard of Helix before, many times. They specialize in gene manipulation. The commercials all talk about curing sickness, and they actually have helped eradicate a few ailments that made it to the big-time news. But they also manufacture drugs, like suppressants.

I guess it isn’t so surprising that they’re holding a New Year’s celebration with so many people in attendance.

He gestures at me with his chin. “Don’t forget your mask,” he reminds me as he puts his on.

When the elevator doors open, Petrov takes my arm once more, the one without the wristband on it, and leads me across the lobby, through a sea of people gathered here, all in the finest clothing I’ve ever seen. Discomfort settles in me again, only momentarily forgotten throughout my distracting thoughts in the elevator.

We line up outside an enormous double-door entrance, standing on a red carpet laid atop the marble floor, leading into the room beyond.

There’s a certain amount of sensory overload being this close to so many people. Scents rise in the air, mostly belonging Alphas that naturally combat one another for dominance. They’re always territorial, even subconsciously. And that, I’m used to from the club. But these people, regardless of their designations… There’s something different about them. Important, maybe? I’ve definitely never been surrounded by so many business owners and outrageously rich people.

I wonder if there’s even royalty in the crowd.

When we reach the door, there are two large men in suits there, one on either side. Each has a visible earpiece, and my eyes settle on the distinctive protrusions at their hips.

Guns have never bothered me much, but I do wonder who in their right mind would try to stir up trouble at an even like this.

Petrov holds his wrist out to the closest guard, who waves a handheld device over it, nods, and looks at me. Once he’s scanned my band as well, he waves us past him and into a largest, shiniest ballroom I’ve ever seen. There’s gold everywhere, from the columns along the walls that hold up a second story with gold railings, to the ceiling and chandeliers. Even parts of the floor are lined with gold inlays, flat and smooth against the marble.

Under the upper-tier balconies are so many tables and chairs, black and gold, and more of them sit just out from under the balconies, closer to a dance floor that looks nice but definitely isn’t a part of the original setup. At the back right sits a DJ, but the music playing over the room’s speakers and those of his setup is very mild, cultured, even. Behind him and in the center of the back of the room is a wide dais with a long black cloth draped over it. Hanging above it is a TV so big, it would rival a stadium, and there are two more smaller screens mounted to the upper-tier railings on either side, closer to the middle of the room, making it easier for everyone to see whatever might be displayed on them. But, they’re all blank now.

There are balloons and party favors on all the table tops, gold, silver, black, and white.

I’m sensing a theme.

The feel of the floor beneath my heels changes as Petrov leads me across the dance floor, stopping only to swipe two champagne flutes from a server we pass, handing one to me. I sip it, finding the bubbly liquid far too dry for my tastes. I school my disgust and politely hold the glass with care.

“Mikhail.”

The voice that calls out is close by, deep and accented. When my gaze finds its source, I see the most beautiful man with dark hair combed back, piercing green eyes behind a gold mask that zero in on me and stay on my face. Or my mask, I suppose. There’s a delicate shadow of facial hair on his jaw, cheeks, and above his lips, like he’d forgotten to shave this morning and knows how good it makes him look. His tuxedo is the classic black and white, though his vest has a chain hanging from it in an arc, like he has a pocket watch. And with the amount of aristocracy here, he probably does.

Petrov stiffens the slightest bit, but it only lasts an instant. “Ilya. Wonderful party.” He turns to me and back. “This is Sindella. She’s my fiancee.”

This Ilya’s eyes darken at the word, his upper lip twitches. “I had no idea you were engaged.” His voice is smooth, almost like he’s singing. Then, he’s snapping his fingers at someone behind my back, and before I even register what’s happened, he takes my champagne flute from me, replacing it with a new one. “You would think a mated Alpha would understand his Omega’s needs.” There’s a tinge of disgust in his tone as he addresses Petrov, but his eyes are only for me, even as he downs the liquid from my old glass in one gulp.

Feeling parched myself in the moment, I sip my new champagne, preparing for further disappointment, but am delightfully surprised when sweetness rolls over my tongue, lighting up my taste buds.

That’s the exact moment my nose picks up a delicious scent on the air. Mint and cedarwood. A combination I never would have guessed could be so intoxicating, but it is. It most definitely is.