All for Knot: Book One (PAPERBACK, LGBT)

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ONE

Juniper Maslow

THE BUZZ OF multiple text notifications in my pocket was barely noticeable in the pounding, strobing din of the Hippodrome Casino’s massive theater, where half-naked alphas danced and writhed on the stage above the crowd, hips thrusting suggestively. I fumbled for my phone out of habit, glancing down at the unfamiliar number.

“What are you doing?” Olivia shouted in my ear. “Put your phone away and watch the show! It’s your hen night, Juni—enjoy it!”

Bleached blond and model pretty, my co-worker Olivia Brigham’s bright blue eyes held a manic glint as she bumped her shoulder against mine before returning her attention to the alpha flesh on display beneath the spotlights. On my other side, Annie and Sandra squealed and clapped as a smooth-chested, muscular member of the Alpha Allure dance crew strutted to the front of the stage in time with the music.

My heart skipped and stuttered with sudden alarm as he pointed down at me, a practiced leer dimpling one cheek. I was here with my four bridesmaids, supposedly for one last crazy night before my wedding tomorrow. And don’t get me wrong—it had mostly been a blast. I hadn’t seen Annie, Sandra, or my cousin Maria since I’d moved overseas from the US to the UK. One of many benefits to marrying a beta from a rich English family was that his father thought nothing of paying for roundtrip transatlantic tickets so my friends from back home could attend the wedding.

I was thrilled they were here and happy to be able to share a wild night out in London with them. Olivia, the only native in our little group, had taken it on herself to arrange the details… and she had no way of knowing how uncomfortable I was around alphas.

She gave me a broad wink as the sleek, shirtless alpha stopped at the edge of the stage and held a hand out to me in clear invitation. This close, I could smell his dangerous leather and gunmetal scent above the miasma of the crowd and the rest of the dance crew. Pulse rocketing, I shook my head in frantic negation and hunched back in my seat.

“I told management you were getting married tomorrow,” Olivia said, pitching her voice over the music and raucous cheers. “Go on! You have to get up there or the crowd will start booing us!”

“You go!” I shot back.

“It’s not my party!” she said, and before I knew it, she and my other supposed friends were shoving me out of my seat, practically handing me up to the smirking dancer.

His big hand closed around mine, hauling me onto the stage. His palm was hot and damp with sweat from the exertion of the show. The heavy scent of an alpha pack surrounded me, nearly choking in its intensity. Before I knew it, I was hemmed in, front and back—a female alpha embracing me from behind while the male alpha danced against my front, his body sliding up and down—almost touching, but not quite.

Somehow, he’d insinuated a thigh between mine. To my mortified horror, I realized I was perfuming. The sickly-sweet scent of peaches and spice swirled together with the heavier pheromones of the alphas. Behind me, the female alpha made a show of scenting my neck, again not quite touching. I shuddered as her breath wafted across the sensitive skin of my mating gland.

It seemed to go on forever, other dancers sliding closer to join us before skipping away again. My traitorous body responded the way omega bodies always responded to alpha bodies and alpha pheromones, while my brain cycled through a hysterical litany of all the reasons alphas were dangerous and should be avoided at all costs.

Finally, I was handed down from the stage and into my friends’ waiting arms. I collapsed onto my chair, sweaty and shaking.

“Girl,” Sandra said over the noise. “That was hot! You smell like my Nanna’s peach pie fresh out of the oven. Did you have fun?”

“Yeah,” I lied, hoping the flush of adrenaline had kept my complexion from going bone white. “It was great.”

Around us, the burlesque show raged on, a whirl of light and sound. I willed my body and mind back under control, focusing on the future where I would be safely married to a nice beta man, once more part of an established family unit with all the security and stability that entailed. A functional family unit this time.

I rejected the idea of pack, but that didn’t mean the old, omega instincts weren’t still lodged inside my brain. There was a reason that the only blood relative present for my wedding was a remote second cousin. Maria gave me a slightly worried look from her seat on Sandra’s other side, and I managed a wan smile for her.

I definitely wouldn’t be recounting this little interlude if Percy asked me how my hen night had been. It seemed like there was probably some unwritten rule where you weren’t supposed to ask questions about the details of your partner’s stag night. Maybe, if I was lucky, that unwritten rule went both ways.

When the show finally ended, I spilled out onto Cranbourn Street with the others. Laughing and jostling, they herded me back to Leicester Square, past the statues of Harry Potter and Mary Poppins. We piled into a black cab, Annie and Sandra squeezing onto the fold-down jump seats in front so we would all fit.

“Next stop, Club Fiasco!” Olivia declared, cutting across the others’ giggling discussion of the Allure alphas’ generous assets.

I dredged up an exclamation of enthusiasm, trying to match my friends’ squeals of excitement at the prospect of visiting one of the hottest dance clubs in Central London.

Annie leaned forward, her red curls bouncing, and her freckled face flushed. “I still can’t believe you bagged a rich politician, babe! This is so awesome!”

“He’s dreamy,” Sandra put in, with a heartfelt sigh for emphasis. She ruffled a hand over her short dreadlocks. “You’re sure he doesn’t have any brothers? Cousins? Similarly rich friends?”

I laughed. “Sorry—he’s an only child. You might scope out the wedding reception tomorrow for cousins or rich buddies, though.”

“Count on it,” Sandra said, sounding like a woman on a mission.

Olivia and Maria had both stayed quiet during the exchange, but while Maria looked tolerant and amused, Olivia’s expression appeared unnaturally wooden. I wondered if she also had designs on Percy’s unsuspecting friends and relatives. Maybe she was worried about competition? Or maybe it was something else, completely unrelated to the conversation.

I shrugged off the odd moment. I knew how lucky I was—a junior analyst at Advizo Financial Services somehow catching the eye of the CEO’s son. Percy was ambitious, charming, handsome, and solicitous of my feelings and needs. A nice, safe beta—one who would give me a nice, safe life. Back in Missouri, when I’d packed a bag for a one-way trip across the Atlantic, I’d just wanted a fresh start. I never imagined ending up as the beneficiary of this kind of good fortune.

As the cab negotiated London’s evening congestion, I remembered the mystery texts from earlier. Pulling out my phone, I unlocked the screen and confirmed that, yes, it was a number I didn’t know. A dozen texts clogged my notifications, most of them with images attached.

Frowning, I opened the first one.

I thought u should know b4 tomorrow. I’m really sorry.

Confused, I scrolled down and tapped the next one to expand the image—a screenshot from a messaging app.

The recipient’s name and picture had been scribbled out with black, but the sender’s avatar hadn’t. A tiny circular headshot of Percy adorned the messages on the left side of the screen. A chill of something icy skittered down my spine as I scanned the exchange.

You at home tonight?

Yes. U coming over?

Yeah. The ball and chain thinks I’m at a fundraiser until late. Put on that red lacy thing for me, k?

K. You know this needs 2 stop after the wedding tho.

Attack of conscience, pet? Bit late for that, don’t you think?

No actually I don’t. Dating married men is for skanks. I’m not a skank.

Baby, she’s an OMEGA. It’s different. They don’t worry about that kind of thing. The dominant partner calls the shots, and I’m calling them right now.

So you told her, then? About us?

That’s not the point. A beta marrying an omega plays well with the voters. It’s just optics. It’s not real.

And she agrees with that, does she?

You let me worry about her. You just worry about getting into that lingerie before I get there.

My fingers felt numb as I scrolled through screenshot after screenshot. It could be a prank, I thought, a bit desperately. Or some kind of… political sabotage? Someone using his likeness to manufacture a scandal, maybe?

The last two texts were photos. Percy, asleep on a bed in an unfamiliar room. Naked, with a corner of the sheets tangled around one leg, his usually neat hair a rumpled mess, as though someone had repeatedly run their hands through it.

My phone slipped from my nerveless fingers, thudding against the cab’s footwell. My breath caught in my lungs, a choked noise escaping my throat. I became aware that the others had gone silent, watching me with worried eyes.

“Juni,” Maria said, like maybe it wasn’t the first time she’d called my name. “Juni, talk to us. What is it? What’s wrong?”

I tore my eyes away from the phone that had just pulverized the foundations of my future life into dust. Annie and Sandra’s worried faces stared back at me.

“Percy,” I croaked. “It’s Percy, he… he…” I trailed off, choking again on the words.

He betrayed me. He lied to me. He’s been lying to me this entire time, and I never had a single clue.

End of excerpt