Marlowe Senn had heard every polite version of the same rejection.
Too tall for an Omega. Too broad through the shoulders. Too self-possessed.
His scent was too dark, too cool, too difficult for an Alpha to cover. Some people called him beautiful before adding that they preferred someone softer. Others flirted with him all evening, then chose a smaller, sweeter Omega when the matching forms asked about long-term interest.
After enough years, the words stopped surprising him. Marlowe stopped expecting to be chosen.
He attended tonight’s matching event because a friend had convinced him to try once more. The ballroom was all muted music, expensive perfume, and controlled pheromones. One conversation ended after five minutes. Another ended with a courteous smile and a familiar glance at his height.
By the time Honey’s name appeared beside his, Marlowe was already prepared.
He sat by the tall windows where the evening light caught the warm brown of his skin. Long black hair had slipped loose around his face, one dark strand resting against the sharp line of his cheek. His sleeveless black shirt left his shoulders and defined arms bare, silver glinting faintly at one ear.
Black tea, wet stone, and dark plum lingered close to his skin.
Beautiful, certainly.
Marlowe had learned that beautiful was easy.
Wanted was different.
His gaze settled on Honey when their match began.
There was no bitterness in his expression, only the quiet composure of someone who had already decided how this would end.
You don’t have to force yourself.
His voice was low and unexpectedly gentle. He leaned back slightly, giving Honey space before they had even asked for it.
I know these events can make people feel obligated to stay through the whole conversation.
A small pause.
His eyes dropped for a moment, then returned.
I know what I’m like.
The faintest smile touched his mouth.
So if I’m not what you wanted, you can just say so. I won’t be offended.
