Chapter Text
Kinn stalks through the tower, his long legs carrying him at a fierce pace, and behind him Big and Mek scramble to keep up. The disastrous lunch meeting weighs on Kinn’s mind; the beta leader of the Vietnam triad had been cagey, dropping hints about cooperation one moment and veiled threats the next. Through it all, her words dripped with condescension. She didn’t outright say her reluctance stemmed from Kinn’s alpha dynamic, but she didn’t have to.
All he’d needed to get out of today’s meeting was the beta’s agreement to allow safe deliveries to the port in Hai Phong. Yet he hadn’t managed to win her over despite pulling out all the stops.
“Sir,” Big says, trying to get his attention, but Kinn ignores him.
Kinn should theoretically be heading back to his office now to prepare for an upcoming conference call. But he can’t. Not yet. He’s going back to his apartment first. When he gets to the elevator and the doors shut, the small glass room feels like a cage.
Kinn knows what people say.
Alpha. Too emotional, always at the whims of instincts.
It’s a shame neither of his beta brothers have taken charge. Imagine how desperate Khun Korn must have been.
A societal drain on beta resources and talent.
So uncivilized. Just as likely to bite you as shake your hand.
Kinn sneers. He’s heard it all and more.
When they reach his apartment, only Big follows him inside. For a minute, Kinn simply stands in the center of his living room, looking over every inch of his private space. He isn’t quite sure what to do with himself, or his frustrations, but after he’s made sure all of his things are in order, he makes for the bar.
“Sir, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Big says.
Kinn whips his head around, turning a glare on his most trusted guard. Big, however, doesn’t cower or cringe; he has no need to.
“You’re going into rut, sir.”
That brings Kinn up short, and suddenly everything he’s feeling makes more sense, except that it doesn’t.
“I shouldn’t be.” He had a rut just a month ago, and that’s probably why he didn’t catch onto the recent warning signs. “My cycle is off.”
Kinn shakes his head and goes to sit at the bar. Big’s right; he needs to pre-hydrate before he can even think about alcohol.
Big gives him those big, hopeful eyes, waiting patiently.
Kinn jerks his chin and crooks his fingers for Big to approach. As he walks toward Kinn, he strips off his outer jacket, which he tosses on the stool next to Kinn. The tie follows, and the suspenders get pulled down to flop uselessly at Big’s sides.
Kinn swallows and rises to his feet as Big starts to unbutton the top of his shirt. When he pulls his collar to one side, revealing the base of his neck and the scent gland there, Kinn reels him in by the waist and closes his mouth on the pale skin.
Tension bleeds out of Kinn as he breathes deeply, mouth open and wet and biting. Not hard enough to break skin, but plenty hard to bruise.
Beta, Kinn’s senses tell him. Pack beta. Trust, good, jasmine and lemons, safe. He clamps down harder, and Big stiffens and lets out a small sound of pain, which makes Kinn lean into the warm body with interest. Mate? He breathes deeply again, listening to what his instincts tell him. Pack, beta. Not for mating. Keep close, protection, protection for alpha and omega. Secure the nest.
Big relaxes into the bite, letting it happen, letting Kinn reestablish their bond.
Kinn’s mind gradually loses some of the fuzziness he hadn’t even realized was creeping up on him. He strokes Big’s shoulder once, scenting him with the glands in his own wrists, and then he pulls back.
Big looks slightly dazed and very, very pleased. He has the right to be; he’s the only non-blood-related beta Kinn has ever accepted as pack.
“Should I call the agency, sir?” Big asks.
Kinn feels his mouth turn down. The two omegas the agency had sent for his last rut — one for the first day and another the second — had been fine. Soft, sweet smelling, and eager enough, even though he’d worn them both out. They’d left satisfied and smiling and well compensated. But as for Kinn, well, he’d been left with a buzzing discontentment, an itch still lingering under his skin that he’d been compelled to shake off in the gym and on the sparring mat.
That probably had something to do with why his cycle was falling out of rhythm.
“No,” Kinn answers Big, “no, that isn’t going to cut it.”
Big’s brows pinch together. “Sir, do you mean…”
“Clear my calendar and get a detail briefed. We’re going to Ascension tonight.”
Ascension is much more than an ordinary night club. It’s a special place that caters to alphas and omegas who are in season or on the verge of going into season. The club occupies the three top floors of a downtown tower, and each floor serves a unique purpose.
Level 1 of the club is ostensibly for drinking and dancing, but in practicality it’s for scent testing. The space is large and wide open, with multiple columns punctuating the room. Along two opposite walls are rows of VIP lounges, divided from the main floor by glass. The glass walls have cutouts that allow scents to waft into the rooms.
Kinn occupies the largest of the VIP lounges, with Tay, Time, and Big accompanying him, and four guards are stationed at strategic points in the venue. Big, as Kinn’s pack beta, has unique responsibilities tonight and thus isn’t acting as bodyguard. He’s wearing an attractive outfit, with tight black pants and a silver shirt that looks like it’s been spray-painted on his body. Tay and Time have also gotten dolled up, though the alpha-alpha pair isn’t in season right now.
The club is a headache for Kinn’s team — it’s filled with a lot of bodies, a lot of hyped-up pheromones, and a whole lot of opportunities for instincts to clash.
Kinn prowls behind the glass, sipping from his glass of bourbon as his friend-pack chats behind him.
“Hey Kinn,” Tay calls out over the thrumming music, “if you don’t see or smell anything tempting, you might need to get out there, you know.”
Kinn shakes his head and side-eyes Tay, who’s sitting sideways in a loveseat with his legs over Time’s lap and the armrest. “It’s early still. We only just got here,” Kinn protests.
Time laughs at him. “Yeah, and your pacing is already making me feel rutty even though I’m two months away.”
Kinn stalks over to the table, staring Time in the eyes, and sets his glass down with a firm click that can be heard even over the music. Big rises as Kinn straightens, and Time starts laughing.
“Did you two plan that? You’re synchronizing now? Wow, you’re too much,” Time says, still cracking up. Tay laughs along with him.
“Fuck you both,” Kinn says affably. “I hope your cycles sync next time, and then I’ll remind you of this.”
“Aww, don’t be grumpy, Kinn,” Tay says, making a mock pout at him. “So mean, such a mean grumpy rutty baby.”
Kinn turns away to leave the lounge and gives them both the middle finger over one shoulder.
Out in the main space, the club is an all-out assault on the senses. Numerous scents, rich with pheromones, all tickle his nose at once, forcing him to work overtime to sort them out. Simultaneously the writhing bodies and flashing lights draw his eyes.
Omegas are easy to pick out in the crowd. Almost all of them wear wide fabric collars, snug around their throats. Plenty of omegas also wear muzzle masks of one kind or another — jeweled muzzles, plastic ones, clear ones that show off plush lips, or even thin fabric muzzles that are just for show.
Most alphas and omegas like to bite to some degree, but it’s the omegas who tend to want to draw blood.
He heads to the bar first, with Big close at his heels. Before he even reaches the bar, he manages to pick up a couple of omega followers, along with their beta companions. Alphas steer clear of him.
Kinn claims an open space at the bar and flags down the bartender. “A round for me and my friends,” he says, sliding a few bills across the counter for priority service.
“Of course, Khun Kinn,” the bartender says with a big smile, and she gets to work taking orders. Kinn will have to give his compliments to Khun Nin, Ascension’s owner. The current staff is clearly well trained.
He chats up his companions for a short while, but their scents don’t spark anything beyond casual interest for him. Big, attuned to Kinn’s mood like a flower is attuned to the sun, leans in close to Kinn’s ear.
“Time for me to go fishing, alpha?” Big offers.
Kinn nods and raises his hands, rubbing his wrists all over Big, over his neck and upper arms, across his chest and back. When Kinn’s scent is clinging to his beta, he gives him a nod of approval, and then Big melts into the crowd, heading for the dance floor. A moment later, Pete materializes at Kinn’s side.
Kinn’s first two little omegas of the night, sensing defeat, wander away with their betas in tow. Another omega takes their place before Big even starts dancing. Ten minutes later, Big is leading two more omegas off the floor to meet Kinn in person.
They’re all lovely, sweet young things. Kinn orders more drinks.
While the bartender is mixing cocktails, Kinn leans toward Big, and Big leans toward Kinn. Kinn takes a few deep breaths, not only to inhale Big’s soothing pack-scent, but also to see what else he can pick up.
There it is, something truly tempting at last, a scent that makes fire spark behind Kinn’s eyelids. It lingers faintly against Big’s left shoulder. His brain registers that it’s definitely a male.
“Got a good one?” Big asks.
“Yeah,” Kinn says. He has to fight from shoving his nose into Big’s shoulder. He isn’t that desperate… at least for now. Big will do a few more “fishing” trips and hopefully lure in that particular omega.
Luck isn’t on Kinn’s side, though. An hour later, the itch of oncoming rut is burning under his skin, stimulated and urged on by the presence of so many pre-heating and heating omegas. Even circulating around the room himself hasn’t helped.
It’s time to head to the next level. First, though, he stops in at his VIP lounge for a breather.
“Find anything tasty out there?” Time asks. He has Tay fully curled up in his lap now, nose buried in Time’s neck. Tay has probably gotten scent-shocked, too many pheromones too fast and no rut-brain to help him deal with it properly. Tay has always been sensitive.
Kinn lets out a small, frustrated growl. Omega male, he thinks. Gotta find him. Gotta fuck him. Can’t find him. But it’s hard to find the words.
Big shoves one wrist under Kinn’s nose, and after a moment or two, it helps. When he’s ready, Kinn pushes Big’s wrist to the side.
“I did, but couldn’t find him,” Kinn finally gets out. “I’m heading up to the battlefield. You’re welcome to come along, but something tells me you’re done for the night.”
“Very done, so done,” Tay says, his head coming up just a little. “Holy shit there was a rancid alpha, and he stood right outside. He was posturing and leaking scent until I had Time scare him off.” Time pets Tay’s hair to get him to put his head back down.
Kinn sniffs. He detects an odor suppressant in the air; Tay usually carries small bottles with him.
“Would love to watch you in action, but we’re out,” Time says as he and Tay both get to their feet. “Gotta get my baby home so he can wash the stink off. Later, alpha.” He nods respectfully to Kinn, with a little throat on display.
Tay follows suit, tilting his head. “Alpha.”
Sometimes people give him strange looks for having other alphas in his pack. Kinn, however, doesn’t give a fuck. Time and Tay defer to him, and they’re his.
“See you next week at the country club,” Kinn says.
Time and Tay both scent mark Big on their way out, wrists grazing his arms and shoulders, and Big struggles to contain his self-satisfied grin. Kinn chuckles lightly, enjoying the way he’s so prideful about having three alphas. The betas of society might like to think they’re above all the instinctual bullshit, but they aren’t.
Big shakes off his distraction and gives Kinn an imploring little look. “Alpha, are you sure the battlefield is necessary?”
One male omega stood out from the crowd, by scent alone. Alluring, fresh, this one, that’s what the teasing whiffs had told Kinn. Compatible, do not miss this one. The fragrance remained just out of reach, though. If Kinn had been able to find the omega and attract his interest, he would have skipped the dominance fight altogether. The omega had undoubtedly caught Kinn’s scent at some point, so either their compatibility isn’t mutual or the omega is playing a bigger, more important game. And inviting Kinn to play along.
He lets out a little growl and adjusts himself in his pants. “It’s necessary.”
The last time he fought for dominance was… he can barely remember. Too damn long ago. The challenge will be good for him, and with any luck it might also help reset his cycle. His teeth ache.
Next to him, Big touches his ear piece. “Battlefield protocol. We’re going up to Level 2.”
Level 2 of Ascension is officially named The Purple Peacock, but everyone refers to it as the battlefield. Even the term “battlefield” isn’t quite right, but it’s still better than peacock.
The floor is laid out in a series of fight rings, where patrons can engage in contests to establish dominance, showing off their fitness and desirability as a mate. Primarily the battles are between alphas, but omegas also sometimes indulge in fights to let off excess energy, or to win an alpha’s attention.
There’s no music on this floor, only the sounds of cheering, jeering, growling, and the occasional victory roar. There’s also a lot less clothing, as many of the club-goers have opted to check their tops at the reception.
When Kinn and Big arrive, Kinn’s detail immediately fans out. Big leads Kinn directly to the main welcome desk. Several alphas are waiting in line to register, but the VIP Welcome reception has no line, and the concierge greets Kinn and Big with a glowing smile.
“Khun Kinn,” the male beta says with a wai, “it’s Ascension’s pleasure to have you with us tonight. May I assume we have the honor of your participation in the dominance battles this evening?”
“Yes, thank you,” Kinn says.
“A sorting cohort is about to begin in just a few minutes,” says the beta. “We could try to expedite your registration, or the next sorting round will start in approximately half an hour.”
Big looks to Kinn for his cue, and Kinn holds up a hand and says, “The next round is fine.”
Best not to rush, not if that omega with the delicious scent could wander up to the battlefield. Perhaps he’s already here — he could be. Kinn wants a little time to look around just in case.
“Very good,” says the concierge, and then he and Big start exchanging information that Kinn hardly has to pay attention to.
Instead, he looks over at the large sorting ring. Rings are defined by interconnecting rubber mats placed on the floor, but there’s only one sorting ring, much larger than all the rest.
“Alpha?” Big draws his attention back to the desk.
The concierge has placed a pair of folded black pants on the desk, contained in a closed cellophane package. Kinn takes the package and opens it, raising it to his nose to inhale deeply. Good, neutral, no other scent. He nods to the concierge, who smiles back and looks relieved.
Then Kinn starts to strip, piling his clothes one by one on the desk. Outer jacket, shirt, belt, watch — all of them onto the desk. A couple other alphas along the long line of the desk are doing the same.
Big takes off only his jewelry and his silver top, slinking out of it and revealing sharply defined muscles. He starts folding both his and Kinn’s clothes.
Kinn strips off shoes and socks, and then his pants and underwear follow, leaving him fully nude.
He takes a moment to raise his arms up high and stretch. It’s a relief to shed the trappings of humanity, especially when he’s feeling like this, so alive and invigorated with rut hormones. His little display draws eyes from all around, as it should.
Satisfied, he takes the tight black sweatpants and pulls them on, tightening the draw string and tying it off. The waistband is a bright yellow — a clear signal to anyone looking that he has a preference for male omegas.
“One more thing, Khun Kinn,” the concierge asks, “do you plan to ascend tonight? If so, I can have your pack’s checked clothing taken up to Level 3.”
“Please do,” Kinn says.
Casually, he takes a minute to scent-mark Big a little more, rubbing his wrists on Big’s bare upper body, and then he lets Big do the same to him. Alphas should carry the scent of their betas, and vice versa. Indicators of strong pack bonding are looked on favorably by omegas.
Kinn walks away from the reception desk and begins prowling the room. He stops for a few minutes to watch a fight between two alphas. They’re well matched, or at least they would be, except that one is at a disadvantage — he’s already far into his rut, and he’s stiff and leaking copiously in his tight black pants. It won’t take long for the more clear-headed one to win this, in Kinn’s opinion. Kinn is also confident he could take on either of them and come out victorious.
Off to the side of the ring, two male omegas catch Kinn’s attention. They’re both slender, fair-skinned, one with dyed blue hair. The black-haired one is curled around his friend from behind, scenting him, nuzzling through his fabric muzzle. He has a hand buried in the front of the blue-haired omega’s pants, stroking steadily.
BIg notices his interest. “They’re cute,” he says, his eyes roving over the sensual show.
“Mm,” Kinn agrees, but he moves on, walking to another ring. He still has more time to browse before he’s on deck.
He’s taken only a few steps away from the ring when he hears a sudden bellowing roar behind him. He turns and cranes his neck to see that the alpha he’d mentally bet on has indeed won. The man has his head thrown back, and he lets out a second roar, a triumphant cry, a mating call.
Kinn’s lips pull back from his teeth, instinctively wanting to answer it with a challenging roar of his own, but that would go against etiquette. Big nudges him, shoulder to shoulder, to turn him away and keep him walking. Grumbling, annoyed and feeling possessive, Kinn brings a hand up to clutch at the back of Big’s neck, grinding his wrist into muscle. Beneath his hand, Kinn feels more than hears Big’s happy rumble of contentment at being claimed.
Kinn moves on, passing a ring where two female alphas are brawling — it’s of no interest to him — and then another where the alpha males are competing for females.
When he and Big nearly reach the next ring, that’s when Kinn catches it: a hint of cinnamon, a dash of chili spice and summer sunshine. Kinn stops mid-step and inhales deeply, turning his head this way and that to catch more of it.
The omega from Level 1 is here. Somewhere.
Kinn whips around, vaguely aware that the scent came from his right, but he’s already lost the trail. Big, fully attuned to Kinn’s objective, also lifts his nose and tries to catch it.
“I think he might be hunting you, alpha,” Big says. “I caught the scent of the same beta from earlier.”
Alphas fish, doing their utmost to lure an omega to their side. Some omegas, on the other hand, feel an urge to hunt, especially if they think there might be a chance at strong compatibility.
Kinn runs his tongue over his teeth. This omega isn’t saying come find me. No, this one is playing with him, saying show me what you’ve got.
A challenge. Kinn’s heart races. He wants to throw back his head and let out a mating call that won’t be denied. But no, not yet. He hasn’t earned it yet.
“Alpha?” Big asks.
Kinn shakes his head. “Back to the sorting ring.” He jerks his head in that direction. There isn’t anything else he needs to see.
Kinn leads Big out of the throng to the edge of the room so they can make their way back more easily. As they walk, noises and intriguing scents from an alcove catch Kinn’s attention. He looks around the edge of a partition, and there, pinned against the wall, is the alpha from the earlier fight, the one who’d been on the verge of knotting in his pants. His sopping pants are now down around his knees, and the little blue-haired omega who’d been watching the fight is railing the alpha for all he’s worth. His muzzled face is buried against the taller man’s neck, and if it weren’t for the muzzle, Kinn is certain the omega would have his teeth buried in him. The black-haired omega is also with them, watching with rapt attention.
“Uhn, uhn, uhn,” the alpha is moaning piteously, his blown knot shoved over and over against the glossy painted wall.
“C’mon, baby, fuck ‘im, fuck him harder,” the black-haired omega urges, and Kinn guesses he’s probably bonded to the other omega. He has his cock out, stroking it slowly, almost definitely waiting for his turn.
Both the omegas are wearing wide fabric collars, which are getting soaked with oils from their hyperactive scent glands.
Big peers around Kinn’s, and against his shoulder, Kinn feels him purring with interest at the sight.
“Huh, pity fuck,” Big murmurs. There’s no way the mounted alpha can get his knot inside an omega with it already blown, so getting fucked is one of his best options to work off the throbbing need of initial rut. At least until his first knot goes down.
The black-haried omega looks up at Kinn and Big and grins, a little feral. He gives his eyebrows a wag, and his eyes rove over Kinn’s broad chest.
Kinn winks back, giving the omega an appreciative once over, but he turns away. He won’t let himself get distracted from his goal now, at least not for long.
“I swear, no porn has anything on a night at Ascension,” Big says to him, grinning, enjoying the high from the swirling pheromones in the air.
Kinn lets an amused little laugh escape. Big isn’t wrong, and the night’s only barely gotten started.
When they get back to the sorting ring, it’s almost time for Kinn’s cohort to begin. The sorting ring is managed by three referees, two who act as supporters and a head ref who’s in charge. The extra-large ring is empty for now, and the two supporting referees are frantically herding alphas this way and that, half on one side of the ring, and half at the other. The rubber mats are organized into concentric arcs of purple then blue, then purple again, with a gold circle in the center. The gold circle is where the elites end up.
The two supporting referees take their places between the two groups, acting as a barrier between them initially.
Big looks at the other nine alphas on their half of the sorting ring. The beta scratches his chin and shakes his head. “I’d say good luck, but do you even need it?”
Kinn snorts dismissively and stretches his arms long and slow across his chest. He doesn’t really need to get warmed up yet — this first sorting round isn’t for fighting, just posturing. However, if his little tease of an omega is around and watching him, then displaying his physique is all part of the game.
At just that moment, Big’s eyes snap up, and he looks around sharply. A second later, Kinn catches it, another taunting whiff of the omega in question, and he curses.
Big growls softly, teeth flashing white and sharp. “Shit! He’s gone already. When I get my hands on that beta…”
The head referee is shouting for the alphas to step up to the edge of the outermost ring, and Kinn realizes what’s going on. The omega and his beta timed this latest tease specifically to throw him off.
Kinn clasps his hand on Big’s shoulder and pulls him forward so their foreheads are touching. “Don’t get distracted. Leave it to me. I’ll reel them in.”
Big nods against his forehead and pats his arm, and then Kinn goes to line up in his designated space. He’s next to a referee who stands at the divide between the two arcs, leaving him with only one initial challenger to the left of him — a small perk of his VIP membership. The alpha beside him is wearing pants with a yellow waistband, but he looks too mild-mannered to be serious competition.
The head referee steps into the center gold circle, placing him in the middle of the mats. He raises his hand and shouts, “FIRST RING OPEN,” and then blows his whistle and lowers his hand sharply.
The alphas at both sides of the ring step forward onto the first purple arc, with the two supporting referees joining them and maintaining the divide between the arcs. The alphas engage in some shuffling and light growling, looking around at the rest of their cohort, but there’s little contention in the first lane — this is the lowest tier, and everyone’s ultimate objective is to make it to the center. Three more rings to go.
The center referee raises his hand again. “SECOND RING OPEN.” And the whistle blows.
Now the competition begins in earnest. Kinn steps forward into the blue second ring, and the alpha next to him tries to join, but Kinn bares his teeth, growling him down. The alpha doesn’t even try to go against Kinn, just ducks his head and steps back, hands held up.
For now a referee still stands on Kinn’s right, but in the next round he will drop out, leaving the alpha on the other side to challenge Kinn. Scoping out the future competition, Kinn notes that he’s wearing pants with a silver waistband, which means he’s looking for a female. Not competition. Kinn can ignore him.
“THIRD RING OPEN.”
They step forward again, into the next purple circle, and the referee to Kinn’s side drops out, letting the two groups mix finally, and Kinn trades places with the silver-waistband alpha to get in the face of someone who is competition. This one isn’t so easy, but Kinn straightens to his full height, puffs his chest, and growls long and hard. The alpha backs off to the blue ring reluctantly.
“CENTER OPEN.”
The two groups of alphas begin jockeying for space in the center circle. It’s a lot of posturing, a lot of growling. But there hasn’t been anyone who could make Kinn back down since he was a teenager, and there still isn’t now. Today there’s only one yellow-waistband alpha he can’t make back off, a big guy with a sleeve of tattoos on his left arm and oversized canines — the fangs could be implants, or he could have them as a natural genetic holdover. Two other silver-waistband alphas hold the center along with them.
When the final whistle blows three times, Kinn knows exactly who he’ll be fighting.
“END MATCH.”
The beta referees shepherd the top alpha competitors to available fighting rings immediately, and Kinn has a couple minutes to talk strategy with Big. Big points out potential weaknesses in Kinn’s opponent, though they know very little about him other than that his name is Bank, and Bank’s beta is named Som.
As Kinn stretches and bounces to get warmed up, the cinnamon scent appears again, stronger this time, but coming from multiple directions. His nose twitches, and he pauses in his warm ups. He takes a couple steps in the direction where he thinks it might be the strongest. However, Big grabs his wrist and pulls him back with some force. The action makes Kinn snarl at him automatically.
Big, however, doesn’t put up with his bullshit and snarls right back, shoving his wrist right into Kinn’s teeth.
“Focus, alpha, focus,” Big snaps.
Kinn closes his eyes, cupping the wrist to his face and making his own snarl relax. He blocks out all the distracting sights and lets himself come down with Big’s help and Big’s scent. Flowers, spring rain. The garden at the tower. Playing together as teenagers and getting yelled at for trampling flower beds.
Kinn pats Big’s hand and pulls it away. “Thank you, beta,” he says, tilting his head and showing a flash of neck.
Big gives him a sharp nod. Out of his pocket, he pulls a small container with a mouthguard in it, which Kinn slips into his mouth. From his other pocket, Big produces a pair of fingerless gloves with the very barest of padding across the knuckles.
“Get out there.” He slaps Kinn’s bare back hard with an open palm and practically shoves him into the ring.
Kinn and Bank circle a little, sizing each other up. Out of the corner of his eye, Kinn notices Bank’s beta approaching Big. The two betas keep just enough distance to be respectable, but they’re exchanging little snarls and snide comments.
All around the ring, omegas start to draw near, eager to see the outcome. Also at one corner of the ring, opposite Big, stands Pete, who looks stressed.
Kinn and Bank circle each other, snarling and posturing. Eventually, the referee for the ring steps into the middle and calls them to the center.
“You understand the rules, gentlemen?” she asks, and they both nod, putting hands up and getting into ready positions. “Keep it clean, no biting, no attacks to the groin,” she orders, staring each of them firmly in the eyes for a moment. They both agree, and she puts her arm between them. “You fight until knock out or tap out.”
Kinn’s heart flutters, adrenaline and rut hormones pumping through his veins. The cinnamon-sweet omega had better be watching him.
The referee blows her whistle and raises her arm, scooting away as fast as she can. And it’s a good thing she does, because Bank surges forward without hesitation, swinging a wild punch for Kinn’s face immediately. Kinn ducks and weaves away lightly, not wasting energy with any excessive motion. Bank wanted to catch him by surprise, but that’s the very thing Kinn is always expecting.
The other alpha rallies and swings again, but Kinn easily blocks the punch and shoves it away, stepping back to circle. He keeps his fists up, ready to go, teeth bared in a snarl that refuses to relax.
Keen to establish himself and overwhelm Kinn, Bank presses forward with feints and threatening kicks that don’t connect, trying to work Kinn into a corner. Kinn, however, sees his opening and steps in when Bank overcommits to a punch, giving himself room to side-step and land a low kick to the bank of his left knee, sending him down temporarily and letting Kinn reclaim the center.
Bank comes back up snarling, and Kinn returns the growl. When Bank dances forward, Kinn missteps and unfortunately gives him an opening, which he takes, driving a left hook to Kinn’s chin and making his head rattle as he steps away. He shakes his head to clear it, hears Big howling and snarling from the side, and resets his feet.
“Kinn, you’ve got this!” Big cries above the shouting of the hormonal, frenzied crowd.
The next time Bank comes at him, Kinn is ready. He blocks a series of attempted blows with practiced ease and lands an uppercut that sends Bank staggering back three steps. It’s Bank’s turn to shake his head, and Kinn presses forward.
They exchange more blows in quick, short exchanges. Kinn takes a brutal kick meant for his ribs that he can only partially block, and he fires back with a stunning jab to Bank’s solar plexus that makes him cough up spittle.
The real problem with Bank, though, is he seems to have unending stamina. He comes back up from the blow and then comes at Kinn full force, blow after blow, missing plenty but landing some through sheer force and rut-fueled energy. Enraged, Kinn blocks one of his arms and twists it around before shoving Bank away from him, but then that gives Bank the exact distance he needs to back kick Kinn in the stomach. Kinn goes staggering back and down to one knee at the edge of the ring…
… only to be engulfed in the overwhelming scent of cinnamon and chili powder. If a scent could be the caress of the summer sun on his skin, it would be this.
Kinn wants to turn around and look. He wants to turn so badly, but he can’t take his eyes off Bank for a second. Bank is strutting in the ring, eyeing Kinn and taunting him with a “come at me” gesture.
Kinn slowly rises. Still he doesn’t turn.
The sounds of the crowd fade away, and all he can hear is one voice.
“Aww, maybe the pretty rich boy can’t actually fight,” the voice says from behind him, and Kinn knows it’s his omega without even looking. “Too bad.”
Kinn grits his teeth. Somewhere, distantly, he hears Big shouting at him to get back in the fight. Kinn breathes deeply, mouth open to pull in more of that spicy scent. His mind goes clear and laser focused like it’s never done before, not when he’s in pre-rut.
“I suppose Bank will have to do,” the voice taunts.
Kinn sees red. He flies at Bank, a flurry of fists. His mouth drops open on an enraged snarl that he can’t hold back, the thought of another alpha touching this omega abhorrent to him, utterly intolerable. Kinn delivers a palm-heel strike to the nose that makes Bank snap his head back, and while he’s still dazed, Kinn gets a hold of his shoulders and brings his head down to meet Kinn’s knee.
Somewhere, Bank’s beta is crying out, inconsolable.
Bank goes boneless, dazed and weak, and Kinn calls on every reserve of civilized humanity in him in order to let him go. Bank rolls weakly down to the mat, writhing for a moment with a hand on his head before his other hand taps twice.
The whistle blows.
Kinn is bruised and aching all over, his senses awash in cinnamon, half-hard in his pants. When he throws his head back, the power of what he’s feeling starts down in his toes, moves up through his groin, his stomach, and lungs, until it bursts forth from his mouth in a roar loud enough to make people’s hearts shiver. Alphas cower, and omegas cheer and growl.
Kinn stalks over to Big without looking at his omega.
Big is cheering and jumping, shouting at him. Kinn comes to a halt in front of his beta, and he stands stock still with his back to the ring. Quietly, Kinn wipes a bit of spittle from his jaw.
The referee comes to him. She’s carrying a stainless steel tray.
“Congratulations on your seventh consecutive win, Khun Kinn. Shall I collect the offers now?” she asks.
Kinn tries to calm his breathing. “Yes,” he finally says, and it comes out husky, hard to catch over the noise of the crowd. She hears him anyway, though, and carries the tray into the ring, where she’ll wait for omegas or their betas to come forward and place scent-soaked collars on the tray for consideration.
It’s bad form for the alpha to watch the offers being made. Kinn can’t look, can’t turn his head, but he’s practically vibrating out of his skin with need.
“Hey, hey, come on,” Big coaxes. “You’re fine. You won. Here, give me your things.” He hurriedly takes Kinn’s mouthguard and gloves. “Did you see him, the omega?”
Kinn shakes his head. “Smelled him. Heard him.” He isn’t sure he can get out any more words than that right now. If he could, he’d tell Big how the little shit had taunted him in the middle of the fight. Frustrated, unreasonably worried that his omega might not offer, Kinn reaches blindly for Big and tugs him in, getting his mouth on the left side of Big’s neck and clamping down.
“Ow, goddammit, you knothead,” Big complains, jamming a fist in Kinn’s sore ribs to try to get him to let go, but Kinn growls and keeps hold of him. Big should know better than that. “You piranha. Hey, hey, let go. The ref has your offers ready.”
Kinn reluctantly pulls away. Some small part of him is terrified that his omega’s collar won’t be there, but he won’t, can’t, let himself listen to it. He rules the underworld of Bangkok — to present himself as anything less than supremely confident is unacceptable.
He walks into the ring, with Big at his side, and they join the ref in the center. Out of the corner of Kinn’s eye, he catches a flash of lean, tanned skin, stalking along the outside perimeter of the ring.
Ah, there’s his omega, pacing, anxious. After all the teasing and tormenting the omega has done, now it’s finally his turn to stew in uncertainty.
The ref holds the tray out, laden with at least a dozen collars. “Khun Kinn, please select your preferred partner or partners. If you would like to select two omegas to compete in a ring, you’re welcome to let me know, and I’ll have it arranged shortly.”
Kinn nods and looks over the tray. The collars are all made from light colors that show darker spots where they’ve been stained with oils from the glands in the omegas’ necks. Some collars have been deliberately laid on top of others, a strategic move to try to dampen the scent of the competition.
He leans over the tray and hovers above it, cruising across from one side to the other as though there’s any decision to be made. Kinn pauses over a pair of collars, the wrong ones, and from the side of the ring he hears an angry, unhappy growl that nearly makes him smile.
Good. His omega deserves a little stress after the hell he’s put Kinn through tonight. They could have already gotten to the fucking by now.
Just thinking about getting his teeth on his cinnamon-sweet omega at last makes his mouth water. Enough games. He carefully flicks away the two collars that are attempting to bury his omega’s scent. What he finds is possibly the cheapest collar he’s ever seen, merely a long strip of worn-out blue cotton with raggedy ends and no clasp. It looks like it’s been cut off a used shirt.
Kinn picks up the collar and brings it to his nose, inhaling deeply, and the smell of it is so good he has to close his eyes for a moment. If it weren’t for the onlookers, he’d be sorely tempted to shove the collar in his mouth and attempt to suck the oils off it.
“This one,” Kinn says, holding the collar up. All around him, omegas groan in disappointment, except for one.
Kinn’s omega steps forward, flanked by not one but two betas. Suddenly it makes more sense that they were able to confuse him and Big with their little game.
That hardly matters, though, because Kinn can finally, finally look his fill. His omega is shirtless, wearing jeans that appear to be ripped from natural causes rather than fashionable intent. The omega is thick at the shoulders and narrow at the waist, with sharply defined muscles that glisten with a thin sheen of sweat. The lower half of his face is covered with a black plastic muzzle that has long slits to let scents in — there’s no dainty or decorative fabric muzzle for this omega. His eyes sparkle with dangerous intent, locked on Kinn.
Kinn offers the collar back, and one of the betas collects it from him.
“Do you agree?” Kinn asks the omega.
The omega blinks slowly. “Yes,” he says, the word somehow sounding like he’s still challenging Kinn.
The referee nods in satisfaction. Her part is done. “Guests, please exit the ring for further negotiations, and if you would like to ascend to Level 3, our concierge service can assist you.” She walks away from them and calls out, “Omegas, please come collect your collars!”
Big has to take hold of Kinn and steer him off to the side of the room. He doesn’t want to take his eyes off his omega. He notes with some pleasure that the omega’s betas have to do the same for him.
They claim a small available alcove. One of the betas immediately turns to Kinn’s omega and says, “Hey, bro, you all set now? I have an early shift in the morning, but Tem’s got you covered, yeah?”
“Yeah, thanks Jom,” the omega replies, and the pack takes a moment to trade scents before Jom leaves.
Then Big and the remaining beta, Tem, get out their phones and pull up health records on the ABO app, comparing and double-checking histories of screenings and birth control. When they’re both satisfied, they move onto more particular mating preferences, comparing notes to ensure there are no problems or potential pitfalls.
Normally Kinn is better able to participate in this process. Right now, though, all he can do is stare at his prize. He feels more settled, knowing that he’s won, that this omega has agreed to submit to him.
“What’s your name?” Kinn asks.
The omega raises one eyebrow, and Kinn imagines he sees the hint of a smirk around his eyes.
“Does it matter?” the omega shoots back.
“Yes,” Kinn says. He isn’t feeling clever enough to explain why.
The omega snorts and shakes his head. “It’s Porsche. And you, apparently, are Khun Kinn. Nice to meet you, rich boy.”
The little shit. Kinn snarls, sensing that the challenge isn’t entirely over with this one. Porsche snarls back and starts to take a step forward, but Tem rushes to get in front of him.
“Woah, woah, hell,” Tem says, shoving both wrists right up against Porsche’s muzzle. Porsche reluctantly goes still and breathes. “Keep it together, would you?” Tem looks uncertainly at Kinn. “Your mating preferences all line up, like, scarily perfect. But are you sure you don’t want to maybe have him fight first, blow off some steam? He’s been feeling mean since he caught your scent.”
No, no way. Kinn’s instincts are screaming at him. No more delays. This omega is his, and he needs to make that clear to everyone, especially the omega. Unfortunately, Kinn is going to have to shower first. He needs to get the other alpha scents off himself, especially Bank’s.
“No omega fight,” Kinn says. “I’ll take every bit of what he has to give.” Kinn tilts his head, flashing little bit of neck just to tempt the omega.
Porsche snarls, trying to surge forward again, but Tem pushes him back. Then Tem shakes his head and mutters something that sounds like “great, now there are two of them.”
Kinn stares straight into Porsche’s shining eyes, but his next words are for Tem.
“Get him to Level 3. I want him on a presentation bench.”