Gold Rush (Golden Omegaverse #1)

Chapter 2 – June

CHAPTER TWO

JUNE

I freeze, clutching my phone in my hand as I stare at the doors, willing them to open.

It’s only a little hiccup. A small glitch and the doors will mistakenly open on a floor.

This elevator is not stuck.

“Oh god,” I squeak the words, pressing against the metal wall. The two men look over at the panel in alarm before the first one, the alpha, moves forward and jabs the button for the rooftop.

The second man, the beta, looks over at me . His eyes rove over me as I suck in rapid breath after rapid breath, before he mutters, “Hey, it’s okay.” He moves closer and I glance up, making eye contact with him, feeling my heart pound in my throat, a rapid beat that makes the nausea come back full-tilt.

I shake my head, whispering, “It’s going to move right? We’re not stuck? Please tell me we’re not stuck.”

“Uh…” The alpha glances at us, then he turns and jabs the button for the emergency alert.

My stomach drops out of my body and I crumble to the floor, sucking in a wheezing breath. First trapped in an airport, then trapped in a plane, and now a tiny fucking elevator. I don’t know what past transgressions I did to deserve this .

“Whoa.” The beta drops down onto one knee in front of me. “Hey, it’s going to be fine.” He touches my arm, his voice soft. “Bennett will get them to restart it or… however elevators work.”

I bury my head in my hands, sucking in a breath, squeaking out, “Sorry, I’m fine.”

“It’s okay if you aren’t.” The man next to me is quieter as his hand on my arm moves back and forth. I can feel the heat from his palm through my sweater, calm, warm, reassuring on a baser, instinctual, level.

It grounds me and I lift my head, glancing up. His soft smile is a little devastating, it’s so pretty. He flashes me straight, white teeth, his light brown eyes pinched at the edges in concern.

“Really.” His hand on my arm moves slightly, his thumb rubbing fabric. “It’s okay if you’re not okay. Is it… the elevator itself? The small space?”

Bennett, the alpha at the buttons, makes a surprised noise when the speaker in front of him crackles.

“This is maintenance. It looks like you’re stuck between floors.” There’s a light whine of feedback before the disembodied voice continues. “I’m going to send a guy to reset the systems and if it doesn’t work, we’ll call fire and rescue.”

I hunch forward, my stomach rolling again. The speaker crackles off as Bennett mutters, “Real fucking helpful.” He turns, his eyes widening as he looks down at the other man and… me, a mess on the dirty elevator floor, heaving in panicked breaths every half second like a gasping fish.

He frowns, bending down in front of us. The beta next to me readjusts, leaning his back against the elevator wall as he stretches his legs out. His hand is still on my arm, and it’s a comforting kind of weight as the guy’s alpha eyes me, his expression torn. “They might reset it and get it started again.”

The thought makes me groan, dropping my head down into my arms, mumbling into them, “What if they restart it and the elevator plummets to the first floor? And then we all just…”

I taper off, my brain supplying the helpful image of a stick figure version of me splatting on the ground into a pile of goop, the fiery remains of the elevator unhelpfully blowing said goop to the sky. There’s no funerals to be had for goop.

“Well, that’s not a helpful thought,” the guy next to me mutters, his tone dry. I glance over at him and he smiles, his lips twitching, like he’s privy to the wildly unlikely goop-scenario playing in my mind. “Is that how elevators even work? What if they do restart it and we’re up at the bar with no issues?”

I stare at him, my eyes narrowing. “I don’t know. I’m not an expert on elevators, hence the sheer panic. What if they can’t restart it and then they have to call the fire department?”

“What if the firefighters come immediately because it would be absolutely devastating if three of the hottest people currently in London died in an elevator related accident?”

“I—” I bark out a laugh, leaning my head against the wall. “What?”

“Seth’s good at saying things that should be left as inside thoughts.” The alpha sinks to sit in the center of the elevator.

Seth shrugs, leaning his head against the wall, a little smile still on his lips. “I know I’m hot, I know you’re hot.” He eyes Bennett, effortlessly flirty, and the alpha leans back a little, his lips pressed together, glancing off to the side. Seth’s gaze darts over to me and I flush, head to toe, my thin sweater suddenly warm in the tight space.

Don’t think about the walls caving in right now .

“I’m flattered.” I pull my knees to my chest, clearing my throat.

Seth smiles. “And also no longer panicking.”

He’s annoyingly right . My breathing comes a little easier as I shoot him a disgruntled look, my mind whirling as the entire elevator jolts again.

“Oh my god.” Jerking, I grab onto Seth’s arm, my other hand over his on my sweater, clinging to him as the lights flicker. There’s another metallic screech and I press closer to him, over my embarrassment and instead choosing to embrace the abject terror of death by elevator. His alpha — Bennett — leans forward, his body moving to cover both of ours, one hand bracing on the side of Seth’s neck, holding him in place. The other lands so close to me that the air charges — but there’s no touch accompanying it — just the awareness that his protection extends to me , not just his bonded.

There’s a wash of perfume, and my mind feels fuzzy, like it can’t function with the combination of smells. It’s not in the unpleasant way of chemical mixtures from the general public — this is bone-deep, like my body is reacting to them before my mind can. Seth’s body tucks closer to mine in the way only someone doe when faced with unexpected chaos. Together, the three of us are a bundle of limbs, like I’m not a perfect stranger to them.

The entire box shakes before it starts to rise once more.

“Sorry about that, folks.” The voice over the speaker sounds embarrassed. “Someone stepped out for a smoke and accidentally hit the emergency brake. You should be moving again.”

Bennett’s face tilts, his head directly between mine and Seth’s. This close I can taste his natural perfume, a burst of citrus, like zesting an orange, or the spray of juice when your nail breaks the skin. My head spins as I stare up at the stranger, sucking in a deep breath. Everything is sweet, and it takes me a second to recognize the other scent as fudge, warm and gooey. It all almost has a layer of extra sugar over it — and Bennett suddenly leans away, standing firm and tall above us, hands extended.

Seth rises first, taking one of his hands, before he turns his attention to me. Both of them help me up from the floor and I shuffle back a half-step, feeling flushed as I tug on my sweater, my palms sweaty.

This elevator is too small, too warm.

“Thank you.” I throw the words at them. I feel like I’m swallowing spoonfuls of honey.

Bennett’s eyes linger, his lips parting before the elevator jolts to a stop. I stumble slightly, looking up as the doors open to the rooftop. We couldn’t have been stuck for more than ten minutes, but there’s a group of people standing in front of the elevator, multiple hotel staff members with wide eyes, and then two men, one white, and one Indian, who push through the crowd.

“Are you both alright?” The Indian man grabs Bennett the second he turns, and I slip past them, looking away as the white man checks them both over frantically.

My eyes catch his for a moment, but I tear them away the second I hear a shout. “Were you stuck in there? Are you okay?” Michaela grabs my arm and drags me to the side, her eyes wide.

“It’s okay.” I find my voice, putting my back to the chaos, sucking in a breath. “I’m okay.”

Michaela shakes her head at me, squeezing my arm. “You look rattled. Let’s get you a drink.” She grabs my sweater, tugging me forward, throwing over her shoulder. “You smell really good, are you wearing a new perfume?”

“We’ll make sure the queue is tidy and then come get you for the signing.” The beta bookseller gives me a faint smile before shutting the door to the back office.

I feel like I haven’t been able to function in the last forty-eight hours. It’s been one thing after another. Michaela and I had a couple drinks, and I relegated myself to a half glass of white wine and salty french fries, trying to keep my nausea at bay as she peppered me with questions about the “ alphas in the elevator .” When I told her I was certain one was a beta, like us, she shrugged.

“I mean, there was some…” She makes a face. “Tension when the doors opened. Or did nothing happen?”

I laughed at her and said nothing happened — even though I felt eyes on the back of my neck the entire time I sat at the bar.

And then I took the elevator down to my floor, showered, collapsed into the hotel bed — and proceeded to toss and turn for the next eight hours, unable to rest even though I was exhausted.

When I did drift off for a couple hours of sleep this morning, my dreams were weird, flashes of hands on my arm and voices telling me it was okay. I’d woken up nauseous with another headache developing. So, in desperation, I’d ordered the too-expensive room service breakfast, picked at it, and tried to linger in my hotel room as long as possible before coming to the bookstore.

It’s been a long day.

Rubbing my forehead, I crack open the seal on the water bottle left for me and take a long drink, draining it as I go over everything that I just said to the group of readers. There was a short question and answer session that everyone sat down for, with a few people asking about my next release, and any news on the rumors about the movie rights. While I wasn’t legally allowed to say much, I did tease it a little.

But I’m tired.

I set out to become a writer because I wanted to create stories. It’s so rewarding to be able to communicate and meet readers, but it drains me to constantly be ‘ on ’ all the time. I don’t want anyone who takes their time to come meet me to walk away ever feeling like I wasn’t fully present, but it takes a lot of my energy to keep the smile plastered on my face. It’s the entire reason I’ve never done a huge tour, even though my publisher had requests for appearances two releases ago.

“We’re ready for you, June!” The bookseller pokes her head back in and I stand up, smiling immediately and smoothing out my outfit before going to rejoin the throng of people.

The line moves quickly after I get seated and greet the first person, personalizing the girl’s paperback and sliding a bookmark into it for her with character art on it. The Pack and I was an underdog, but publishing really enjoyed the contemporary twist on pack romance. It’s not like I have any experience with alphas and packs, but I had the idea in college to write about an omega who wanted to get her education despite the world around her encouraging her to get married, bonded, and skip it. It never made much sense to me that an entire designation are told they should only aspire to find a partner, or partners.

Omegas, as a designation, aren’t common. Betas make up a good sixty percent of the population, with alphas being a solid thirty. And in the romance world, most books are written by betas, for betas. I reached out to a few omegas I knew in my introductory lit classes when I started developing the book and after talking to them, I decided to just go for it.

I never expected that a random daughter of a Hollywood director would read it this past summer, years after its release. Suddenly, I found myself in talks to sign the film rights away to my story about a young omega getting a law degree and finding herself in love with three alphas.

I’ve heard from readers through the years that the story means a lot to them, and it’s what drives me to do these events in the first place, even if they do make my skin crawl.

The lights overheard are the kind of bright white that all shops tend to have, and as they buzz, I smile up at the reader in front of me. Her eyes are wide, her thick London accent making it hard for me to keep up with her string of words. “It means a lot to me and my sister, so if you could sign it for her — for Chey — I’d really really appreciate it.”

“Of course.” I pick up my pen and write FOR CHEY with a flourish, adding the tagline I put above my signature, FIND YOUR HAPPINESS . At the bottom, I sign my pen name — June Wald.

As I look up to hand it back to her, my eye catches on a man at the front of the store. He lingers against the front display window, in a bulky jacket, with the hood partially up, and my chest tugs uncomfortably as one of the other booksellers approaches him. They exchange words and the man tugs a piece of paper out of his pocket. I glance to the side, looking for one of the other booksellers, when a stomach cramp rockets through my body. It’s startling enough to make me suck in a sharp breath, blinking rapidly as the pain roars through me like I’ve been stabbed.

I double over in the chair, groaning a little as the reader in front of my table gasps. The bell to the store jingles, but it’s dull in the back of my senses as I hold onto my torso, riding out the pain, nausea crawling up my throat, the burning of bile chasing it as I shiver out of nowhere.

“Are you okay?” The reader whispers the words as I hold up a hand, trying to fight back the mortification of feeling this sick in front of the end of the line. I was so close to being done with the night and able to go back to the hotel before my train ride tomorrow to Manchester.

There’s a sudden smell, sweet and herbal, and it’s not unpleasant, but it comes out of nowhere. I suck in a breath, fighting off tears as the cramping starts again. The smell turns slightly bitter.

The sound of a book hitting the table startles me and I look up at the girl in front of me. She couldn’t be more than a couple years younger than me . Her eyes are wide and sympathetic as she steps closer, her voice soft. “Oh.” She looks over her shoulder at the man with her. “Brian —”

His brow pulls together, his nostrils flaring as he looks at me. There’s a silver bite mark on the girl’s wrist where her oatmeal colored cardigan is pushed up. He’s bulky, and eyeing the reader in front of me warily — as warily as he’s now looking at me.

“I’m sorry, excuse me.” I push up from the chair and turn, running toward the office. I only make it partially down the hallway before I take a hard right to the single person bathroom, locking the door behind me as I drop in front of the toilet, throwing up the remaining food on my mostly-empty stomach as I shake with chills.

My mind spins . I’ve barely had any food in nearly two days. There’s no way it’s food poisoning, and normally my generalized anxiety doesn’t cause this level of severe symptoms. It could be a virus, but it’s been so back and forth, I feel like I’d have more consistent symptoms. And there’s not a chance in hell I’m pregnant, not only have I not slept with anyone in over a year, but I’ve had an IUD for three years because my periods started getting worse after college.

The doctor I have back home pushed it off as a sign I probably needed to settle down, because the second best thing in the world, after a pregnant omega, is a pregnant beta — on the off chance another omega could be brought into the world.

I have no interest in children, thus the stalemate of fake hormones to curb the bad periods and self-imposed celibacy.

As another cramp hits me, I curl up on the floor, squeezing my eyes shut as I smell that same sweet, herbal scent — like someone is holding a warm mug of tea up to my nose with honey mixed into it.

My heart drops as there’s a knock on the door.

Most designations present around eighteen, a few years after puberty to let the hormones settle, but not too late. It was a big deal about a decade ago when an omega emerged at twenty-five — because clearly it was so old. How dare he have a developed frontal lobe before picking alphas and forging bonds for life? Everyone seemed to be alright with it when, only a year later, it was announced one of his new bonded — a female alpha — was pregnant. I can’t imagine a female omega getting off that easy.

Sweat beads on my brow and I stare at the toilet, my hands shaking.

I turned twenty-eight last month.

There’s no way.

“June —” The voice of the beta bookseller is soft. “Um, we sent everyone away, but there’s… Well there’s a reader out here and she says she can help and we didn’t know — but my colleague, um, James, he’s an alpha and well, Julia’s boyfriend is an alpha here too and they both say they can smell you —”

I push up, closing my eyes as I try to get my shit together. I drag myself over to the door, unlocking it and easing it open a sliver.

The reader from before stands in the hall, her eyes wide. “I don’t know how to tell you this, but I think you’re an omega. I think you need to go to a Designation Center, right now .”

Fuck me.