Knot Their Darling (Knotting-verse #1)

Chapter One – Mercedes

Most omegas dream of their twenty-first birthday. By then, assuming all is right in the world, they’ll have a pack who loves and cherishes them, and they’ll be taken care of—worshipped like the goddesses they are. They’ll be so in love with being in love that they’ll happily pop out pup after pup for the pack.

Most omegas are brainwashed.

I can’t blame them. The ads make it seem nice. Nesting, days of mindless, sweat-filled extracurriculars that aren’t suitable for younger audiences; it’s what omegas want and alphas are all too willing to serve every need.

But we all know that’s best-case scenario for an omega. No omega wants to think about those who are auctioned off instead of ceremonially matched, and they sure as hell don’t want to think about those poor omegas who get stuck with alphas that don’t click with their senses, forced into giving their bodies to every unworthy, unscrupulous alpha that comes sniffing around.

It’s not all good things. No society ever is, but as far as I see it, omegas drew the short end of the stick when it comes to genetics.

Me? I don’t want the frills and the catering. I don’t want a pack of alphas that will trip over their manly selves to serve me and give me whatever it is I need. No matter how you look at it, omegas are prisoners in their own packs. They can’t go off on their own, lest they risk their personal safety or go mindless without a pack during their heat. They’re basically property.

I don’t enjoy being treated like a pet, but I’ve never known anything different. My parents were killed in a car crash when my mom was pregnant with me, and they were able to get me out of her belly, so I went into the system. When I presented as an omega on my thirteenth birthday, I got shipped off to Solus Academy—basically an orphanage for omegas. An orphanage that taught us what being an omega meant.

During the mixers with the other academies, AKA the other orphanage for parent-less alphas and betas, they let omegas and alphas mingle, the hope to find a match or even someone willing to put in the work and pay Solus for one their omegas. Outsiders are allowed, too, thanks to the supervision.

Of course, that supervision doesn’t mean shit when there are über alphas around, and those particular alphas always get what they want. I’d know more than most. I was young, lost enough, that I craved nothing more than a home, than someone to call my own. A family.

And, deep down, I was too scared to resist. Better to lay low and get things over with.

Now I know different, and I refuse to sit back, idle, and let my life get taken away from me.

All I want is freedom, and I’ll do anything to get it, even if that means slipping out of my bedroom window once twilight hits, scaling the walls of Solus Academy, and nearly breaking my back as one of the bricks on the wall crumbles and makes me fall fifteen feet down, to the sidewalk.

I bite back a pained groan, quick to get to my feet and adjust the backpack over my shoulders. It’s stuffed with everything I’ll need.

Tonight is this month’s matching ceremony at the Omega Garden downtown. Any omega between the ages of eighteen and twenty—basically any that are adults but haven’t hit their first heat yet—can register to join in hopes of finding a pack to join and therefore alphas to take care of them.

I wasn’t allowed to register, technically. Inside the walls of Solus Academy, everything I did was watched. He wouldn’t let me go. He never really gave me a choice, but with my twenty-first birthday nearing and the threat of a forced bond looming, I’m out of options.

I need to get out of that orphanage. I need time to think without having to constantly worry his spies are watching over my shoulder. I need access to computers that aren’t monitored and to get enough money that I can get far enough away that I won’t ever have to worry about him again.

I’ve heard there are cities out there, communities, that are made up of mostly betas. Small communities in towns that seem quiet and peaceful. That’s where I want to go. Anywhere I can be free and not constantly reminded that I’m the perfect baby-making machine.

Yeah. First thing I did when I became an adult? I snuck out of Solus and went to the omega clinic downtown—where they treat omegas without asking questions. I’ve been on birth control ever since.

You’d think I would’ve been able to get out of this city once I was an adult, but omegas are a special case. You’re not technically a full-fledged adult until your first heat, but us omegas at Solus Academy are an even more special case, since we don’t have families to look over us. We are the property of Solus, hence why our last names were legally changed the moment we presented and found ourselves under its dilapidated roof.

Omegas can’t have bank accounts in our name, unless we have parents or a pack with us. We can’t rent an apartment alone. We can’t do anything, really. It’s why they make omega life look so shiny and pretty in the advertisements; get the children yearning for their happily ever after and they won’t ever question reality.

With my bag tight over my shoulder, I start walking. I wear a baggy hoodie, torn jeans, and an old pair of combat boots; not my best clothes, but I don’t have much.

Some of the omegas at Solus have sponsors; families paying for their stay and for new clothes and such in hopes that, once the omega comes of age, they’ll go straight into their pack. Jay never let anyone sponsor me. Even from a young age, he was as alpha as they come. He could raise his hackles, so to speak, and get any adult to do whatever he wanted—sometimes even other alphas.

It’s a miracle I still have freewill, I know. The only reason why I’m not stuck with an unwanted bond is because Jay wanted to wait until my first heat to give me another bite. This time, it’d be a bite that would forever twine us together, almost like magic.

But I’d rather die than let Jay make me a mindless omega, hence my need for a pack.

I only hope I can smile and flirt well enough to enthrall at least one pack tonight. It’d be pretty sad, as an omega, to go to one of these things and not get a single offer.

Solus Academy is situated on the outskirts of downtown, in an older, more run-down area. It takes me a good fifteen minutes to cross into the not-so-bad area, and then another twenty to make it to the streets with the huge, towering skyscrapers. The streets get busier the deeper into the city I go, as do the sidewalks.

I make myself as small as possible as I walk, a habit. If I ever called attention to myself, if I ever made anyone sniff around me, Jay always put a stop to it. At one of the academy mixers, he actually put another alpha boy in the hospital for staring at me too long.

I get a few turned heads as I walk, but thankfully nobody tries anything.

They say alphas who are bonded with an omega don’t want any other omegas, that it’s nature’s way of trying to keep balance, but I’ve heard stories, and witnesses many first-hand. Some alphas out there are just bad. It’s safest not to trust any of them.

I’m only a little sweaty when I see my destination down the street. Taking up its own city block, the Omega Garden is, in a word, grand. Not as sleek as newer-built skyscrapers, it might be older, but it’s still extravagant. Three stories high, although it may only look like that from the outside because the windows in the front are giant. Tall columns of marble or some kind of other stone line the entire front side, shielding the steps from the weather.

Thankfully, the weather is fine tonight—I’m sure the long line of alphas on the sidewalk, waiting to get in, are thankful of that as well.

Fancy, expensive cars I’ve never seen in my life line the right lane of the street before the building, more alphas in sleek suits getting out and joining the ones already waiting.

So many alphas, so close together, all of varying ages. All have the typical alpha stature: tall, muscled, intimidating, graced by genetics to be the rulers of our society. These alphas put Jay to shame. As much as I hate to admit it, there is something about a man in a suit, something which Jay would never be caught dead in.

These alphas aren’t his crowd, and that’s why I have to find a pack to use tonight.

Er, I mean, join .

I walk along the side of the line of alphas, being sure to keep my nose turned away from them. I can only hold my breath for so long, soon enough I have to inhale, and though I try to do it through my mouth, I still manage to catch a whiff.

Alpha scents in the air mix with each other, some good, some bad. Some sweet, some sour. They say that’s how an omega knows; anything that’s sour to her is bad and anything that’s sweet is good. No alpha will smell the same to two different omegas. On the flipside, to an unmatched alpha, almost any omega smells good, as evidenced by the multitude of growls and purrs I hear as I walk by.

Much as I hate to say it, some of those sounds tug at something primal in me, the traitorous omega I try to keep quiet. I dig my fingers into the strap of my backpack tighter as a distraction, to help me keep a level head and stop me from turning into instant goo.

Ignoring the turned heads as I go, I make a beeline toward the stone steps to the glass front doors of the Omega Garden, where a beta in a plain black suit stands, keeping the alphas out until it’s time. He sees me approaching and shifts, eyeing me up.

Betas aren’t meant for omegas, but sometimes that doesn’t stop them from wanting. I’ve heard of some packs having a beta member or two, but it’s rare.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” I say in a huff.

“The omega entrance is on the other side of the building. They’ll make sure you’re registered and—”

I flash him a smile and hope it’s pretty and not just an angry flash of my teeth. “You’re really going to make me walk all the way around this building when you could just let me in here?”

The beta closes his eyes for a moment, clearly annoyed at my persistence. Most are used to omegas ducking their heads and being obedient little servants, doing whatever they’re told. “As I said, the omega entrance—”

The smell of something sweet and warm, like chocolate chip cookies straight out of the oven, hits my nostrils as a firm voice behind me says, “Just let the omega in.” An alpha coming to my rescue when I didn’t ask for it.

Although, if there was any time for an alpha to use his dominance against a beta, it was right now, so I won’t say no to his help. I will not, however, turn around and meet the alpha’s eyes. No risk-taking here.

As the beta shifts his stare to the alpha, he says, “I’m just doing my job, sir.”

“And is your job to deny omegas at the door? Seems stupid to me, since tonight is all about matching omegas to their pack. Let her in, beta.” There’s an added firmness to the alpha’s voice when he says that last sentence, and the omega in me bristles at the use of his dominance, just as I’m sure the beta does.

In the end, the beta bows his head, his inner beast submitting to the alpha behind me. “Of course.” He goes to grab the glass door and hold it open for me, saying, “Follow the red carpet and turn left when it splits to get to the omega dressing room.”

I turn my head a bit—not enough to look at the alpha behind me, but enough that he’ll know I’m talking to him when I say, “Thanks.”

I pretend not to hear him say “You’re welcome” as I hurry inside.

The outside of the building may look like it was taken off a castle, but the inside is one hundred percent updated, full of clean, shiny floor tiles and sparkling chandeliers that glimmer no matter where you are in the room. The red carpet leads through the grand front entryway, and after a hundred or so feet, it splits off like the beta said. I assume alphas will turn right once they’re allowed in. I take the left fork, not knowing quite where to go.

Honestly? A part of me didn’t think I’d make it here. As much as I hate to admit it, a teeny, tiny part of me thought Jay or one of his goons would stop me before I arrived at the Omega Garden and drag me to him for a punishment.

Down another hall, this one leads to a closed door that says in all uppercase letters: OMEGAS AND SPONSORS ONLY. I breathe in deep before pushing inside, and instantly an older woman pounces on me.

“You. Where’d you come from? Where are you supposed to be?” She fires her questions at me one after the other, so fast I don’t have time to answer them. She wears a beautiful ballgown, her graying hair done up in a luscious updo. She wears enough makeup to hide the wrinkles on her skin—most of them, anyway. Her green gaze is slightly narrowed, her lips drawn into a thin line.

Behind her, I see people running to and fro, holding makeup bags, dress bags, and other various things, all looking stressed beyond belief. Not the omegas looking to match with a pack tonight, but their sponsors, perhaps?

Anyways, it’s all a very hectic scene, which is why I don’t reply to the woman right away. She quickly grows annoyed at this, and she snaps her fingers to draw my attention. “Omega, focus. Who are you? You’re late, and judging by the state of your… well, everything, you’re going to need all the time you have left to pretty yourself up, so I ask again: who are you and where are you supposed to be?” Just by the way she eyes me up after that, I can tell she’s not used to omegas showing up looking as homeless as me.

“Uh, I’m Mercedes.”

“Mercedes… who? I don’t recall a Mercedes on our list.”

“Mercedes Solus.”

That makes the woman blink a few times, as if blinking at me helps her brain register what I said. “Solus? As in Solus Academy? Dear, what are you doing here? How did you even get in? As far as I know, Solus Academy doesn’t ever bring its omegas to the Omega Garden for the matching ceremony.”

It’s true. We omegas at Solus are the lowest on the totem pole, so to speak, only a rung above totally unwanted. The fact that we are omegas is our only saving grace. Solus Academy keeps a list of the omegas and their birthdays, and anyone who wants an omega only has to put it in writing, and we become theirs right before our first heat, basically forcing us to bond with them. Whoever gives the best offer gets us, and the academy itself benefits. Jay has kept anyone else from trying to claim me.

But those packs aren’t good packs, not like the alphas outside. It’s not a good thing to be given no choice in who you’re matched with, and like hell would I ever lay down and let Jay have me. Not again, not when forever is on the ballot.

My face must say it all—that I can’t go back to Solus Academy, that I need to be here, that I’m out of other options—because the woman’s face relaxes as she says, “Well, you’re here regardless, so let’s make the best of it, shall we? Come. I’m sure we can squeeze you in somewhere.” The woman turns and saunters off, and I struggle to keep up with her even though she’s wearing four-inch heels.

I don’t know who she is, but she must be a beta. She’d be pretty tall for an omega, and she carries an authority around her most omegas would only dream of.

She leads me through the dressing area. We pass countless tables, where omegas all sit, already dressed in their finest and now working on their makeup. Some have their sponsors standing over their shoulder, watching as their omegas are dolled up to the nines. Each omega table has a tall, well-lit mirror in front of them, so they can watch as their faces change.

They all look happy. Excited, even. It’s a reminder that none of these other omegas are like me. They grew up with a family who loved them, and they probably never saw the horrid truth that some omegas are forced to face. Ignorance really is bliss.

And, of course, can’t forget how beautiful each and every one is. I feel ridiculously out of place in my old, torn clothes—and judging by how fancy every omega’s dress is, once I change into the dress I brought, I’ll still look out of place.

It’s an old, hand-me-down dress from an omega who left all her stuff at Solus when she got snatched up before her twenty-first birthday. Leia. She was a few years older than me. Sometimes I wonder what happened to her, if she’s happy. Out of everyone at Solus, she was the only one who wasn’t afraid to stand up to Jay.

Sometimes omegas can have a backbone. It’s not often, but it’s there. It only takes the right amount of pushing to bring it out of us.

The woman leads me to what must be the furthest table in the dressing area. I don’t see an omega or her sponsor near, but it’s clear the table and mirror is already being used. Tons of makeup and jewelry line the wooden space, and beside the table is a rolling cart full of dresses.

Wow. I must be in the high roller section here.

“I’m certain Raeka won’t mind if you share her space,” the woman says. “I’ll try to find her and… let her know.”

“Thank you.” I give the woman my best smile before she hurries off. Us omegas aren’t too good at sharing our personal space. If this Raeka chick comes back and wants me gone, I’ll have to listen and do whatever she wants. The last thing I want here is to make waves.

I need to be here. I’m desperate at this point to find a pack that can keep me out of Jay’s grasp while I figure out the next steps.

I set my bag on the empty seat before the mirror and get to work.