Omega Fever

Prologue ABBIE

“Wings?”

I shiver as I claw my way out of my tangled sheets and pad across my room to the door.

No one in the clubhouse locks up at night, but the hinges creak, and I cast a quick glance over my shoulder as I leave the pack suite.

Since my dad died, it’s just my mom and brother now, but Samson has the hearing of a bat, and the last thing I need is him following me in the middle of the night.

Shivers wrack my body and I stumble into the hallway, lurching against the wall.

Generations of alpha pheromones are soaked into the wood paneling, and my skin prickles as I take a cautious breath.

I’m already lightheaded from my fever, and I bite back a whimper as I creep past the other pack suites.

There are six on this floor, but luckily the two largest ones are behind me, furthest from my destination.

My legs are so weak, I have to crawl up the attic stairs, digging my fingernails into the worn wood.

The attic is dusty and full of old junk, but Wings has made a home in the cramped space.

I stare at all his artwork on the walls, drawn on scraps of paper we’ve managed to scrounge from around the club.

But when another wave of heat claws through me, my attention quickly turns to the mattress on the floor.

Even though rain is drifting in through the cracked window, I can smell Wings’ sunshine scent like it’s a summer day at the lake.

“Butterfly? Are you sick?” Wings wipes the sleep from his eyes and peers up at me from his cocoon of blankets. “Get in here. You’re shivering.”

At two months off my eighteenth birthday, I’m probably still too young for all the big feelings he stirs inside me, but when he lifts the covers, I burrow into him all the same.

“Shit, you’re burning up.”

“I’m sorry,” I murmur into the snug curve of his neck. “I shouldn’t be here. I’m getting your bed all sweaty.”

“Girl sweat is different,” he tells me, kissing the tip of my nose. “And I’m glad you came. I was just having a dream about you.”

His hand finds my hip under the covers, and I shiver at the gentle touch.

We’ve been circling each other for a while now, but he’s been careful not to cross the line.

Neither of us have presented yet, but most guys in the club come into their alpha designation when they’re close to his age.

Just a few more months, hopefully, and then he can ask Booker, the Iron Flyers’ president, if he can court me.

“I think…” My throat quivers, like the words are too big and terrifying to let all the way out. “Can you tell? Do I smell strange?”

“No, you smell good.” He takes another sniff, burying his nose in my throat. “Sweet. Really sweet.”

“I don’t want it,” I mumble, frustrated tears burning my eyes. “It’s too soon. It'll ruin everything.”

Wings goes still, the reality of our situation finally hitting him.

Carefully, like I’m something fragile – or maybe something that’s already starting to crack down the middle – he eases me onto my back.

When he snaps on the lantern he keeps by his bed, the look in his eyes is enough to make my stomach cramp with misery. “You think you’re in heat, Abbie?”

“I think something’s different and I don’t want it to be.” I can’t help it; tears push past the fingers I’ve jammed into the corners of my eyes and spill down my cheeks. “I want to be yours, Wings.”

His eyes flash, his fear reflected back at me in their soft, gray depths.

Wings’ mom wanted to call him Dove, because of their color, but his dad pointed out that he’s a biker, not a ballerina, and he’ll never get a tough road name if he starts his life as a small-bodied pigeon.

They settled on Wade, but everyone in the clubhouse already calls him Wings, since he tattooed the Iron Flyers’ emblem on Ark, Booker’s son and heir.

“I want you, too,” he says huskily. “More than I want anything.”

He wipes away the first tear, but I bury the rest in his pillow.

Wanting doesn’t mean getting in our world, and unless you’re an alpha, you have to live with whatever they decide.

If Wings was a few months older and had already presented as an alpha, we’d stand a chance.

But as it is, I’ll be an unclaimed omega.

And the Iron Flyers have strict rules about unclaimed omegas living in the clubhouse.

“I hate this!” I hiss, punching his pillow. “It’s not fair!”

He takes my hand and unclenches my fingers. As he kisses my clammy palm, he gives me a sad smile. “You can’t hate it, butterfly, because it’s a part of you. How can that ever be a bad thing?”

I grimace, because as sweet as he’s being, I still want to rage at the world.

It’s not like anyone else will do it for me.

Mom is as vacant as a ghost since my dad died and their other packmates drifted away, and the only things Samson cares about are his Fat Boy and the next mission he’s going on with his stupid friends.

“But I want to be your sweetbutt and dance on the bar for you on Friday nights,” I sniff. “Why can’t we have at least that much?”

“You’re still gonna be my old lady,” Wings says gruffly, wrapping a possessive arm around my waist. “No matter what, we’re pack, butterfly.”

A part of me wants to cling to his words like they’re inked on my body, but I’m an omega now. I can’t afford to bet my future on dreams and wishes. “How? They're gonna send me away as soon as they smell me.”

“Not if they don’t know.” He sits up suddenly, his warm boy skin sliding over mine and making me shiver.

Wings is so beautiful, it sometimes hurts to look at him, and I have to bite my lip as he impatiently sweeps a lock of his gold hair out of his eyes.

No wonder he smells like sunshine, when just looking at him brings tears to my eyes.

“Think about it, Abbie. It’s really private up here, and no one ever comes into the attic but you.

” He leans over and pushes the window open further, the cold air making his cheeks go pink.

“You've got your school camp this week, right? I can say you left early. I was on gate duty last night with River and he’d back me up.”

Wings is a prospect, which means he’s a club member, but still on probation until he presents and gets his road name. Prospects do all of the scutwork for the club while they pay their dues, including long stints manning the compound gate.

“And I just... hide up here for the next few days? Won't someone smell me?”

“I’ll light a candle or burn some food on the hotplate.

” He grins, because his mom is always telling him he’s sleeping in a deathtrap with a camping stove amidst all the packing boxes.

“We can sneak you downstairs to shower while everyone’s at work.

And I have some of these.” He pulls a crumpled box out from under a pile of his clothes and flips the lid, showing me the blister pack.

“Suppressants, in case you go into heat.”

“That’s not gonna happen,” I mutter, my face flushing at the thought of going from a fever into a heat.

The first time omegas present it’s more like a flu, with aching bones and a high temperature.

But if there’s a compatible alpha around, that fever can develop into something more, and living in the close confines of the clubhouse, we’ve all seen what that looks like.

Seen it, smelled it, practically tasted it when a whole pack of alphas went into a rut.

It takes me a moment to recognize the downcast look on Wings’ face. “I just mean that I don’t want anyone but you. I’ll wait forever if I have to, Wings.” He gives me a glimmer of a smile, and I duck my head, staring down at the box of suppressants. “Are they dangerous? They smell kinda strange.”

“Not dangerous, just...”

“It won't work. I can smell her from down the hall.”

We both startle, Wings putting a protective arm around me until Ark steps around the packing boxes near the door.

At twenty-five, he’s already an alpha, and is wearing his leather cut with his road name stitched on his chest. As Booker’s only son, he’ll probably wear the President patch one day, but right now he’s just an ordinary club member, even if his dominance makes the cramped room feel even smaller.

“You know the rules,” he says quietly, his dark eyes flicking between us. “They won’t let you hide her.”

They means Ark’s father and his friends who make up the club’s council. They set the charter we all have to follow, even though they’re the kind of alphas you’d cross the street to avoid.

“Fuck your rules,” Wings scowls, gripping me tighter. “We’re mates in every way that counts.”

“You say that like it makes a difference. You're seventeen, Wings. How are you gonna fight off a full-grown alpha in rut?”

Wings thrusts out his chest, a growl building in his throat. “My trigger finger works just fine.”

I’m pretty sure the only gun Wings has access to is his tattoo gun, but Ark doesn’t laugh.

In fact, his scent is filling the air, a leather and dark florals swirl that makes my belly clench uncomfortably.

Ark is an enigma in the club, too important to ignore, but too aloof to really know.

My brother Samson is the closest thing he has to a friend, and that’s only because they’re both obsessed with Fat Boys and sniper rifles.

“That’s the kind of talk that gets you both thrown out, or worse. ”

“He didn’t mean it,” I say quickly, pulling out from under Wings’ arm.

He looks at me worriedly, but I squeeze his hand as I rise shakily to my feet.

“But maybe I could stop it. There are pills... See?” I hold the pack out to him, hating the way my hand trembles.

“No one has to know, and by the time I have a real heat, Wings will have presented, too.”