Chapter 4
Lena clears her throat, the sound raw and painful in the quiet room. “I sold my suppressants.”
I fight hard to maintain my calm. “Go on.”
“I understood the risks,” she continues, twisting the blanket between her hands. “I understand what can happen without them. But I…” Her breath catches. “I needed the money.”
I push up from the desk and pace to the door, putting distance between us so she won’t see my hands shake. “For what?”
Lena’s shoulders curl inward. “School stuff. My calculator broke last month, and we have the AP Calculus exam coming up. Then my lab partner bailed on paying his half for our chemistry project.”
She swallows, the sound audible across the room. “The guidance counselor said I needed more extracurriculars for college applications, so I joined Model UN, but the fees…”
I turn toward her, schooling my reaction while my mind tallies the cost of each item, weighing it against the street value of suppressants. The numbers don’t add up. She must have been ripped off.
“I should have told you,” she whispers, her fingers tangling in the hem of her shirt. “I should have taken yours instead.”
The admission drops between us like a stone, rippling through the air. Her stolen suppressants would have been replaced by mine, leaving me unprotected but her safe. The logic of it burns.
I move back to the desk and perch on its edge. “When?”
“Three weeks ago. Right after my last Heat ended.” She wipes her nose with the back of her hand. “I thought I had time to figure out a workaround before the next one.”
Three weeks. The timetable slides into place in my mind. She’d been without protection for almost a month, walking home from school alone, riding the bus, navigating a world full of Alphas who could be drawn to her pheromones.
“What happened?”
Lena’s breathing quickens, her chest rising and falling in short bursts. “I was coming home from a study group on Friday night. It was dusk, and my Heat had only just started, so I should have been fine. But he followed me from the bus stop.”
Her words tumble faster now. “I tried to take a different route, but he caught up on Elm Street, right where the streetlight is broken.”
My jaw clenches so hard my teeth might crack. I’ve reported that light multiple times.
“He grabbed my wrist.” Her hand slides to the other, rubbing the spot as if she’s trying to erase the phantom of his touch. “He says he could smell I wasn’t claimed, and it wasn’t safe for an Omega to be out alone.”
She stops, a flush creeping up her neck. “I told him to go away before my brother killed him for touching me.”
My heart contracts at her faith in me, faith I’ve now failed.
“He laughed at me,” she whispers brokenly. “He said if I had a real protector at home, my scent wouldn’t advertise me as ready.”
“Did he touch you anywhere else?”
She starts crying again. “I tried to fight him off, but he—”
The bile rises, but I swallow it down. “His name.”
It’s not a question.
Lena wipes at her cheeks with her sleeves. “Danny. He works at the liquor store on the corner of Pine and 4th.”
I recognize the place. Rumor says it’s the front for the Vartanian family’s money laundering business, with cameras that never seem to catch the drug deals happening ten feet from their door.
“What else did he say?”
“That he was doing me a favor.” Her lip curls in disgust. “He said after he Marked me, other Alphas would leave me alone.” A tear slides down her cheek. “He was so fast. One minute he was talking, and the next, he had me pinned, and his teeth…”
Her hand rises to her nape, hovering over the wound without touching it.
I remain motionless while my brain clicks through the possibilities, sorting them into actionable items. Report to the police, who won’t care about an Omega in Brickwell.
File the paperwork for a restraining order, which we can’t afford and might be tossed out in favor of Alpha Rights. Track down Danny myself.
Option three requires no outside approval, no system that’s already failed us, and no money we don’t have.
“He said…” She scrubs the blanket over her splotchy face. “He said if I didn’t come back, he’d hurt you. I didn’t know what to do. B-but, I can take care of it.”
“Shush. Don’t talk like that.” My vision narrows to a pinpoint. “Did he say when you’re supposed to come back?”
“On Friday. He told me I’d better show up, or he’d send someone to fetch me.”
Four days. The timetable shifts, urgency replacing deliberation.
I stand and go to the kitchen, pouring her a glass of water to keep my hands occupied. I return and place it on her nightstand, not trusting myself to hand it to her without my fingers trembling.
“Drink.”
She obeys, her throat working as she swallows.
“You did nothing wrong,” I tell her again, projecting calm past the inferno building inside. “I’ll handle it.”
Fear flickers across her face, not of me, but of what I might do. “What do you mean?”
I consider lying, offering platitudes about reporting and restraining orders that won’t work. Once, I’d been forced to leave my baby sister in a dangerous environment, and I’d almost lost her. When I brought her home with me years later, I promised to always tell her the truth.
“It means he won’t touch you again.” I lean forward, my fingers light on her shoulder. “Not Friday. Not ever.”
Relief breaks across her features, followed by worry. “Ash, no. He’s an Alpha, and he’s big. You can’t—”
“I’ll handle it,” I repeat in a tone that closes the subject. “Now drink your water and dress. We’ll take the eight-fifteen bus to the clinic.”
“Okay,” she says shakily and drains the glass in obedient sips while I go out to the living room.
There, I pull out my phone and send a message to Ironclad, cancelling my shift.
It takes an hour by bus to reach the Omega Outreach Clinic in Rockhaven. Its office is located on top of a luxury shopping mall, situated between a dentist’s and a therapist’s office.
There have been rumors we’re getting one in Brickwell, but that’s still more than a year away, as they rebuild the apartment complex they tore down in our shitty area to build affordable housing.
The waiting room is clean, with comfortable chairs lining the walls on either side of the door, and a glass partition separating the waiting patients from the woman behind the desk who takes Lena’s name and hands us a form to fill out.
Lena shrinks into the chair beside me, her shoulders hunched forward, the collar of her sweater pulled high to cover the Mark. Her fingertips drum a nervous pattern on her knees, and I place my hand over hers, stilling the motion without comment.
Posters line the walls, advocating for Omega rights, Heat safety, bonding laws, and Tuesday night support groups.
Other Omegas wait with us, each sitting alone.
None make eye contact. A young man with bruises on his wrists stares at his phone.
A middle-aged woman fills out forms with shaking hands.
A teenager not much older than Lena flips through a magazine without reading it, her collar pulled as high as my sister’s.
The forms on my clipboard ask for insurance we don’t have and payment methods we can’t provide. I check the box for financial assistance and write “emergency services” in the reason for our visit section.
Lena leans closer to whisper, “What if they call the police?”
I squeeze her hand in reassurance. “They won’t unless we ask them to.”
It’s not entirely true. The clinic has a legal obligation to report unauthorized Markings of minors, but they can only do that if Lena reports the Alpha, and that’s not why we’re here.
A nurse in blue scrubs calls Lena’s name, and we follow her through a door that the lady behind the counter has to buzz us through.
She deposits us in an examination room with a paper-covered table, a rolling stool, a sink with a pump soap dispenser, and a cabinet secured with a combination lock. A computer monitor displays a screensaver of floating medical symbols, casting a blue glow across the sterile surfaces.
“The doctor will be in soon,” the nurse says, closing the door behind her.
Lena perches on the table, the paper crinkling beneath her.
I count the ceiling tiles, the floor tiles, calculate the square footage of the room, and the number of steps to the door. Numbers keep me grounded when everything else threatens to spin out of control.
A quiet knock sounds on the door, and a man with silver in his ponytail steps through. His white coat bears a name tag that reads Dr. Walton and a pin shaped like a purple ribbon, the symbol for Omega advocacy.
“Lena Halloway?” His gaze passes between us, then settles on me. “And you are?”
“Ash Halloway.” I hand him the clipboard. “Her brother and legal guardian.”
He accepts this without question and turns to Lena. “My name is Dr. Walton, but you may call me Peter if you prefer. I’m a bonded Alpha, but before we begin, do you have any objections to me being your doctor for today?”
Lena shakes her head.
He reads the form. “It says you’re here for emergency services?”
“Yes,” Lena squeaks.
Dr. Walton takes a seat on the stool. “Want to tell me about it?”
“I, uh…” When she looks to me for reassurance, I gesture for her to continue. “I ran out of suppressants and went into Heat while out in public.”
“I see.” He clasps his hands. “When was this?”
Lena licks her dry lips. “Friday night.”
“And how long did your Heat last?” he asks gently.
“Only for a few hours.” Her cheeks pinken. “I’ve never had long Heats.”
“And did this encounter result in a Mark?” he asks.
“Y-yes.”
“May I examine it?”
Lena’s fingers turn white-knuckled on the examination table as she leans forward and pulls her collar down to reveal her nape.
Dr. Walton’s touch is clinical, gloved fingers gentle but impersonal as they probe the edges of the wound.
Lena winces, and my stomach twists in response.
“The Mark will take,” Dr. Walton confirms, and my stomach sinks. “It’s deep enough to establish a temporary bond.”