Bonus Prologue
MAY LAST YEAR
The state of Stacia’s room stops me in my tracks. I let out a chuckle as I peer at the disarray of boxes and their contents spread about. Rory wasn’t kidding when she said Stacia’s organizing skills were a little bit questionable.
It’s surreal to think that I’ll be living in this house in the next couple of weeks.
It’s much cozier than my dorm room, the soft lights and colors making it the kind of home that I can really thrive in.
Not to mention, my own room. Living with my roommate the past year has been fine, but we aren’t the best at communicating, so it’s nice to know I’ll finally have my own space where I won’t walk into random hook-ups or little dorm parties. And gosh, she had lots of them.
I don’t mind that she’s popular or has a lot of friends. I just really enjoy my solitude. There’s nothing better than a night inside with my favorite comfy blanket, my crochet hooks, and an anime series that I’ve probably already seen at least ten times.
It barely takes any time to finish up the first box, adding in some of Stacia’s comfy sweaters to keep the disorganized items safe. I get started on the next box, and then the next, until I hear movement in the house once more and realize that the situation with her parents must have been handled.
The box I’m carrying isn’t the heaviest one I’ve packed, but it still obstructs my view as I nearly run into Rory in the hallway.
“Holy shit, we were just about to start quick packing her stuff. Did you get a lot done?” Rory asks me, strands of her blue hair falling in her face as she gives me an impressed look.
“Quite a bit, actually. I just went with the chaos and started throwing things in boxes.”
She laughs. “That’s probably for the best. It would have taken her all day. Thank you so much, Opal. This will be us moving your stuff in a few weeks. Isn’t that crazy?”
I nod as much as I can behind the box. “It can’t come fast enough, to be honest.”
Rory gives me a soft look. “I’m glad it’s going to be you.”
I swallow down the emotion that the sentiment stirs within me.
There are so many things I could say, but every single one of them would cause tears, and I really don’t want to mess up the eyeliner that I actually put on today.
Luckily, she notices and gives my arm a comforting swipe with her hand.
“Go give that box to the boys. They need to get started soon, I’m sure they don’t want to pay for the U-Haul longer than they have to. ”
I pass through the kitchen, and the sudden scent of freshly baked apples soars through the space. My brow arches when I see that the oven is, in fact, off and the counter is devoid of any baked goods or fruit.
What the hell? Maybe there’s a candle burning somewhere. I take in the scent with more intention, pulling it into my lungs as much as I can. It’s sweet but also sour, and so immense that it feels like I can taste it directly on my tongue.
If it is a candle burning, I need to ask them where they got it because it might be the best thing I’ve ever smelled.
“Are these Stacia’s?” I hear the unfamiliar masculine pitch through the open doorway to the living room and shake away the thought of decadent green apples.
I round the corner, another very disorganized box in my hands.
“Yes, they are. And so is this one,” I reply on instinct, handing the box over to the first person I see.
When I let go, I look up into the eyes of the alpha in question.
His green eyes sparkle, and I find myself staring a moment too long.
The stranger makes me pause, mesmerized by his beautiful features, before trying to put a name to the face.
Stacia said an alpha would be here. What’s his name again? Something with an S…
His shoulders are broad and he stands proudly, which both intimidates and charms me in weird ways.
His blond hair sits perfectly on his head, not a single filament out of place.
The smile he gives me is friendly, but something about it hits me right in the chest. I don’t know why until I get another whiff of the air around me.
Green apples.
My eyes widen; his scent is much more intense with our proximity. It courses up my arms and flattens along the barrier of my body. Is it really pushing out that much, or is it just me? If I could smell him that vividly in the kitchen, does that mean…
The omega inside me whines, but no scent flies forward at the revelation.
My blockers do their job to force it back, keeping the lychee aroma locked beneath my skin.
She berates me for that choice now, as we stand here completely shell-shocked at the presence of our scent match right in front of us.
I think I’m going to throw up.
The air now feels ten degrees hotter, and the sweat on my skin alerts me to something way scarier than discovering my scent match when he can’t scent me back.
I’m flaring up, and it’s coming on quickly.
“Um.” My tongue ties immediately, the fight-or-flight mode activating.
I turn towards Atlas. “Can you please tell Stacia that I’m sorry I can’t see her off like I said I would?
I have… an emergency.” The lie feels like fire all over my body, dousing me with guilt and shame, but I don’t have time to think about that as I head to the door without a response from my friend’s prime.
The spring air does nothing for the sweltering heat now soaring through my body. I take deep breaths and trudge along my friends’ yard as inconspicuously as I can. My body burns, like it needs the relief of pushing my scent out, but I won’t let it. I can’t.
Shit, Dr. Peck said this would happen. The blockers can only do so much to suppress the symptoms. Even without my scent to alert others, the blockers can only stump the natural progress for so long.
I guess meeting my scent match has finally forced it to push through the only thing keeping it at bay.
A cramp starts violently, and I can’t stop myself from bending over and clutching my stomach in agony. The fear of what I’m experiencing doesn’t help as my situation starts to become abundantly clearer by the second.
It’s happening. The very thing that every omega with my condition is terrified of. The thing that no other omega has to worry about until they bond with their pack.
I pull out my phone in a hurry. It’s not ideal, but there’s only one place where I’m safe right now, and it’s not out here on the street, where any passing alpha might sense my body betraying me.
“Siri, call 9-1-1.” The phone starts to ring, and I rush around the corner as the front door to my future home opens behind me, alerting me that I need to move. It’s a struggle as I crouch down and move as fast as I can, explaining my situation and location to the dispatcher.
The last thing I remember before succumbing to my omega is the smell of apples, soft green eyes peering at me, and the pain of my first heat taking over.