For the First Time (Not All Omegas #3)

Chapter One

T he honey sat heavy on my tongue. It was supposed to be a healthy alternative to dessert since indulging in cravings this late at night would have left a bitter taste in my mouth.

Hours of applying to any and every job that was open to betas meant that I’d sent in literally nineteen applications. Just today. My laptop had to be plugged in over an hour ago to keep it from dying on me despite the fact that I had started the day with a full battery.

Apparently not even my laptop can handle the drain of editing resumés, cover letters, and filling out separate company forms.

The first form I’d filled out, I’d done with shaking fingers and a tongue so heavy that I’d worried they’d get the application immediately, call me, and I wouldn’t be able to speak.

With each application, my body finally realized I wasn’t in any immediate physical danger.

By application ten, I was able to actually convince myself to take a temporary break for something to eat, no longer worried I wouldn’t be able to keep it down.

If only I had the bravery I did when I was thirteen. It had been an easy decision to apply as a volunteer to the local Omega Compound. At first, I’d secretly hoped that being around other omegas would mean my own designation would come in. That didn’t end up being the case.

Regardless, after a few years of volunteering, I was offered a part-time position. Then a full-time position. Then a promotion. Then I was ‘let go.’

I clung to that terminology. Let go . Not fired. I hadn’t been fired. I was still desirable.

I might not have been employed with the OC anymore, but they couldn’t take away all I’d learned about alphas and omegas.

I knew how to appease alpha dominance, how to mollify a jealous omega, how to care for a pack during a heat, how to help out in a pack house without triggering any territorial instincts.

I was good at helping. I didn’t want to stop that.

The spreadsheet I’d created to track each job I’d applied to had a column for categorizing the positions.

So many of them were solo. Working with the OC gave me experience, but to be a beta around alphas or omegas, most of the time required degrees in designations or nutrition or something.

I had the skills, I knew I did. Just not the diploma proving it.

Swallowing the honey, I enjoyed the immediate rush of sugar hitting my system. It was the positive boost I needed to admit I was done for the night. It didn’t matter how many applications I’d submitted today, I probably wasn’t going to hear back for a while.

I hated waiting.

What was I supposed to do with my days? Just sit around?

Every morning my alarm woke me up at the same time it did every day, just in case the OC wanted to call me and invite me back.

Thirteen years. I worked for them, with them, for thirteen years. And then I was just ... let go.

I couldn’t even find it in myself to regret the circumstances.

Sure, the letter hadn’t actually claimed a reason beyond downsizing after a significant drop in funding, which could have been the truth, but I knew it wasn’t.

I was let go because I’d deleted the account tracking Hannah Zeal and her alphas.

Someone in the OC had wanted to make a case against them—not to protect Hannah from abuse.

To punish her for being an outspoken omega.

So I’d deleted the file. Then I was fired. No. Let go .

The sugar high disappeared, and I stared at the little bear jar, wondering if I should have more or actually go to bed. It was late, and I was tired from filling out so many applications. But sleep was quick, which meant I’d wake up and have to start another day, unemployed.

That idea made me desperate to keep the hours long. To preserve the idea that some good might actually come tomorrow.

Or maybe I could schedule an appointment to get my hair done? That would be good. A new haircut for whenever I get an interview. Yes, that was a great idea. Plus, I’d have to actually leave the house beyond shopping for groceries or visiting Hannah.

Was this what my life had come to?

None of the jobs I’d even applied to were that exciting, nothing to give me purpose like working at the OC had. There, I had been making a difference. Helping omegas, protecting the designation that needed it the most. There was pride in that. I was good at it.

My new choices were working at an omega retail store, a laundromat, becoming a pack homemaker, or working as a janitor at one of the convention centers. They were jobs, and at this point, I would be grateful for any sort of employment, but they didn’t make me excited.

As much as I’d hated not being able to stay long-term with my cases at the OC, I enjoyed the range of people I was able to help.

When I first started volunteering at the compound, it was just cleaning the rooms that the young omegas lived in.

Omegas are sensitive to smells and they all have a preference for their nests, so I learned to wash and care for fabrics of all sorts.

Then I got a promotion to help settle in the omegas when they arrived.

It helped that I was young, too. I showed them catalogues of what was on offer and made the orders on behalf of the OC.

Another promotion meant I helped omegas find packs, supervised outings, and even submitted orders for background checks on alphas.

Then, my most recent promotion three years ago and I was helping omegas in packs, ensuring their safety.

Alphas had a tendency toward protection, and sometimes, especially with omegas, that protection crossed the line into stifling. Into controlling. And in a rare, heartbreaking situation, into abuse.

I didn’t get to spend a lot of time with each omega, but the limited connection was worth the good I knew I was doing. Now ... now there was no good left.

Well, this pity party wasn’t fun.

I shut the laptop down and decided I deserved a little pick-me-up and opened the jar of honey. It would have been even better on a cracker except I hadn’t wanted the crumbs on my keyboard.

Swallowing down the sugary goodness, I finally allowed myself to get ready for the night.

It was already dark out, an impressive feat considering summer was just starting so each night was longer than the last. Each day was also getting warmer than the last and the heat was lingering even in the dark.

I was thankful for my apartment building having such a strong air conditioning unit. I’d been here for six years, slowly growing into the space.

After I’d turned eighteen and moved out, I’d thought this place was huge. Compared to the other apartments I’d looked at, it was. Considering I only moved in with what had been in my childhood bedroom, there was a lot of space left.

The front door opened into a small hallway for coats and shoes that branched off into three directions.

If you went straight, you’d go to the living room but halfway down the short hall and a sharp turn to the right showed the kitchen.

It was closed in, almost like it was designed for a beta to be in here and cooking privately while the pack sat in the living space.

A sharp turn to the left was the bathroom, complete with a shower-and-tub combo, the latter of which I’d never used.

Further down the hall, where the apartment officially opened, was the living room.

After years of being here, it was finally completely furnished with a couch, coffee table, and a high-quality projector with a pull-down screen.

If you went through the living room, you’d come to the laundry and utility rooms, which were separated.

On the opposite side of the apartment was the single bedroom with a full closet and a little desk for an at-home office.

I kept my apartment clean and clear of any scents. I didn’t want anything to linger on my clothes or skin that could upset an omega. Since I wasn’t working at the OC anymore, maybe I could start to invest in cleaning supplies with scents.

Maybe that was what I’d do after my haircut. Stop by the store and get scented cleaning supplies. Although it would be a waste of money considering I already had cleaning supplies. So better to just wait until I was actually in need of them. Or until I finally got a job.

That’s what I’ll spend my first paycheck on. Scented cleaning supplies. Unless, of course, I get the job down at the nesting supply store for omegas. Or the job in the home with the pack. But the other jobs—then I’d definitely consider getting scented supplies.

It took me awhile to get ready for bed, mostly because I stalled, deciding I should do the hair mask in the shower, and then shaving my legs for good luck, and then I figured I should pluck my eyebrows while my hair dried and of course if I was going to pluck and shave, it made sense to do the light treatment to stop the hair from coming back as fast. Then I repainted my nails and picked out my outfit for tomorrow while also picking out an outfit for any future interview, just so I knew my choice was made when I was clear-headed and not in a panic of anxiety about what to wear.

Being a beta meant dealing with the stress of life by yourself.

Plenty of betas settled down with each other, content with the intimacy and privacy of a single partner.

Most of those betas moved out of the city, choosing neighborhoods and counties that were predominantly beta to surround themselves in community.

It was one of the lucky ones that found a place in a pack, a feat slightly more common in the city.

Betas could be bonded to alphas and omegas, although it was rare.

We didn’t have quite the primal drive that the other designations had.

I’d read a lot of studies on both alphas and omegas to help better my assistance to them, so I considered myself a mild expert.