9. Icarus
Chapter nine
Oh shit, that was forward.
I don't know what came over me just now.
Her breath hitches, and I can't tell if it's positive or negative. I take a step back, conscious of how I'm crowding her. Jordan's chest heaves and her eyes sparkle, but I can't tell what emotion is causing it.
I clear my throat.
"Anyways, I quite enjoy chamomile tea." I ruffle my hair awkwardly and look around the room. "Are you ready to go? I just have to put Dae in his carrier." Amusement flickers across her features, and the Omega nods in agreement.
Dae, the big asshole, fights me every step of the way, gifting me several raised red scratches. Jordan giggles as I wrangle him into the carrier, and he yowls at me the whole time. Eventually, we pile up in my car, with my suitcase, duffle bag, and annoying ass cat in the backseat.
The ride to the grocery store to get her car is awkward.
Scent matching as a whole is awkward.
There is a kind of magic to how we match with packs and mates. Scientists, of which I am one, overwhelmingly agree it has to do with biology and pheromones. That your body identifies your perfect reproductive partner in a scent match and your ideal family group in your pack bond.
But that can't be all it is.
And even if it is, man, it is so weird to sit next to a stranger who my body has told me is my soul mate.
Awkwardly, at that.
What do I say? Hey, it's going to be great getting to know you, and also, I have the inexplicable urge to tie your wrists to your ankles and bury myself knot deep in you? Also, how do you take your eggs?
Her car is cute, a small black and red thing that could never hold an Alpha. I wonder why not? She knew she was an Omega and was right about it, so did she never expect to get an Alpha?
I don't have time to ask. With a quick goodbye, she hops in her car and peels out. I struggle to keep her in my line of sight. "Should've gotten her phone number, Dae," I grumble.
"Mrow." Somehow, his meow sounds judgmental.
I can tell by the doorman at Jordan's condo that it will be nice, but nothing prepares me for that quiet, awkward elevator ride. The walls are lined with mirrors and gold accents. I have no idea where to look; her beautiful face is reflected on every surface. So, I choose to look down at my cat instead.
She must think I'm so weird. Is she upset about being matched with an Alpha like me? One who couldn't even find a pack?
I try not to linger on it. Like my momma says, I don't want to borrow worry. We'll get to know each other organically, even if this feels overwhelming. Isn't this how it always happens, though? You meet someone and boom, hello, we're meant to be.
"Here we are," she murmurs, opening the door to her unit. It's tasteful and high-end, with grey tile flooring and all-black fixtures. Beautifully bright paintings line the walls. I take a moment to inspect the one closest to me. The interior of a diner comes to life, with cracked red seats on the booth and abandoned milkshakes on the table.
"Did you paint this?"
"Oh," a deep flush fills her face, and she ducks her head, "yeah, I did."
"It's gorgeous."
"Thanks. It's just a hobby." We pass through the well-stocked kitchen, and I place my kettle and tea on the white marble counter, vowing to come back and find a home for it. She leads me into a bedroom that has not seen much traffic. It's lightly furnished with a navy blue nightstand with a gold lamp perched on top of it and ivory bedding. "You can make yourself at home."
Walking in and placing my things down, I can't help but feel a little disappointed that her place wasn't just a one-bedroom. I know that's presumptuous of me, but I can't help it. She fires me up in a way I've never felt before.
Dae screeches from his carrier, making me wince. "Uh, where is the litter box? And how do you want to introduce them?"
She chuckles. "I'll show you. Blush is probably hiding somewhere."
Her laundry room has a massive automatic litter box that looks like a spaceship. I eye it suspiciously. "I don't know if he's gonna fit in there," I say skeptically. Slowly, I open the door to his carrier, pull him out, and place him in the box, soliciting another indignant meow from the angry orange cat. He seems to fit, though, and he jumps out and darts away.
"Do we need to supervise them meeting?" I ask her.
"Probably. I mean, I know we're supposed to." A loud screech from across the house rises up. "Yep, definitely should've."
We're darting to the source of the noise, and I think both of us expect Dae to have caused a problem. Instead, we find him cowering, a tiny, fluffy white ragdoll repeatedly bopping him in the head with her paw.
"Blush!" Jordan admonishes. The little thing looks up at her and then backs away before flopping down and casually cleaning her paws. Jordan squats down to pet the feline. "I don't know what I expected, but it wasn't that."
"Tiny but big personality. Reminds me of someone else I know."
Jordan scoffs as she pushes past me into the kitchen. "I am not tiny."
"You most certainly are." Her chin would fit perfectly under mine, and when she laid in my arms in the hospital, all I could think about was how fragile she seemed. She looks over her shoulder, somehow cute even in shapeless scrubs, and rolls her eyes.
"Whatever you say, Vick."
"Come on, Omega, is that really sticking around?" I trail after her into the kitchen. She's taken my tea kettle and set it up next to her espresso machine. For some reason, her giving it a designated spot warms my heart.
"It's sticking around, yeah. Maybe. I don't know. It suits you." She opens my jar of chamomile and sticks her nose in it again. "Is it too early to try a cup?"
"Never." The kettle only needs to boil for a few minutes, and as it does, I fill twin infusers with the loose mixture. "We need to let it steep for about five minutes."
While we wait, she changes into lounge clothing, a pair of baggy black linen pants and a black crop top that showcases a tantalizing strip of smooth skin. We take our mugs to the comfortable navy suede couch in her living room. She pulls her legs up underneath her while clutching the warm mug between her hands and blowing on the steam. "So. I'm an Omega."
"You're an Omega."
"Why don't I feel any different?" There is a vulnerability to her voice that I haven't heard before. Even when she was in my office, awaiting results that she expected to tell her she was wrong again, she didn't sound so unsure.
"Because, as you've always said, you've been an Omega this whole time. Sure, that part of you was latent, but it was always there. Have you ever had any 'classic' Omega behaviors? Like, do you have a nest?"
A deep blush travels up her throat. "I… I do. Do you want to see?"
I know the significance of an Omega sharing her nest. It's a private, safe space for them, and to be invited in as an Alpha is an honor. To reject the offer would be akin to rejecting her. I set my mug down, not caring if my tea oversteeps. "Yes, I would love to see your nest, Omega."
I follow her into her bedroom, expecting to see her bed piled up with pillows and blankets. Instead, she opens a door off the side and steps into a dedicated nesting room. "I bought an Omega condo," she says sheepishly.
Why would she be embarrassed? It's further proof that she has always known her true self. It's just that everyone else was too stupid to see it.
I follow her in and luxuriate in her floral scent, which permeates every inch of the space. The floor drops down to a round, recessed mattress that is easily the size of three king-sized beds. The sheets are neutral cream, but piles of blankets and pillows in different fabrics are strewn on top of them. Grey, navy, pink, mauve and an abundance of maroon dominate the space. She has square tiles with flowers painted on the walls and gold string lights with Edison bulbs stretching across the ceiling.
"Omega," I say softly, putting my hand around her hips and pulling her close to me, "this is a beautiful nest."
She preens under my attention, resting her head on my shoulder. "Thank you, Alpha. I really love it here. I sleep here most nights."
"I can see why." I feel privileged to receive this glimpse into Jordan. I admire how sure she was that she was an Omega. Everyone tried to tell her she wasn't, tried to convince her that she was in denial about being a Beta, but she held firm that she knew her body better than anyone else.
And she did.
That kind of self-assuredness is admirable.
Back in the living room, we sip our tea, which, thankfully, hasn't gone too bitter. She makes a soft, appreciative noise as she takes a sip. "This is really good. I can see why you like it."
"I didn't, at first. But my momma always did, and I wanted to be like her. So we started drinking it together. It's kind of our thing."
"So you have a good relationship with your family, then?"
"Definitely. I've got a younger sister, Athena, who is a Beta. My mom is a Beta, too, and my dad's an Alpha. At least once a month, we have a family dinner. They live just outside the city."
She pulls her legs up on the couch and turns to face me. "Wow, that's amazing. I always wanted a family like that. Sounds like something out of a movie."
"Your family not close then?"
"Uh, you can say that." When she sets her mug down on the table and wraps her arms around a pillow, I know what she's about to say is difficult for her. I scoot a little closer, grabbing her feet and resting them across my lap. I knead the bottoms of them gently as she talks. "It's just really complicated. When I didn't present at sixteen, they were concerned and tried whatever they could to help me present. And then, at nineteen, when…" She gulps.
Nervously, she fiddles with the tassels on the pillow, not meeting my eye. "Anyways, we're no contact now. All of it kind of dovetails into what happened at the hospital today. I suppose I should tell you that story."
I didn't want to ask, so I am happy she volunteered. "Whenever you're ready."
"I'll never be ready." She scoots a little closer to me, subconsciously leaning into her Omega instincts that urge her to seek comfort in her Alpha. "I grew up with these three guys, and they packed up right when they presented as Alphas at sixteen. Pack Stargazer."
The pack that was at the hospital today, trying to claim her. "I'll never forget that stupid name."
She laughs so hard it's almost a cackle. "No one should allow sixteen-year-old boys to name their pack. Anyways, I told them I was certain I was their scent match, and they just needed to wait until I presented."
Jealousy fires up inside of me, and I stifle a growl. She's my Omega. Not theirs. Thankfully, she ignores my Alpha posturing.
"Anyways, when we turned eighteen, and I still hadn't presented, they went to university here in the city. I needed to save up money before I could follow them. I held out hope that I'd present, but when I turned nineteen, they told me they met their scent match."
I can still hear the hurt in her voice, the way it cracks as it forces its way out of her throat. Regardless of how youthful the love was, I am sure it hurt. And to find out the pack you thought you were supposed to be with found another? Brutal.
"If they found their match, why were they trying to claim you?" I ask.
"No idea. But I don't want to speak to them. After it all went down, I ended up in inpatient psychiatric treatment for… just for the way I handled not presenting as an Omega. While there, they told me I needed to move on and accept I wasn't an Omega. I needed to believe I was a Beta. And I figured if the men that I loved didn't believe me, maybe I was wrong and wasn't really an Omega." Her chest shudders with a restrained sob. I abandon her feet and pull her whole body against mine, purring softly.
"Thanks," she whispers. "Obviously, I never fully stopped believing, but I did realize a lot of things about myself while in treatment. I had an unhealthy relationship with food and was suffering from anxiety that felt so commonplace in my life I didn't realize the effect it was having on me. I got on some good medication and started therapy for my eating issues after that. So while it was difficult, at least some good came out of it."
Stroking my hand down her deep red hair, I vow that I will not let these men back in her life. I don't know what they want of her, but I do not trust their intentions. Somehow, they found out she was an Omega before she did and immediately tried to lay claim to her despite already having one.
"How can we keep them away from you?"
She sucks on her teeth. "Cross is my legal name, but it's not the name I use in public or for work. So, hopefully, they won't make the connection and come after me."
"Come after you?" I growl. "No one will be coming after my Omega."
She places a hand on my chest and looks at me under her lashes. "Ooh, I quite like the growl, Vick."
I growl again at the asinine nickname. "I'll have to sock that information away for a later date."
Eventually, we order dinner and discuss lighter topics, like our favorite shows and music. Unfortunately, we get into a heated debate about pizza toppings.
"Fruit does not belong on pizza!" she argues, throwing her napkin on the table. "That's absurd. Pineapple on pizza should be illegal."
"You haven't tried it with jalape?o," I insist, picking up her empty plate and taking it to the sink. "The spicy and the sweet work so well with the smokey bacon."
She follows me into the space, leaning against the counter as I hand-wash the dishes. She makes a move to take over and wave her off. "I don't believe you," she says with an eye roll. "But I will abdicate this argument if you agree that a bloody Mary is a disgusting brunch cocktail."
"Oh, no argument from me there. Spicy ketchup drink?" I fake a gag, and she giggles. I decide with that sound that I'll do whatever it takes to keep her laughing.
When we say our goodnights and I flop onto my bed, my body melting into the comfortable mattress, I feel like there is no way I will fall asleep because I must be dreaming already.
I woke up this morning a bachelor with an asshole cat and a lot of books, and I am going to bed an Alpha with a beautiful, funny, sweet Omega.