3. Nora
3
Nora
I double check the seal on the final glass container before I slide it into the warming bag. Tonight's social, with the Walsh pack in attendance, has very high stakes.
I am a bit old to still not have found my pack, but I will not let that deter me. I have made a meal that I designed specifically to cater to Alphas tastes. Most Omegas will cook one thing that they enjoy or are very adept at cooking, sit it in front of them on their tables, and let that be it.
But that is not how I do things.
No, I have cooked a full meal for these Alphas and picked out beautiful tableware, even if it is disposable.
I arrive at the ballroom where this month's social is held and find my assigned table. The room is draped in beautiful, gauzy ivory fabric, and soft jazz is piped through the sound system to keep us Omegas calm. Throughout the room, round tables are set up, each with a folded name card of the Omega who is to be occupying it tonight.
My table is in the back center of the ballroom, a spot of pride that allows me a view of all the other Omegas and the door so I can see what packs are arriving throughout the evening. I clear my name card from my table, since everyone knows who I am anyway, and dress it with a light gray tablecloth and a small vase of pale pink flowers before setting the table and folding the navy blue napkins. This is not just my chance to show them what a good cook I am but also how I can take care of their homes and throw wonderful dinner parties. I was able to finagle an additional thin table behind me to set up my chafing dishes on. Being the Perfect Omega has its perks.
As the other Omegas set up, I try not to pay much attention to them. While they are my competition, my scent match is my scent match. All of this is just to convince the Alphas to get close enough to me so we can smell one another. But they won't risk matching with someone who is unworthy, so I have to prove my worth.
What good am I if I am not the Perfect Omega?
Before the packs arrive, I dart off to the bathroom to freshen up. I've worn my blonde hair down and lightly curled. It falls to my waist now, and my mother says the length is the picture of a refined Omega. I put on a fresh coat of pink gloss and smooth out any wrinkles in my dress. Tonight, I chose something a little daring and went with an A-line dress with a sweetheart neckline, and it's in pink! Not pastel pink, just pink! It's not too terribly bright, but Mother was so worried about the perception of it. I told her I really needed to stand out tonight. Pink is still an acceptable Omega color, so I don't think any Alphas will look down on me too much. With one last look at my reflection, I return to my table, my white heels clicking on the wooden floor.
The night starts off well, with multiple packs coming and sitting down at my table to get to know me. I serve them roasted Brussels sprouts with a balsamic reduction, skirt steak with chimichurri sauce, and my signature lemon bars. I bring them to every event, and they're always a big hit.
While the Alphas enjoy my food and I have plenty of nice conversations, everyone just smells good or bad. Nothing sticks out to me as special.
A commotion at the door draws my attention, and I see Pack Walsh at the center of it. They're gorgeous, of course, and they're the pack that every Omega dreams of matching with. A doctor, a detective, and a business owner. All of them could take care of and provide for an Omega easily. But they've got a skinny, mousey Omega in their arms. I see an older couple behind them making noise, but I am too far away and can't make out what they're saying. All I know is that Pack Walsh leaves, carrying that Omega in their arms, and they take my dreams with them.
I quietly pack up my things at the end of the night, fighting to keep the smile on my face.
Why am I still without a pack? Why can't I find my Alphas?
I am the Perfect Omega. I am everything that a pack could possibly need. I've spent my whole life learning to be what a pack would want.
After loading everything in my mother's little white car, I slide into the driver's seat but can't seem to make myself drive. I cannot return home and tell Mother it was another failure of a night. She'll be so disappointed in me. She had her heart set on me matching with Pack Walsh.
Before I can second-guess myself, I pull out and head towards downtown. I have a lot of food left over and plenty of plates, so I may as well ensure it goes to someone who needs it. Unfortunately, we do have a population of unhoused Betas who struggle and need assistance every now and then. Luckily, I have a great relationship with the soup kitchen, so I know they'll accept this leftover food.
It doesn't take me long to drive there and drop the food off. While it feels good to do that because that is something that I do that isn't on the list of Perfect Omega activities, I still am not ready to go home and face the fact that I have failed to secure a pack once again.
The clock on my dash says it's ten past nine, and even though my mother would expect me home soon, I decide, for once, to throw caution to the wind.
I go to a bar .
I've never been to a bar before; I've barely even drunk alcohol because the perfect Omega doesn't overindulge on anything.
But what has being the Perfect Omega got me? I'm still alone. Once again, I'm leaving a social without even a whiff of a scent match.
The bar has neon lights in the window and a cracked sign that says "Roberto's" hanging over the doorway. I open the door and am immediately assaulted by the smell of spilled sour beer and the sound of chatter, pool balls clacking, and an electronic jukebox that is currently playing something with a lot of stomping and clapping and what sounds like it could be a fiddle.
I feel massively out of place, and I'm beginning to question my decision to come in here. What was I thinking? This is not what I do.
This is not what Omegas do.
But I'm here, so I may as well commit. A good Omega always finishes what she starts.
I slide onto a backless barstool; its faux leather upholstery is so cracked I can barely tell it was originally red. I flip my hair behind me and push my shoulders back. Just because I am in a bar doesn't mean I don't need good posture.
The large bartender raises an eyebrow at me, his eyes darting around the room before he leans close to me. "You lost, sweetie? You're perching on that stool like an uncomfortable little bird." He's got a pleasant smile and a handsome beard, and I am a little embarrassed that he has quickly called out just how much I don't belong here.
I straighten my spine even more to project confidence I do not feel. "No, sir, I'm not lost. I'm here for a drink." I pull my wallet out of my purse and hand him my ID. He reads it, then narrows his eyes. A few glances between the ID and my face are starting to make me nervous.
"Nora Summers. You're the Perfect Omega." His voice is louder than I'd like it to be. Heads whip towards me, and I suddenly notice that there are very few women in this bar. It's mostly Betas, but I think I smell some Alphas here, too.
I take my ID from him and slide it back into my wallet before precisely wedging the wallet back into my purse. "Yes, I am."
"You shouldn't be here, a pretty thing like you." His words aren't predatory, they're more concerned.
I smile broadly. "I'll just have one drink and be out of your hair. I don't mean to be an imposition."
He drags his hand down his face, shaking his head. "It's not an act, huh? Well, okay, I guess. What would you like to drink?"
"Um, champagne?"
The bartender isn't the only one to laugh at me. Several men sitting around the bar chuckle as the bartender responds, "It's a dive bar, sweetie. A light beer?" My face flushes red, and I nod. He slides a draft beer in front of me, and I grab a cocktail napkin to dry off the sides, wrapping a fresh one around the glass to grip it a little easier. He watches me with curiosity. "Why are you here, Perfect Omega?"
I clear my throat as I choke down a sip of the beer. It's good, if a little bitter, but the carbonation of it caught me off guard. "Can I be honest with you – what's your name, sir?"
"Quit calling me sir. I'm just Joey. And yeah, be honest with me. Bartending may only be my part-time job, but I can listen as well as a full-timer."
I squeak a bit at the scolding but regain my composure quickly. "Well, Joey, I finished up another Omega social tonight, and once again, I am left without a pack. I have been attending every month for the past five years. And honestly, I'm upset." I breathe deeply, fighting to keep a smile on my face. "I came here because I can't go back and tell my mother I failed to get a pack again."
"I'll be your pack, darling," a man shouts from down the bar. Joey throws a towel at him.
"Shut up, Hank." He turns to me and leans across the bar, and I notice he's a Beta. He's large for a Beta, and all of his hair is dark, his arms thick and covered in loads of tattoos. "Listen, Nora, it sounds like you should give up those stupid socials."
I almost spit out my small sip of my beer at his words. "How else would I meet my pack?" The idea of foregoing the socials as an Omega is laughable. I cannot be on suppressants much longer. I'm going to have to have a heat eventually. What will I do if I don't have a pack?
No, giving up these socials cannot happen. The Perfect Omega meets her pack during socials or is introduced to one by their parents.
"It seems to me your pack does not go to those events. If they did, you'd've met 'em by now." He turns his back to me and starts making a cocktail, but still speaks over his shoulder to me. "My pack doesn't do the socials. They're out there. You just need to start going to new places."
"Like this?"
He turns back and pins me with a dazzling smile. "Nah, sweetie, not like this. Buncha degenerates in here," he says with a gruff laugh.
As I drink my beer, I have a nice conversation with Joey. He's kind and funny, if a little abrasive. The Alphas who come to the socials are always in their suits and on their best behavior. I've never had one-on-one conversations with a man like this before. He makes me feel comfortable very quickly. It's like I know that I am safe around him.
Which is silly, of course. The Perfect Omega holds no affection for anyone except her pack.
"I'm surprised I like this beer," I say curiously. "Omegas aren't supposed to enjoy any alcohol except for the occasional glass of champagne."
"No one is supposed to do anything. We are all just who we are," Joey chuckles, shaking his head. Every time he laughs, I'm overwhelmed with how handsome he is when his eyes crinkle at the corners.
Before I know it, my beer is empty. I am not willing to risk driving with two beers in me, and it is getting late, so I pull out my wallet to pay. Joey reaches out and places his hand on mine to stop me. "It's on me, sweetie. Keep your chin up, you'll find your pack." The contact fizzes on my skin. I don't touch men often, except for Dr. Greene. I wonder if it always feels like this or if there is something different about Joey.
I slide off the stool and throw my purse over my shoulder. The bottoms of my heels get sticky on the floor, and I'm sure my hair is frizzy, but my mood has improved considerably. "Thank you, sir, I mean, Joey. Thank you, Joey. You were a real gentleman." He beams at me, and I cannot help but feel something that may be jealousy over the Omega, who is going to be very lucky to have him in her pack.
I exit Roberto's feeling lighter than I've felt in a very long time. It was nice, if just for a bit, to not have to worry too much about being the Perfect Omega. No one in that bar was expecting it from me.
I'm still in front of the glass in front of the bar when the door opens beside me. I step to the side but am quickly crowded against the front window. An Alpha with a very bad stench stands over me, caging me against the glass.
"Well, you're even prettier in person," he growls, dragging his nose up my neck. "And you smell so lovely."
"Uh, excuse me, sir, this is making me uncomfortable." I attempt to slip out from under his arms.
"Freeze," he barks at me.
Only Dr. Greene has ever barked at me before.
My body freezes, and I'm stuck in front of him, with his body pressing closer to mine. Terror fills me as one hand moves from the glass and wraps around my neck, and then my vision goes dark.