Chapter 24
TWENTY-FOUR
willa
@PackWatchDaily: WAIT. Is that the same Omega who was spotted with Dillon at the qualifiers??? Someone confirm!!
@ThirstyForRodeo: I’m just here to say the Saint can throw me on a bull and I’d say thank you. That man is AGING LIKE FINE WINE.
@DenverGossip: My friend works concessions and said the Omega was absolutely DRENCHED in their scents. Like all three of them marked her before the event.
@ChampionshipTracker: Focus people!! If Beau wins the finals, he ties the record for most APbrA championships. THIS IS HUGE.
@SkepticalSue: Okay, but wasn’t Beau McCrea like… famous for NOT settling down? And now suddenly there’s an Omega? Right before finals? Publicity stunt much?
@JakeDillonFan: Reply to @SkepticalSue - Girl you can’t fake the way McCrea was looking at her. That’s not PR, that’s a man in LOVE.
I lean against the rail, grateful for the support as another wave of dizziness sweeps over me. It’s been happening all day—these moments where the world tilts sideways, and I have to grip something solid to stay upright.
But I’m used to ignoring the way my body reacts to, well, everything. I’ve had years of practice pushing through the Omega hormone rollercoaster, suppressants or not.
The way Beau, Charlie, and Jake have pulled my dormant little Omega out of the crevices I’d squished her into is creating a fucking wave of instability inside me. It’d be weird if I wasn’t all over the place. So I do what I do best—try to ignore it.
Besides, with my shift finally over, I can just enjoy myself, and luckily, I haven’t missed his ride. The roar of the crowd is deafening as Jake settles onto the back of Nitro—a massive brindle bull with a reputation for sending riders to the hospital.
My heart is in my throat, beating too fast, too hard, like it’s trying to escape my chest. Or maybe it’s been beating like this all day, and I’m only now noticing because I’ve stopped moving, stopped working, stopped having distractions.
My Omega instincts are screaming at me to run down there, to pull him off, to keep my Alpha safe. I never imagined I’d feel so… protective so quickly.
My Alpha.
Mine. I say it again internally, and fuck, I love how it makes me feel, even as the word sends another wave of heat rolling through me.
I’m burning up. Have been all day. Chalked it up to the arena lights, the press of bodies, the stress of everything with Felton. But now, standing here watching Jake, I feel like I’m on fire from the inside out.
“Come on, Jake,” I whisper, my fingers gripping the railing so hard my knuckles are white. A bead of sweat trails down my spine despite the cool November air. The scent of popcorn and beer and thousands of bodies fills the arena, but underneath it all, I can still smell them.
My pack’s scent clings to my skin, sunk so deep into my pores that nothing could wash it away. Bergamot and leather. Sage and sweetgrass. Chocolate and warm spices.
The combined scent should be comforting. Instead, it’s making everything that much more intense—making my skin feel too tight, too sensitive. Making me want things I shouldn’t want in the middle of a crowded arena.
The gate explodes open.
Jake’s body moves like water, fluid and controlled, absorbing every violent twist and buck. Nitro is a beast—all rage and power—but Jake rides him like he was born to it. And there’s no way you could look at him and not know exactly who mentored him.
My breath catches with each jarring impact, but not just from fear. Every movement he makes, every flex of muscle, every display of Alpha strength and control sends another pulse of heat through my core.
My Omega is crying out—not in fear, but in want. Every time he’s thrown forward, every thrust of his hips, every time his grip tightens, all I can think about is those hands on me, him in me.
I bring my hand up to wipe at my overheated skin. What is wrong with me?
My chest tightens as Jake grips the rope. I press my hand against my sternum, trying to ease the pressure, but my heart is hammering so hard I can feel it pulsing in my fingertips.
Pride swells hot and fierce when he moves with perfect form—that’s my Alpha—but then terror claws up my throat when the bull spins hard. I want to scream. Want to cheer. Want to run. Want to—
A sharp ache blooms low in my belly, unfamiliar and insistent.
I freeze, hand still pressed to my racing heart.
Wait.
When was my last full heat?
I count backwards. Three months? No, four. Maybe five? I’ve been on double suppressants since starting with APbrA, and they mess with my cycle, making everything irregular. But five months is… that’s too long, even with the medication.
The ache pulses again, deeper this time, and my breath catches.
Not now.
My legs feel shaky. My skin is buzzing like I’ve had too much caffeine, but I’m so tired I could collapse. The contradiction makes no sense—exhausted and wired, heavy and restless, all at the same time.
I shake my head, trying to clear it. Focus on Jake. Just watch Jake.
But my hand stays pressed against my chest, feeling my heart race, and that ache in my core refuses to fade even as I drag my attention back to Jake.
Please. Please be safe.
“Five seconds!” someone shouts nearby.
Just three more brutally long, agonizing seconds. The buzzer sounds, and Jake launches himself off, landing in a crouch and a slightly lopsided roll. He pops up with his arms raised, that cocky grin splitting his face, and the crowd goes wild.
Relief floods through me so intensely that I feel dizzy with it. He’s safe. He’s whole. He’s—
His eyes find mine across the arena, even in this chaos, and the heat in his gaze makes my knees weak. Or maybe that’s just the fever burning through me. I grip the railing tighter, suddenly unsteady.
Then he smiles just for me—wide enough that I can see his dimple—and winks.
I laugh despite myself, shaking my head at his audacity, but the sound comes out breathless. Wrong. My hands are trembling against the metal railing.
I need to sit down. Need water. Need to cool off.
Fuck.
The timing is off, but I think my heat is coming…
now. I usually have a week or two of preheat spikes before a full heat.
I should have figured it out yesterday—the restlessness, the sensitivity, the way I couldn’t stop thinking about them—but I wanted so badly to decide when it happens. To control it. To choose.
It could be just stress, I try to tell myself. Just too much happening too fast.
But deep down, in that instinctual place where my Omega knows things before my brain catches up, I know that it’s not.
The crowd lets out a huge cheer, and Jake’s score—93.
5—flashes on the big screen. It’s good. Real good.
Good enough to keep him in second place.
I’m so lost in the surge of pride and happiness at my Alpha doing so well, combined with the absolutely off-kilter way I feel, that I don’t notice the shadow approaching until it’s too late.
“Well, well… look at you. The little Omega who thinks she can strut around with three Alphas and not look like the circuit’s newest toy. That must be some good pussy for McCrea to take notice. You really that desperate for attention?”
I turn slowly, every instinct screaming danger, and find Mark Felton standing way too close.
His scent hits me like a physical blow—stale cigarettes and something sour, something wrong that makes my Omega recoil in visceral disgust. His eyes are bloodshot, his jaw tight, and there’s an unstable energy radiating off him that makes my skin crawl.
“Felton.” I keep my voice steady, professional, even as I take a step back. The crowd surges around us, but suddenly feels miles away. “My shift is over. If you need something, you can contact—"
“Don’t play games with me.” He moves closer, backing me against the railing. My heart hammers against my ribs. “I know all about your fake relationship with McCrea. Real cute, Willa. Real fucking cute.”
My Omega is screaming at me to run. My first thought is to call for my Alphas, but they’re down in the arena—too far away to hear, too far away to help. Beau is preparing for his ride. Charlie is with the stock, helping Eli for another hour or two. Jake is still doing his victory lap.
I’m alone.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say, but my voice comes out thinner than I want.
“Bullshit.” The word is harsh, venomous. “You think I’m stupid? You think I don’t have eyes? I know what’s going on.”
“That’s none of your business,” I manage.
“It is my business when you’re my Omega!” His voice rises, and a few people nearby turn to look. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? What you’ve cost me?”
“I’m not your Omega,” I say, and there’s more strength in those words than I feel. “I never was.”
His laugh is ugly. Cruel. “That’s where you’re wrong, sweetheart. See, your daddy and I had an arrangement. A contract. You were supposed to be mine. Payment for his debts, his failures, his—”
“My father had no right—”
“Your father had every right!” Felton’s hand shoots out, grabbing my upper arm hard enough to bruise.
I gasp, trying to pull away, but his grip is iron. I look around for help, only to find averted eyes. I’m not in Wyoming on home turf. No one knows me in Denver besides the guys and the short staff that came along.
“You’re an Omega. You belong to whoever claims you first, and I claimed you years ago.”
“Let go of me. That’s not how it works.” My voice shakes now, fear bleeding through despite my best efforts.
“Not until you understand.” He yanks me closer, and I can smell the alcohol on his breath mixed with that sour, wrong scent.
“I know about your little scheme with McCrea. I know it’s fake.
I’m the one who sent that video to APbrA.
Did you know that? Thought it might wake you up, make you see reason. ”
Horror washes over me. “You— You tried to get me fired?”
“I tried to get you to come to your senses.” His other hand comes up, gripping my face, fingers digging into my jaw as he forces my head to the side. “You’re mine, Willa. Mine by right, mine by contract, mine by—”
He stops mid-sentence.
Goes completely still.
His nose is pressed against my throat now, right where my pulse hammers wildly beneath my skin. Right where Beau scent-marked me.
I feel the exact moment he realizes what he’s smelling.
His grip tightens painfully.
“McCrea,” he snarls, and the rage in his voice makes my blood run cold.