Episode 7 The Omega Gauntlet #3
The ropes sway with even the slightest movement, so I pause in an awkward crouch, waiting for it to steady. My knee twinges, but I ignore it—focus, Ren, focus—and slip through a narrow gap near the ground.
The camera swings in beside me. Great. They’re getting the full show.
“Ren, you’re doing beautifully,” Thayer says behind me, voice calm but pitched for the microphones. “Slow and steady. You’ve got this.”
His confidence warms something inside my ribs.
I duck under a low rope, twist my shoulders through a gap only someone my size could manage, and exhale as I reach the midpoint. The chest gleams on the far side, metal catching the sunlight.
Almost there.
The omegas’ voices float toward me.
“That was my turn!” Joanie snaps.
“You weren’t moving,” Odette fires back.
“I was thinking!”
“That’ll be a first,” Petal mutters. Bless her tiny pink heart.
Then Dahlia unleashes the whine again—pitiful, tremulous, calculated. “Thayer… can’t you just tell them I should go last? You know how easily I bruise.”
I can hear the cameras tightening in on her.
But Thayer ignores all of it. “Order is whatever works best for the team,” he says plainly. “Ren’s gone first. Decide the rest based on who can move quickest through what’s left.”
A beat.
Then Petal chimes in, cheerful and firm, “I should go next. I’m smallest and can fit through more of those gaps. Then Joanie with her long arms. Then Odette. And Deirdre last.”
The omega sputters, even though she got exactly what she wanted. “But—”
“Settle it,” Thayer says gently, “because Ren’s almost done.”
I am. My fingers close around the handle of the chest, cool and solid. Triumph sparks in my chest.
“Got it!” I call, hefting it into my arms. It’s not heavy in the slightest, but it will be awkward to carry while dodging ropes.
A cheer—Petal’s, definitely—goes up behind me.
I turn, chest tucked against my ribs, and begin threading my way back. It’s trickier this direction, the angles sharper, my knee more annoyed with me than before. The ropes seem closer, tighter, deliberately positioned to catch ankles or shoulders.
But Thayer steps into my line of sight, crouching low, eyes sharp, voice pitched just for me.
“Slow breaths,” he murmurs. “You’re doing perfectly, Ren. Don’t rush.”
I follow his words like a line of music.
It’s almost familiar. The steps to a dance I’ve perfected, until my muscles move by memory alone.
Breathe.
Twist.
Step.
Duck.
Lift the chest through a triangle of rope without letting it brush any side.
I pass the chest to Petal’s waiting hands through a gap she’s positioned herself under. She beams at me, pink hair sticking to her cheek.
“You killed that,” she whispers with a beaming smile.
I grin back. “Thanks.”
Behind her, Joanie mutters, “Well now I look like the slow one.”
Odette sighs dramatically. “Some people are just built for these kinds of tasks.”
Deirdre makes a tiny, wounded noise at the dig.
And Thayer—still watching me, still steady—says quietly, almost too quiet for the cameras, “Good work, killer.”
My heart does something stupid and fluttery.
But I keep my face neutral and my voice light as I wait for the others to finish moving the chest, following right behind Petal until I can crawl out of the last gap and rise to my feet. To find them standing around bickering.
“We’re still on the clock,” I remind them. “So maybe save the theatrics for the next challenge?”
Thayer’s lips twitch, even as he grabs the key at the start of the ropes course and unlocks the chest still cradled in Deirdre’s arms. He grabs out the second bag, tossing it in my direction, like he thinks I have the hand eye coordination to just catch it.
Imagine my surprise when I do.
“You can put that down now,” he says to Deirdre, whose cheeks flush bright pink as she drops the wooden chest to the ground with a thud.
Petal snickers under her breath, and I do the same. But I’m the one that gets a glare as sharp as a dagger thrown my way, before the taller omega takes off after Thayer, who is already a quarter way across the sand to the next obstacle.
The rest of the team takes off, and I’m with them, sort of. “More running,” I mutter to myself. “Oh joy.”
A wooden sign on my right with the symbol for air on it—an upward triangle with a line through the top third painted in yellow.
Hmm… That is so out of place, that it must be important.
I’ve watched enough of this show to know to pay attention to everything in these challenges.
Air, I repeat to myself. Yellow. Air. Right.
Another wooden sign on my left. Earth. Red. Left.
And so on, until I have eight symbols and eight colors in my head. I repeat them to myself like a mantra, putting a little tune to them.
“Hurry up!” Odette snaps to me. The rest of my team has already reached the next check point.
Thayer is pushing a large barrel toward a pole in the distance.
The four other omegas are just standing there watching him.
As though they expect him to do all the heavy lifting, which doesn’t really surprise me, seeing as most omegas aren’t used to this type of physical activity.
Six barrels all together, one for each of us.
Without waiting, I tip a barrel on its side and start after the alpha.
Good god, this thing is heavy. Probably heavier than I can really manage on my own, given my weak knee and the unstable sand. My sneaker slips, pain spikes for just a moment, but it quickly fades. Not too bad then.
A second pair of hands lands next to mine and the barrel moves forward. I look over in surprise to find Petal smiling brightly at me. “Hey there. Thought you could use some help.”
“Thanks,” I huff, even as we pick up speed.
I risk a glance over my shoulder and see the three remaining omegas are rolling a third barrel, though not very well.
At least they’re doing something. Up ahead, Thayer is positioning his barrel at the base of the pole.
As he jogs back toward us, I start repeating the signs and the colors under my breath.
Petal glances at me. “You noticed them too?”
I nod. “Yeah. My best friend is obsessed with this show and she gave me a rundown of all the things to watch out for during these challenges. Including random signs.”
Thayer draws up next to us, tries to nudge us out of the way so he can finish for us. But I shake my head. “Go help the others. Petal and I’ve got this.”
“You’re sure?” He asks, clearly surprised.
“Yep,” Petal says, sounding as out of breath as I feel. “We can handle this one.”
He takes us at our word and jogs back toward the other omegas who greet him with praise and thanks, and good god, was that a squeal? I go back to muttering the orders and Petal mutters them along with me.
Thayer has caught up with us by the time we reach the pole, the three other omegas trailing behind him, rather than going back to grab a fourth barrel.
As our alpha situates the barrels, I glance around, nearly swallowing my tongue when I catch sight of Grieves carrying two barrels at once, one perched on each huge shoulder as he lopes toward the pole.
Shit.
It’s going to take too long to get the other barrels if Thayer’s the only one that can move them with any ease. And frankly, I’m not sure I can make the run back over the sand again for more.
No. Better to work with what we have.
The rules didn’t say we had to use all the barrels, just that we had to reach the bag of puzzle pieces.
“Thayer,” I say glancing over to where Courtland is definitely copping a feel of Daria’s ass as he helps her scramble up a barrel, to try to reach the pieces that are still well out of her reach. “Can you lift me?”
Thayer looks at me, lips parted, then back at the bag hanging high on the pole. He gives a quick nod. Then adjusts the barrels to have a steadier base before he climbs on top, holding one broad hand down in offer to me. I take it, and he yanks me up until I’m pressed against him. “How?” He rasps.
I look up, calculate the distance needed and then say, “Can I stand on your shoulders?”
There’s a sharp huff of breath that puffs over the top of my head, but then he’s crouching down, with his back braced on the pole, me facing it.
Using the pole for balance, I clamber up, one foot on either side of his head.
His big hands circle my ankles, holding me as steady as he can as he carefully slowly stands up.
“What are you doing, mate?” I hear Courtland call over to us, sounding concerned. For me or his packmate I can’t be certain.
“Do not fall, Florence,” Thayer growls up at me, instead of answering him.
“I won’t,” I reassure him. And I won’t. I might not be a dancer anymore, but I’m still strong. Still have excellent balance. Still remember what it’s like to put my trust and wellbeing in my partner.
When he’s fully standing, I stretch to reach the bag. My fingers brush the bottom of it. But I can’t get a good hold on it. I push up to my toes. Thayer grunts. “Still okay?” I call down to him.
“Yes. But please hurry, Ren. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
On my toes I can grip the bag, but I can’t unhook it from the pole.
Fuck.
“Hey, Thayer?” He grunts, but he’s steady as a rock under my feet. “You familiar with cheerleading at all?”
Another grunt that I take to mean yes. “Great. You know that move where a girl stands on the guy’s palms and his arms are straight up?” I think it’s literally called in the hand, but I’m not sure that’s going to help. “We’re going to need to do that. Just for a few seconds. Can you manage?”
He huffs like he’s insulted that I think he might not be. “Ready?”
“Yes.”