Chapter 1 #2
Race follows race. Alpha Marcus keeps checking his watch and his radio, his expression never changing from that blank professionalism.
The other Omegas chatter excitedly about the horses, the colors of the jockeys' silks, and the way they lean forward over the horses' necks.
I soak it in silently, storing every detail.
Who knows when I'll see the outside world again?
It could be months or years. It could be never, if no one ever claims me.
Thirty-one is old for an Omega on the market.
Most get claimed young, in their early twenties when they're still fresh and moldable.
I've watched younger Omegas come and go, chosen by Alphas who want youth and inexperience.
Harmony keeps me around because I'm useful to them.
The perfect example of their program's success. But useful isn't the same as wanted.
Halfway through the afternoon, I can’t sit still anymore. I shift in my seat, trying to ignore the need to use the bathroom. But we've been here for hours, and the need grows urgent enough that I can't focus on the next race.
"Alpha Marcus?" My voice comes out quieter than intended. I clear my throat and try again. "I need to use the restroom."
He checks his watch, his mouth tightening with obvious irritation. "Can it wait? The next race starts in ten minutes."
"I don't think so."
He sighs, the sound heavy with the inconvenience of it all. "Fine. Come on." He twists around, signaling to one of the other wardens to watch over our group before he yanks me to my feet and gestures for me to follow him.
I keep my head bowed and my hands clasped in front of me, knowing that any sort of eye contact with those around us could get me in trouble.
I just keep my gaze firmly planted on the back of Alpha Marcus’ shoes, stopping when he does and moving when he continues.
By the time we get to the bathroom, I don’t wait for pleasantries and dash inside for relief.
The bathroom is blessedly empty when I push through the door.
I take care of business quickly, then pause at the sink.
The mirror shows me a stranger. An Omega in a simple green dress, approved by Harmony's wardrobe department.
Hair pulled back in a neat braid. Face scrubbed clean of makeup.
I look like exactly what they've made me. Palatable. Harmless. Acceptable.
Thirty-one years old and I look like a doll on a shelf. Perfect and lifeless.
I turn on the water and let it run cold over my wrists.
The shock helps ground me, pulling me back into my body.
Four more hours until we load back onto the buses.
Four hours to pretend this taste of freedom is enough.
Four hours before I go back to waiting for an Alpha who may never come, trapped in a system that says I'm too incompetent to exist on my own.
Then the scent hits me.
Something like warm hay and saddle leather mixed with wild honey fills my nose. Underneath runs something deeper, something that calls to parts of me I've kept buried for years. My knees actually weaken as I grip the sink edge to stay upright, my knuckles lightening with the force of it.
An Alpha is somewhere close and not just any Alpha but one whose scent makes my Omega instincts roar to life despite the suppressants flooding my system.
No. Absolutely not. I stare at my reflection in the mirror, watching my pupils dilate with desire.
This is a terrible idea. The worst idea.
Alpha Marcus is right outside that door.
The rules are clear as crystal. Unsupervised contact means punishment, and I've seen what Harmony does to Omegas who break the big rules.
Maya's hollow eyes flash through my memory. The Omega two years ago who tried to run and came back with a broken arm and a dead look in her eyes. The girl last month who talked back to a warden and spent a week in isolation, emerging completely devoid of all emotion.
I can't. I won't. I've worked too hard to stay safe and small, so I can survive this place.
I turn off the water with shaking hands, breathing slowly through my mouth to avoid that intoxicating scent still lingering in the air. This doesn't matter. It can't matter. In four hours I'll be back at Harmony, and this mysterious Alpha will be nothing but a memory.
Drying my hands carefully, I take a few more seconds to calm my racing heart before smoothing my dress with both hands and checking that my braid is still neat and secure.
I force my spine straight and push my shoulders back.
I can do this. I can walk out of this bathroom, follow Alpha Marcus back to my seat, and pretend this moment never happened.
I'm good at pretending. Harmony House has made me excellent at it.
Besides, following that scent would be a horrid idea.
Alpha Marcus would report me. I'd face consequences.
Isolation at minimum, maybe worse. And for what?
A stranger whose scent makes my body react in ways it shouldn't?
I've spent years building my reputation as a model Omega.
I won't throw it away for some Alpha I'll never see again.
I won't.
However, the moment I step back outside into the late afternoon sun, Alpha Marcus is nowhere to be seen.
I freeze mid-step, my heart jumping into my throat as I scan the area, searching for his familiar gray uniform.
The spot where he was standing sits empty.
My heart kicks into overdrive, pulse hammering in my ears.
Where did he go? Did something happen? Am I supposed to wait here or try to find him?
Panic flutters in my chest. If he comes back and I've moved, that's disobedience. If I stay and he expects me to find him, that's disobedience too. There's no right answer, just varying degrees of wrong.
I take a tentative step forward, searching the crowd for any sign of him. Nothing. Just strangers moving past me, absorbed in their own concerns and their own lives. The scent from before grows until my head starts swimming, the smell wrapping around me making it hard to think clearly.
I blink a few times and move to the right, eager to find Alpha Marcus but find someone else entirely.
Standing directly in front of me is the most beautiful man I've ever seen in my life.
Tall and sun-bronzed, with dark hair that curls slightly at the edges of a worn cowboy hat.
A plaid shirt hanging open over a white undershirt, revealing a slice of tanned skin and the hint of muscle underneath.
His jeans have the kind of authentic wear that comes from actual work instead of designer distressing like some of the magazines at Harmony.
But it's his face that steals my breath completely. That strong jaw dusted with stubble paired with warm brown eyes that crinkle at the corners. It takes me a moment to realize I’m staring but he already noticed, dimples bracketing the most devastating smile I've ever witnessed.
That scent. It's coming from him. Hay and honey and wild summer storms.
He looks at me, that smile turning into something closer to a smirk. He's fully aware of the effect he has and he isn't sorry about it at all.
"Hello, sunshine," he says, his voice coming out as a low purr. "Name's Dustin." His eyes never leave mine, holding me captive with an intensity that makes my pulse race even faster. "And who might you be?"