Chapter 38
To say this is a surprise ending to the day is an understatement.
The rut clouded my brain, and at one point, I thought for sure I was going to choke Quinton out. But the moment Alex commanded us to stop, the feral part of me quieted.
That’s the true power of an Omega. Sure, there may be fewer of them than there are of us, but they can bring us to our knees easily with the right motivation.
It’s why, despite most professions being dominated by Alphas and Betas, you tend to find an Omega sitting at the top, silently guiding things along.
CEOs, CFOs, and directors of operations positions will quietly be given to an Omega to ensure that things run smoothly.
While I’m not blind to how packs operate, I never expected to have one, so imagine my surprise when I find myself desperately beating my cock in a room with my employees.
It’s a good fucking thing a circus doesn’t have a human resources department, because I have a feeling this would have been a massive violation.
Dexter, despite all of his reservations, is lying cuddled up with Alex, his face empty of the tension and anger I’ve grown to associate with him. Dario is on her other side, whispering something in the Omega’s ear that I’m not privy to.
There’s another surprise of the evening. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t notice the attention Dario gave me during this whole ordeal. Maybe it was the rut, but I don’t think so. Not after him saying he wants to try things with me again.
Sex isn’t something I think about very much.
It doesn’t motivate me, and most of the time I can take or leave it.
I’ve long suspected I’m somewhere on the asexual spectrum, but my history with Dario and how I feel since Alex came around make me question that.
Isn’t there a word for someone who rarely feels sexual attraction but has sought meaningless release in the past? There’s got to be.
Regardless, over the past few weeks, I’ve felt a desire like I never have before. And the weight of Dario’s gaze? Yeah, that was pretty welcome, too.
“Are you doing okay?” Alex says softly, and I look up to see her eyes on me. She’s absentmindedly stroking a sleeping Dexter’s hair.
I wonder how long we’ll have her like this, before her hind brain relinquishes control and she realizes how close she’s let herself become to us.
Maybe I’m a pessimist, but I don’t think she’s going to stick around, and if Dexter is genuinely starting to let his guard down with her, it’s going to ruin him when she leaves.
“Fine,” I say through gritted teeth. I don’t want to tell her what’s really on my mind, and if I say anything else, it’ll come pouring out .
She doesn’t let that slide.
“What’s wrong?”
I scrub my hands down my face, wincing when I realize I haven’t washed them since I beat off.
I get up and head to my kitchen to take care of that, not looking at her.
I don’t answer her either, hoping she’ll move on and go back to petting the Alpha in her arms and not force me to have this conversation with her right now.
“Seriously, Jude, what’s wrong?” she asks again.
I spin around and rest my back against the sink, cringing when my shirt gets wet. “Just wondering when you’re going to leave us. Thinking about the messes I’m going to have to clean up, the hearts I’m going to have to stitch together.” Even if my tone is gentle, I know the words hurt.
She winces like she wishes to escape my blows, but it’s hard to run when you’re knotted. Maybe this is the time to have this conversation, since she can’t avoid it.
“That’s really not cool, Jude,” Dario says, eyes narrowed at me. “You’re starting to sound like Dexter, picking a fight.”
“If FOS and Alpha Rot aren’t enough to keep her around, her bond with Matteo won’t. And didn’t you see how hard she fought not to bond Dexter? She doesn’t want us, Dario. You don’t want us, do you, Alex?”
Matteo stirs from his position on the floor with Quinton and looks at me with narrowed eyes. “You’re in an awfully shitty mood for someone who just came on his hand.”
“Maybe that’s the problem,” Quinton slurs, propping his head up on his fist. “He didn’t get his dick wet. Now he’s all jealous.”
“That’s not it,” I snap, immediately regretting it when Dexter stirs awake .
I watch the Omega’s heart break in real time when Dexter realizes where he is and what he did, attempting to scramble away from her with fear in his eyes.
But he can’t go anywhere, because his knot hasn’t deflated. Alex has to watch as he tries to escape her, trying to give himself as much space as possible and get away from her.
This isn’t what I wanted, but maybe we should get through all of this now. Perhaps it’s best we find a way to keep our distance from her for the rest of her contract, scent match notwithstanding.
I start to regret starting this conversation when I see the hurt on Alex’s face as she watches Dexter’s walls go up again.
No one is messing with her emotions more than he is, but I bet I’m a close second.
He hates her, then he tries to help her get better; he’s fighting against this connection, but then he says he’ll try.
Eventually, he’ll have to pick a side, and at this point, it’s a coin flip as to which one it is.
We all know precisely when his knot goes down enough for them to separate, because he scrambles across the floor away from our Omega.
Alex pushes herself to her feet, still naked but unashamed of her figure.
Not that she should have anything to be ashamed of.
She’s soft and sensual, with wide hips and soft, teardrop-shaped breasts tipped in dusky pink nipples that make my mouth water.
Scars I never noticed before litter her skin and remind me of my own.
But the ones down my arms and chest are from numerous bar fights before I got sober, and based on Alex’s history, I know that’s not the case with hers.
She rustles around for her boxers and shirt, pulling them on, her movements stiff. “Well, now that all of that is taken care of, I’m going to return to my trailer for some rest. You all should do the same, you have a show tonight.”
Fuck. We have a show tonight.
How am I going to get these guys to perform to standard with everything that has happened?
It’s got to be three in the morning now, and we’ll have to get up with enough time to do a dress rehearsal. The other acts can’t carry the show again by themselves, despite how good they are.
“Right,” I say slowly, unsure if I should keep pushing the doctor. “We’ll talk about your contract later.”
Goddamnit. Why did I say that?
Her spine stiffens nearly imperceptibly, but I catch it. With a terse nod, she strides out the door.
None of us stop her.
I expected at least Matteo to, being as they’re bonded now.
But he doesn’t, and our Omega walks back to her trailer alone, in the middle of the night, when she’s already been attacked and had her nest destroyed.
I’m tempted to follow her, to make sure she’s okay. Matteo must read the thought on my face, and he shakes his head. “I can feel her. If she’s scared or hurt, I’ll know. We need to give her some space.”
Do we? How does he know that? It’s not like she can shout that down their bond.
Instead of questioning him, I take him at his word and slip into my bedroom, shutting the door behind me as I torture myself with the smell of my Omega tangled up in my sheets.
“Looking great, Calvin,” I tell the fire breather. He has added a few pieces to his routine, which has expanded to include fire eating and a mesmerizing dance where he appears to set himself on fire.
The Alpha, a Black man with tight braids gathered at the base of his neck, smiles. “Thanks, boss. I’m having fun with it. Trying to give the audience something fresh.”
“Well, it’s working.” I pat him on the back as I move to the other side of the ring, where Rex, the contortionist, is climbing out of a glorified shoebox.
“Hey, boss!” he calls cheerily, unfolding himself to his full, staggering height. The Alpha towers over me, probably close to seven feet tall, with willowy limbs that make me feel like a strong breeze may blow him over. “What’s up?”
“Checking in to see if you need anything before tonight’s show.” His spandex bodysuit is a dizzying neon green with white vertical stripes, making it hard to look at, so I keep my eyes planted firmly on his smiling face.
“I was going to go see the doc, actually. My antidepressants are running low, and my prescription has expired.” Rex has always been open about the fact that he has had depression since he was a kid.
I encourage my team to be frank and honest with me about their struggles so that I can provide them with the best support.
Sometimes I have to restructure the show when Rex is in a depressive episode, but it doesn’t happen as much as it used to now that his meds seem to be working.
I run my fingers through my hair with a sigh. “Can you uh, let me know how she is after you see her? Like, if she seems alright?”
He narrows his eyes at me, then breaks out into a smile. “I knew you had the hots for her.”
“It’s not like that!” I protest .
It is like that.
He pats me on the shoulder and calls out assurances that he’ll let me know how she is as he leaves, and it feels like a weight has been lifted from me. I trust Rex to tell me the truth, and if she’s not doing well, then I can figure something out to help her.
“Hey Jude,” sings Paul, our juggler, imitating the popular song by the Betaels decades ago. “Watch this.” He picks up three axes from the floor and starts to toss them in the air, catching them deftly and leaving my heart in my throat.
I’ll never get over how he doesn’t lose a finger doing this.
Then, he sticks his bare foot out and grabs a dagger with his toes and manages to toss it up into the mix.
I don’t know much about juggling, but I feel like the timing of catching things of different sizes has to be hard to estimate.
“Gonna do it blindfolded, soon,” he says, a big grin stretching his face wide. “Gonna be a shower stopper. May knock Quick Cut and Maestro out of their spot.”
“We’ll see about that. Keep the doc on speed dial,” I deadpan. He snorts, catching the axes and blade easily and dropping them on the ground before waving me off.
I trust my guys to know their limits, but there is a reason we have a staff doctor. Accidents happen, but I’m not looking to have them spirited off to the emergency room after every show.
When I’m satisfied that all of the acts seem to be in a good place for the night, I head back to my trailer to get some paperwork done. I’ve got permits to submit for a few of our upcoming shows. It’s my least favorite part of my job.
After an hour or so of mind-numbing paperwork, my phone rings with a video call from my mom. I prop it up against a water bottle and accept the call. Her smiling face fills the screen, and sadness briefly flits through me.
My sister looks so much like her, but I haven’t seen her in ages because of her controlling pack. It makes my chest hurt every time I think about her.
“My boy,” my mom says sweetly. “How are you?”
“I’m good, Māmā. Doing some paperwork.” I can see how tired I look in the tiny rectangle at the bottom of the screen, so I know she can, too, on her end. Her face is sweet and a little sad as she takes in my appearance.
My mother and one of my fathers are Māori, but we’ve lived in the States my whole life. My mother has a moko kauae, a traditional tattoo on her chin, and even though it’s faded over the years, I love seeing a physical manifestation of her true identity and our culture on her smiling face.
“You look tired. You’re not sleeping.”
It’s not a question. She knows me well, and I am nearly physically incapable of lying to her.
“I had a long night last night, but it’s not a regular thing. I promise.” I can’t tell her I have a scent match. She’d lose her mind, drop everything to come here and meet her, and start planning our wedding ceremony.
No, I won’t hurt my māmā like that, tempting her with a daughter-in-law and then ripping her away when I don’t even know if Alex will choose us in the end.
“You work too hard,” she says, lightly chastising me. “When are you going to give up that circus?”
Not this again.
“I love what I do, Māmā. This circus is my legacy. I thought we were past this?”
“Well, you’re not getting any younger. I want grandchildren, you know.” I can tell she picks up on my eyeroll when she glares at me through the screen .
I don’t remind her that she already has grandchildren. It’s a sore spot, since she rarely gets to see them.
My origin pack immigrated to the States shortly after my sister was born, because the Prime Alpha is from here and his parents were ill.
Since my mother’s family passed when she was young, she went along with little protest. Once I was born here, it was decided that I would finish my education here.
And then my sister met her pack. All Americans, none with any interest in our culture. She quickly became bonded, isolated, and pregnant, and everything we did to try to get her free of them backfired.
Once my family find out that I am matched to an American pack, as well, there is no way they’ll go back to New Zealand. I can only hope Māmā will not resent me.
We continue our conversation as I work, and I hear all about her tennis league, which is a new development, and how her garden is doing. For half an hour, I’m able to forget about the Omega that is threatening to throw my circus into pure chaos.