Waiting for Fate (Soulbound Omegaverse: The Bonds Of Pain #1)
Chapter One
CHAPTER ONE
I LOVE A good dicking, but sometimes I really fucking hate men.
I’m scowling down at my phone, wondering why Mateability—an app omegas used to find heat helpers—has to be full of obnoxious assholes. If I have to suffer through one more conversation with a frat boy who thinks he’s a god simply for having a knot, I will lose my shit.
Can’t I find a semi-decent group to help me through a suppressed heat without the complication of a shitty attitude? A girl needs to eat and shower, not just be knotted for several days.
Closing the app, I let my head thump against the wall behind my chair. While finding help for my impending heat is a priority, I should focus on today's meeting with a Soulbound Echo Studios music label executive manager. Last summer, I earned a paid internship in their production department. After my break ended, they approved me picking up occasional shifts on weekends or school breaks, extending my internship to a yearlong contract instead of the initially planned three months.
Soulbound Echoes is one of the top music labels in the country. Founded a hundred and fifty years ago, they’ve shaped the music world ever since. After the appearance of designations, they created an East Coast label in New York. They have contracts with musicians across multiple genres, giving them a hefty backlog of legends beneath their belt.
Working in the music industry has been my dream for years. My alpha dad, Phoenix, passed along his love of rock and metal music, but it wasn’t until I discovered the all-female band Candy Courage that my obsession had taken root. I would pass away from joy if I could manage them, but that dream is leagues out of my reach. Mostly because their beta mate, Holly, manages the band, but an omega can dream.
I’m hopeful today’s meeting will be an offer to work full time within the company. Preferably in the managerial department, but I’d still take a role in production if it meant I could eventually get promoted to manager.
Nervous excitement fills my stomach with butterflies as one of the office doors opens down the hall. A small waiting room sits at the front of the third floor, with the manager’s secretary taking calls and directing incoming foot traffic.
Sitting up straighter, I carefully straighten my lavender pantsuit to smooth out any creases that appeared while waiting. The matching blazer hangs off my shoulders and hides the excess of exposed skin the spaghetti strap shoulders create. It’s comfortable yet professional and still has the pop of color I adore.
Minutes pass before someone struts down the hall toward me. My mouth dries as I take him in. He’s well over six feet, with dark, prominent brows and ashy black hair fading to gray at his temples. The charcoal button-up stretched across his chest, highlighting his fit body without being unprofessional. Rolled-up sleeves showcase his toned forearms. I do not know who this absolute blessing of a man is, but I want to lick him.
“Sabine?”
The train of depraved desire coursing through me jerks to a halt as my full name passes through his lips. I fucking hate being called Sabine. The only person who gets away with it is my mother, and even she usually sticks to Bea.
“That’s me, though I would prefer if you’d call me Bea,” I answer as I stand up, a polite smile plastered on my face.
“Shiloh Acherley.” He turns on his heel and returns to his office. If I thought he looked great from the front, the view from the back is drool-worthy. This man has an ass that would make women everywhere jealous. “With me, Miss Powell.”
I hurry to keep pace with him, fighting the urge to peek into every room. I’ve never been on this level of the label before. Usually, I work on the second floor, where the studios and production offices are located. When we reach the last door on the right, he swings it open and gestures for me to step inside.
As I slip by his tall figure, I catch the sweetest hint of amber and white sand. He smells like a warm summer day at the beach. My knees shake as I take the seat across from his desk. Fates dammit, working here is going to be hell on my hormones, isn’t it?
Going over my role in the internship is quick and effortless. He has a stack of papers summarizing all the feedback from my coworkers, supervisors, and professors, though he doesn’t seem impressed.
The lack of reaction from Mr. Acherley frustrates me for a reason I can’t quite put my finger on.
Sometimes being an omega is weird as fuck, but you have to learn to roll with it.
“Given your dedication to the label and the positive feedback from the rest of our staff, we would like to extend you an offer to transition to a full-time position. Your interest is in managing bands, correct?”
Rich, coffee-colored eyes meet mine, startling in their depth as he stares at me. His intense stare holds me captive, and I struggle to breathe. It’s only seconds, but it feels like a lifetime before I can force a response through my frozen lips.
“Correct. I earned a degree in music business with that goal in mind.”
Shiloh nods, glancing down at the papers on his desk before refocusing on me. “If you accept our offer, your transition to the team of band managers will begin next Monday. After discussing your resume with the rest of the executives and our seasoned band managers, you will dive headfirst into this role. You’ll shadow your mentor, Brady Moore, during his band’s tour. You will manage the opening band assigned to the tour, Orbital Somatic.”
Shock has my mouth hanging open. They are offering me a manager-in-training position and assigning me to manage a band while they are on tour? I feel like I should pinch myself in case I’m dreaming, but I don’t think my subconscious could conjure the alpha sitting across from me in such intricate detail.
“Here is the proposed contract. You’ll note there are exclusions built into the parameters of your personal and vacation days to allow for heat leave.” He passes me a stack of papers.
Soulbound offers a base income rate for all of their staff to help negate the need to seek outside work to survive, but band managers earn a separate commission based on the success of their bands. As an assistant band manager working with Orbital Somatic, I will earn the base rate plus a five percent commission for all of their sales over the next year. It’s a very fair contract. One many less progressive labels would never consider.
Once I’ve scanned the entire document, Shiloh walks me through where to sign. There are other forms to fill out, which take us half an hour to go over. I don’t mind, not when I’m practically cocooned in his warm scent. I feel safe here with him. Part of me thinks I should wonder why I feel drawn to the older alpha, but I don’t want to start my dream career lusting after my boss, so I brush those thoughts aside.
Being attracted to him is fine. What cannot happen is me letting my instincts take the reins and make myself appear unprofessional.
After completing the paperwork, he tells me he will set up a meeting next Monday for me to meet my new mentor and the band I will work with. Shiloh is straightforward, speaking in a matter-of-fact tone that does little to stop the growing desire inside of me.
Maybe my heat is coming early? Why else would I react like this to a man I just met? One who has barely paid me any attention outside of our work-related conversation.
Shit, I should mention that. Warmth floods my cheeks, but I ignore the flushed feeling it brings. Heats are a natural part of an omega’s life. They are nothing to be ashamed of.
“I already let human resources and my supervisors in the production department know, but my heat is due soon. I will have someone reach out to the label if it will interfere with my ability to join the tour on schedule.”
He stares at me for several seconds, his jaw clenched shut. I wonder if he is uncomfortable discussing heat? Some older men are old school about a woman’s bodily function, even with something as common as a period or heat. When he finally nods, I let out the breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. I’m glad he isn’t going to make a big deal about it.
I follow him out of his office, listening as he points out the break room and the manager’s office where I will be working. When he stops suddenly, I bump into his back. It takes a monumental effort to hold myself back from leaning in to soak in his scent. I’m in trouble if I have to work with this man every day. He smells like the best anxiety-relieving candle money could buy.
“My apologies,” he mutters as he moves again. He ruins any daydream I could conjure about an illicit office romance when he opens his stupid mouth. “Have a lovely afternoon, Sabine.”
“Bea,” I demand, but he’s gone before the haze of anger dissipates from my vision, leaving me to wrangle my bratty self into the elevator.
Why are men so fucking ridiculous?!
“What about this one?” My best friend and roommate Omen shows me her phone screen, the app open to the Mateability app. We’ve been scrolling through options in anticipation of my upcoming heat.
Since I’ll be using suppressants, it should only last a day or two. Even with the shorter heat window, I certainly don’t want to suffer through it alone. I’ve spent too many heats with only my toys and hands to get me through, so I’m going to take advantage of heat helpers now that I’ve graduated from the Omega Academy.
My eyes roam over the screen, soaking in the delicious specimen of an alpha. I might be drooling. Tall but lithe, he’s covered in tattoos clear up to his neck. The cut-off tank top he’s wearing is from an older metal band, adding to his attractiveness. I grab Omen’s phone and scroll through his profile. He’s unmated and packless in his late 20s, with no career listed. He likely signed up for the alphas paycheck they receive when they help an omega through their heat.
Not that his reasons for participating matter to me. As long as he isn’t there to do anything nefarious, I’ll ride this alpha’s knot for two days, no problem.
With an alpha to help me through the worst of the heat haze, I switch to the beta profiles. Having a beta in the room is a necessity. Too many things could go wrong—like accidental bonding—to risk going into heat with only an unknown alpha to help me through it.
A shocked laugh squeaks out of me when I stumble across one of the music producers from the label within the profiles. I’m so going to give Manny shit for this when I see him next!
I keep scrolling, though. As attractive as he is, it would cross professional boundaries to ask him to help with my heat. I finally find a male beta, a nutritionist, to fill the role. If anything, at least I won’t have to worry about not getting enough calories during the heat.
“How was your meeting at the label?” Omen’s ombre black-to-lilac hair is in a long ponytail, and I’m jealous as hell about how long it is. If my hair hung to the top of my ass, I would melt down every morning when I had to try to tame my curls.
She’s packing our stuff into totes and boxes, preparing to move out of our shared dorm at the Omega Academy and into our new apartment in Starburgh. We’ll be closer to the label, so I won’t have such a long commute to work. And it is just a short drive out of New York City, so we can go to omega-safe clubs on our nights off.
“It was… interesting?”
I grab a tote and start helping her, trying not to grumble about it the entire time. I hate packing. If I didn’t have a meltdown over strangers touching my stuff, I would hire a moving company to pack for us. If I caught someone else’s scent in my nest, my instincts would have a conniption. Like the end of the world, tantrum style freak out.
“I’m going on tour.”
Omen stills, her lips tugging into a frown for the briefest of seconds. My best friend doesn’t do well with big changes in her routine. She grew up in an anti-designation cult in New Hampshire. A place she only escaped when her older sister brought her into the DAU—Designation Activist Underground—an organization that helps rescue at-risk citizens from dangerous areas throughout the country. They helped her create a new identity so she could start over in her new life as an omega.
My family took over the role of her guardian, adopting her as my sister without caring where she came from. It was the best decision my parents have ever made. Aside from having me, of course. I always wanted a sibling, something that wasn’t possible for my beta mother, and Omen is everything I could have ever asked for in a sister, even if we don’t share a blood relation and look nothing alike.
After growing up in an abusive, unstable home, Omen struggles with change. Moving to Starburgh is a big enough stressor for her, and I know hearing I’ll be leaving for two months isn’t helping. But I won’t set aside my dreams when she’s busy chasing her own. My parents live close enough to visit her and ensure she isn’t spiraling while I’m away.
“That’s awesome!”
I don’t buy the fake cheerful tone she’s using, but I don’t push her to tell me what’s going through her mind. Instead, I reassure her my leaving won’t change anything before redirecting the conversation to talk about her upcoming gigs. Omen is a photographer. She eventually wants to work as a tour photographer. Her love of music is nearly as vast as my own.
All thanks to me since I have spent the past four years dragging her to concerts and blasting my favorites as we clean our dorm.
“I didn’t book anything. There’s not enough time when we have graduation tomorrow, moving next weekend, then time to settle in. I can’t add shoots on top of that. Actually, there is a protest next Monday I am attending for the DAU.” She shrugs, continuing to pack as she talks. Her eyes dart to my still-empty tote and the pile of things around me I have yet to do more than sort into piles. Subtle she is not.
“We need to jam if I’m going to accomplish anything other than complaining,” I pout.
Omen laughs and hooks her phone up to our big speaker. The dark, seductive notes of her favorite band, Primordial Covenant, fill the room, pulling me back to the shocked awe on her face when they opened at a concert we’d attended last year.
Masked hotties with lyrics that melt your heart and your panties. Yeah, my bestie was hooked from the opening notes. Understandably so because those men are a wet dream walking, and that’s without knowing what they look like beneath the masks.
“This is the life, isn’t it?” I sway to the music and pack away the picture frames we had decorating our walls.
“Me, you, and music? Yeah, it is.” Omen beams at me, quoting the promise I made her at our first concert together.
She skips the part where I promised an endless supply of musician knots, but I know she isn’t ready for that. Her fear of her family finding her is still too strong for her to pursue a relationship. Maybe my being gone for this tour will help break her out of the shell she’s chosen to live in.