12. Red
Chapter twelve
Red
I watch Samantha closely, but all I see is a softening of her expression that says she understands. Like hell she does, but at least I can’t read any greed in her eyes. I’m all too familiar with what that looks like.
Samantha holds her hands wide where I can see them. “Okay, Red, that makes sense. We have lots of options for you, so you can be as comfortable as possible. The Center has cozy nest rooms where you can go, or we can bring materials here into your room, where things are familiar. We have a team of experienced alphas certified to assist you—”
I snarl as waves of heat clash with terror. “Bring a motherfucking alpha into my heat, and I’ll burn the whole damn building down!” I growl at her. “I dare you to try.”
She backs up a step. “Okay, Red. Let’s get you comfortable first. Where do you want to go?”
Billowing fire under my skin scorches out both my sanity and the Red Hawk until all that’s left is the real me, damaged, scared, and alone. The omega at the mercy of her own body. “Nowhere!”
Samantha smiles sadly. “I know this has been traumatic for you until now, but it doesn’t have to be like that. We could sedate you through it, if you prefer.”
I laugh shrilly. “A needle? I’ll stick it through your eyeball if you so much as show me one.” With a rough shove, I push her out of my room and slam the door on her ass. My fingers tremble as I activate the electronic lock, but I know her swipe card will get her inside. Frantic, I run through the room, looking for options. The window doesn’t open wide enough for a body to squeeze through, and it’s the second floor anyway.
I peer into the bathroom and notice a manual lock on the door. So be it.
The outer door beeps as I drag the cover and a pillow off my bed and tuck a water bottle under my arm. Three days; I just need to survive for three days.
“Red, please,” Samantha calls. “We need to talk about this. It’s too dangerous to go through a heat alone.” The bathroom door locks with a satisfying click behind me, smothering her shrill voice.
Wrapping the duvet around my shoulders, I slide down the tiled wall to plop in a shivering heap on the floor. Sweat covers my hands and trickles down my back, and it feels like someone’s turned the central heating to its max setting. A groan slips between my clenched teeth.
Have I mentioned I hate going into heat?
Raw energy crashes through my blood. No pretending, no acting. Just me and a losing battle with mindless desire. Samantha knocks on the door, and I scream at her to go away, but soon even sound fades. I rock into the blanket and hug a pillow against my raging belly.
It’s hard to say which is worse, going through a heat with an alpha you don’t want, or having no alpha at all. My body’s hard-wired to suck on an alpha’s knot like a pussy lollipop, and now I can’t do anything except whine and shake with need.
At least plenty of daylight pours through the window, but as the agony stretches on, even the light fades.
The only thing worse than a heat is a heat in the dark.
Darkness descends, tearing at my mind. I slither on my belly across the floor, half-tangled in the blanket, until I can claw my way up the doorframe to flip the light on. My body spasms with the effort and I groan dully. Heat pulses through me like a supernova is about to burst loose.
Samantha’s voice comes from the other side of the locked door. “Red, let me in. Omegas can go into heat shock if they’re alone, not to mention fever and dehydration.”
“Fuck off!” I roar, but my voice is already shredded so it comes out barely more than a whisper.
I can do this; I have to do this. I refuse to have one more cock between my legs that I haven’t put there myself. Ever. Shivers rack me and I fall onto my hands and knees, pain shooting up my joints.
Samantha knocks again. “Red, I’m sorry, but we need to get you out. It’s been over twelve hours.”
Metal strikes metal and I feel each vibration as if it’s burrowing into my brain like a cockroach in trash.
“Stay away!” I scream, scooting over on my ass until my back hits the vanity.
A clinking sound comes, and then the door creaks open. I throw the soap holder. “I don’t want help. I don’t want an alpha!” The little dish falls to the floor and shatters, and I follow it up with a full shampoo bottle and a toothbrush holder. “Get out!”
I sob as a burly beta man ducks in through the gap, dodging my projectiles, with Samantha right behind him. He tries to pick me up, but I lash out. “It’s my heat, dammit! I’d rather die than be fucked through it!”
The pack voices in my head roar as if they can hear me. If it’s not them, I don’t want anyone touching me. Where the fuck are they? Could they be right outside?
I lunge forward, flailing. “My alphas are coming. They’re coming!”
The tang of coppery blood hits my senses, but I don’t know if it’s from me or the beta I attacked. He’s too big, too strong, and my muscles give way, weak as jelly. I can’t say he smells like licorice, but the scent floods through me anyway, thick and nauseating.
“Forgive me, Red.”
Through blurry eyes I watch as Samantha pulls out a needle.
“You fucking bastard!” I scream. Some part of me disconnects and floats free when that tiny, lethal spit of metal punctures into my arm. “I will kill you and all your family, you damn traitor!” I cry, my legs giving way. “Liar!” Tears choke me.
I flail, but my muscles won’t obey. Then I sink as the darkness devours me completely until nothing remains.
The minute hand sweeps around the wall clock, marking the silent passage of time. Time is a slippery sucker; in a blink, four days of my life vanished, and I woke up disoriented and starving.
One part of me acknowledges that yeah, maybe they had to intervene because I’d locked myself in a room and wasn’t thinking about drinking the water I took with me. But the other, fiercer part of me can’t forgive Samantha for sticking a needle in me for any reason.
And it doesn’t help the episode triggered a fresh round of mental evaluation, or whatever this session I’m currently sitting in amounts to.
I finish the questionnaire on the tablet and drop it on the glass coffee table with a sharp thunk . The dark-skinned woman on the couch opposite me fiddles with her glasses as she waits for me to unload regarding the heat. She’ll be waiting until hell ices over.
Psychologist Marilyn Woods sighs. “I know this trauma runs so deep for you, Red, but talking about it will help. Your heats aren’t going away, and we hope to never have an incident like that again.”
I rest my chin on my hand, elbow slipping a little on the brown leather armrest. “Like what? I had my heat with my alphas.” That’s a much better scenario than any of the others that come to mind. And I kinda had some hazy dreams while knocked out, thanks to these blue nurse warriors.
Her pencil-thin brows lift. “You threatened to stab your nurse through the eye, and then to kill her entire family.”
“That’s awfully mean.” I shake my head. “I didn’t say that.”
She laces her hands together, the gold polish on her fingernails glimmering in the natural light pouring through the window. “It’s natural to say things we don’t mean when we’re distressed. This is a safe space, Red. You’re not in trouble for lashing out, but you need to acknowledge what being in heat really does to you. Darkness lies at the heart of why you lashed out.”
Pretty words, but I feel the same way I did when I escaped the nest during my last heat. It’s a prickling sensation of looking over your shoulder because an attack could come from anywhere.
“That’s not me,” I murmur. The woman who screams and threatens to kill others isn’t me. She’s a product of the House of Bitches.
“Why do you say that?” She picks up a pen and jots in the notebook balanced on her knee.
I stare out the window. I haven’t shared my story before because no one cared enough to ask the questions, but that still doesn’t mean it’s safe to answer.
“She and I aren’t the same, so don’t talk like we are,” I growl out. That wild omega just possesses me at certain times.
And what would a beta like Dr Woods with a fancy degree know about the extreme conditions of a heat? No shade on betas, but she’s never experienced her insides burning with an overwhelming need so strong it shreds her sanity, let alone being repeatedly fucked and edged by an alpha you simultaneously hate and need.
Dr Woods slides her glasses over her nose. “Do you feel like a separate part of you comes out when you experience heats? The omega nature becomes more demanding and needy during this part of the cycle; it’s nothing to be ashamed of. And if it’s something more than that, you can tell me.”
I sit up straighter. “And why do I need to tell you anything? Are you going to keep me hostage here until I do?”
She shakes her head. “You’re not a hostage, Red. We have a responsibility for your wellbeing, and we take it seriously. We’re not like the place you came from.”
A scoff vibrates through me. “So you say, but from where I’m sitting, you’re both sticking needles in me. The only difference is you folks talk a heck of a lot more. I think we’re done here.” I curl my foot onto the coffee table and shove the tablet across with my toes. “Here, I’ve finished with your little personality survey.”
Dr Woods reaches out to rescue the stylus pen before it rolls off the table. “Sure, we can finish up here today, but we’ll need to keep having these little chats so we can work through what happened with your heat and formulate a plan for the future.”
I shake my head as I stand up. “That won’t be necessary. My alphas are coming to get me.” I don’t think this omega center is for me, honestly.
She sets the pen down on top of the tablet, and her overly calm manner annoys me. “What makes you so sure of that?”
I tap the side of my head. “Because they said so.” Maybe not in words, but I know they want me, just like I want them.
That should give her something interesting to stew on. All these betas can chew the fat on why I’m talking about voices in my head while I research how to get my first paid acting role. That’s what I really want to do: immerse myself in someone else’s story instead of wallowing in the darkness of my own.
So that’s what I spend the hour doing after my therapy session finishes, starting with researching the famous omega actress, Olivia Hunston. At least this omega hive has unrestricted internet access in its favor, plus read-aloud browser extensions, which I need. According to Alphapedia, Olivia started out with her brother being her manager.
From what I can tell, most managers are freelancers who work closely with an agency the actor signs with, doing everything a personal assistant would do. My heart leaps as I learn about some of the famous relationships where the manager is as well known as the actor and becomes a fashion icon in their own right. Olivia’s brother went on to start his own clothing label.
I come across a look behind the scenes for one of the current predicted big films, Hope at Sea , which includes an article on how the main actress, Lyra Gray, prepares for scenes. My finger stops on the scroll wheel as I hit the pictures where Lyra poses with an upturned face while her manager applies makeup.
My heart tingles a little as I take in the man with platinum blond hair and a focused expression leaning over her. What’d it be like to have a partner you could shop and try out makeup with? Someone who took care of you.
A smile plays across my lips as I catch the glitter of midnight-blue eyeshadow on the outer corner of the manager’s eye. He’s got style and the way he holds himself is damn fine.
I sigh as I stretch out the kinks in my body, leaning way back in the chair. Samantha mentioned a yoga class, so I think I’ll sign up for that to gain back a bit of flexibility. Ommywood sources give high praise online for actors who can do their own stunts, and I’m game to try anything once.
Back in my room, I discover Samantha left her tablet on my side table. A disapproving hum goes off in the back of my head, but I ignore it as I pick it up and tap in a couple of number codes in the same direction I’ve seen her hand move.
Like, I wasn’t really trying to sneak a look, but she wasn’t careful. Elation pings through me as the screen unlocks, but the sensation soon disintegrates.
Stark on the screen sits my digital file, including photos, biometrics, and reports. Gory details from my rescue and notes on my refusal to give a statement. All normal things you’d expect in an omega’s file. The active chat tab, not so much. Written in cold hard blue is Dr Woods’ psychology assessment.
Omega known as Red (O-11) exhibits severe psychosis and critical heat trauma. Deemed dangerous. Not approved for release to a pack under current analysis.
The buzzing in my brain gets louder as I drop onto the bed. Not approved? Well, fuck them. I don’t need their approval anyway, and I certainly never asked for it. If I wasn’t sure this place suited me, now I know for sure.
My gaze shifts out my window to the sturdy walls and heightened security. Getting out might be a challenge, but not as difficult as the House of Bitches. Might be the perfect time to learn some stunt skills.
Code name Red Hawk’s ready for a challenge.