Beta (Serendipity Omegaverse)
Chapter 1
Isink into the moment of suspension as the symphony ends, my fellow musicians holding a collective breath. It’s the best part of the opening piece of this concert: the way the final note rings through the hall, the stillness that it invokes in the listener for just a hairsbreadth before the modern world eclipses it. My hand still feels the reverberations of the string through my bow as I lift it away, letting my cello join the others even as the timpani continue vibrating from the residual perfect harmonies. The conductor smiles before offering a resounding praise.
The moment is lost, but Liz elbows me, and I know she felt it, too. If it’s this good in rehearsal, it should be perfect for the performance next Saturday, a haunting warning of what the entire night’s repertoire evokes.
“Mr. Jameson will be distributing the new pieces in just a moment,” Giles Moran says from where he stands on the conductor’s podium. His baton is stashed in his back pocket, the top button of his Oxford left undone, his thin glasses perched on the edge of his nose. He glances at the music stand in front of him and flips a page. “While he does that, let’s review piece three. Violins, from the top, please.”
The rest of the symphony visibly relaxes as he singles in on the tricky opening to the final piece of the performance. I make a few notes on the music before letting my cello relax against my legs and rest my bow in my lap. Mason’s quick intake of breath is my only warning that Rylan’s made it to our section.
“Prinicpal,” he says, handing a small stack of papers to Liz on my left. “Second.” His voice warms as he turns to Mason. He’s been principal the last six months. We rotate twice a season in the name of equality, and he’s been even more excited for the shake up than I have, saying he wants a break from the solo work to be able to focus on other individual projects in his spare time.
Rylan is unsmiling when he turns to me. “Third,” he says.
His voice skates over me, sending a shiver down my spine that I mask well enough. His fingers brush mine as I take the music and hide my disappointment by the skin of my teeth. He turns to the others in our section without further comment.
Third. Damn it.
Giles finishes up with the violins as I organize the new music, ordering it by the concert schedule I keep taped to the inside cover of the small black binder I use to keep track of everything.
“Principals, if you’ll make contact with me before you leave to set up sectionals. Everyone else is free to go,” he says.
Mayhem breaks out moments later, the basses behind me laughing about some set of plans they have for the weekend, the low brass joining in after a few passive-aggressive comments lobbied their direction. At the first mention of football, I lose interest.
Huntley is quick to find me, wading through the rows that separate us, her oboe and English horn already packed away and slung over both shoulders. She cocks an eyebrow but doesn’t say what she’s clearly thinking, pursing her lips as she crosses her arms, her foot tapping to an unheard beat. She follows me to the prep space, grabbing my case so I don’t have to put down my music.
We’re silent as we leave the concert hall, my hands shoved into the pockets of my jeans.
“Not what you wanted, obviously,” she says once we’re a reasonable distance from the building.
I shake my head. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m excited for Liz. It’s her final season with us. She deserves to be principal again for her swan song.”
Liz matched over the off season, going to one of the quarterly Matching Galas put on by the Unified Council of Alpha and Omega Designations, Inquiries, and Concerns—or Council, as most people referred to it, since the full thing was a goddamn mouthful. And definitely not the fun kind. Liz had been indecisive the last two years whether she wanted to actually be assigned to a pack. Something changed in the spring, though. One Tuesday, she walked into rehearsal and told us she would be leaving the symphony at the end of the next performance season. The next month, she was in Manhattan, dancing the night away. Everyone fawned over her pictures when she came back, appreciating all the Alpha eye candy that was there for her to enjoy.
I, however, spent too much time trying to see if Violet was in any of the photos.
Had she matched?
I was too much of a coward to look up the official public records the Council maintained. If I didn’t look, I never had to face the harsh reality that she really wasn’t mine. In my mind, I could still pretend we had just taken a break like a lot of young couples on the precipice of college.
Never mind that it had been nearly four years since I left Seattle and never looked back. Or that she had dumped me before I’d ever gotten on the plane.
Huntley nods, her voice pulling me out of my thoughts. “It just sucks that it’s not you. You’ve worked really hard for it.”
“Exactly,” I mutter. Though in reality, I’ll get it eventually. I’m not an Omega, destined to leave permanently when the Council finally woos me into matching with a pack. And I’m not an Alpha that runs the risk of having to miss important concerts due to an Omega’s heat cycle. I’m a Beta: a normal, average man with a love for music and vintage video games. Realistically, I’m one of the safest choices for principal.
Which is part of why it stings so much that I’ve been looked over again despite going into my third year with the L.A. Philharmonic.
“You still have that date tonight?” she asks once we’re several blocks from the concert hall. I nod. “He’s an Alpha, right?”
I give her my best side-eye.
She shrugs, unrepentant. “Just double checking. Remind me again why you’re willing to date this Alpha but not Rylan?”
Now I scowl. “There’s nothing between me and Rylan,” I mutter.
Nothing but my long stares I tried to hide, my memorizing the way the two snakes intertwined on his neck, the black tattoo twisting up the side of his throat and into his hair. Nothing but my own frustration over his lack of notice, of my being so thoroughly a Beta that there was no chance in Hell I’d hold his attention long enough for him to be interested in me. On the best of days, he greeted me with a polite smile at practice. On the worst… it was like I didn’t exist, his cool gaze sliding right over me.
Huntley has the audacity to laugh in my face before shrugging, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “And Mark doesn’t resent me for having the English Horn parts.”
I offer her my best glare, and she backs off, humming as we eat away the distance to our apartments. We part ways when we’re a block or so away from her place.
“See you Thursday, yeah?” she asks over her shoulder. When I nod, she grins. “Excited to kick your ass at trivia again, Jas.”
I shake my head and laugh. “Just watch them have a whole Zelda section this time. My time to shine!”
“That’s the blond guy, right?” The joke is a staple between us, but it still has me frowning. I cock an eyebrow.
“What’s that girl’s name again? Rosella?” I know damn well that’s not whoever she despises from Twilight.
She rolls her eyes even as she laughs. I wait until she’s turned the corner before continuing on my way, adjusting my cello where it sits against my back. The next several blocks pass without me seeing them, my mind caught up with thoughts of Violet—and Rylan, since I’ve decided to be a complete and utter masochist today. What is it about me that just fixates on the people I know I can never have?
I shake my head, unlocking the door to my ground floor apartment that has certainly seen better days, pushing it open while pulling my phone from my pocket and opening a missed text from my brother. The distinct sound of water splashing steals my attention, and I glance up from the inappropriate meme Luke sent me.
You have got to be joking.