Chapter 6
Imogen
"Hey, Imogen, are you okay?" Roxy calls after me as I shove my wings through the door to the employee break room.
"Oops, I'm so sorry," I whisper apologetically to the women I keep accidentally bumping into, trying to maneuver through the crowded space. Chandra, a beta, must be used to getting slapped in the face by feathers because she just waves me off, stepping around my large span before exiting the room.
Struggling to take off the wings, my fingers tremble, making it difficult to grab hold of the straps. I'm falling apart. I'm losing my mind. Truly, I must be losing my mind.
I silently chuckled and rolled my eyes at my boss's arrogance when I overheard him telling Roxy to make sure the new employee knew his pack's preferences regarding infatuated omegas, as if every woman he encountered was interested in them. I'd seen him from across the room, and sure, he was handsome. More than, in a rugged, Viking prince kind of way, with his scraggly long blond hair, sometimes pieces braided and pulled back, sometimes up in a man-bun, and his tall, lean frame. Totally not my type. Nope.
I could ignore the random attraction, but when I entered the office—his scent hit me like a surging wave—fresh, clean cotton, like a summer breeze, warm sunshine, almost succulent and oceanic.
I suck in a deep breath as if I could still find traces of his lingering scent in the air, but all I get is fruity perfume and the waxy smell of makeup that litters the counters.
I just met my scent match. I can't believe it. Overwhelmed, my attempts to slow my rapid breathing do nothing, and I feel lightheaded.
I'm wearing scent-blockers, so he has no idea what's just happened.
And I just heard him say he doesn't want an omega.
And I'm engaged.
I'm going to be sick.
"Imogen!" Roxy's tight grasp on my arms snaps me back into focus. "What the hell is going on? Are you okay? Come, sit."
She easily tugs the straps down my arms, releasing me from the wings. The weight, though slight when I'm wearing them, feels like a boulder releasing when she drops them inelegantly on the ground, guiding me to a chair in front of a mirror. She pulls the mask off my face, and I look forward; the thick, black smokey eye make-up, worn to hide the brightness of my skin behind the black mask, paired with the tension beneath my shoulders, makes me look like a haunted, noir-film heroine.
"I'm-I'm fine. I'm so sorry to worry you," I croak.
"Riiiight. You seem perfectly fine." She walks to one side of the break room, digs into a mini fridge, and returns, a bottle of water in one hand, a soda can in the other. My fingertips reach out for the water out of habit, but I take the soda instead, cracking it open and downing the contents. The fizz and cold sugar wake me up, grounding me.
"I'm fine, I promise," I tell Roxy, slightly more convincing. "I just got a little lightheaded."
She looks skeptical. "Is the dancing too much? Maybe you should practice without the mask, it might be too suffocating—"
"No! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to shout. But no, it's not a problem, I swear. This is helping," I lift the near-empty can.
"Okay… if you're sure."
"I am."
"Okay. You were coming to find me?"
I stare dumbly into her hazel-brown eyes, not recalling anything past my scent-match. My mate. Oh my god, I found my mate.
"In the office with Cass?"
"Cass," I whisper his name, testing it on my lips. That must mean… Red and Iggy are mine, too. Packs form through instinctual bonds between alphas and sometimes betas. Finding their omega is the same, though more visceral. If I scent-matched with Cass, that means…
The fog and shock dissipate, leaving excitement in their wake. I try to focus back on Roxy, but it's difficult.
"Imogen?"
"Yeah… yes. I'm sorry, it's been a weird day. I was just wondering if you decided about practice next week?" My life just got so complicated, but I'm elated. And terrified. With effort, I force myself to concentrate on Roxy.
Relieved I'm clearly coming back online, so different from my usual put-together self, Roxy leans back in the chair across from me. "I think we should pair your practice with the early shift. You're good enough to be on stage while we're open, in front of customers, but you're still not nailing the inversions. Between you and me, though," she leans forward conspiratorially, "your ballerina spins are the best I've seen." Roxy winks, and I flush with the compliment but restrain my smile, folding my hands in my lap.
There are a lot of inversions you can do with a pole—hanging upside down—and I'm having the hardest time with the ones that require so much strength. I'm building it, but it's a slow process. Each night I leave with bruised thighs and sore ankles, rubbing them in the bath after work, my fingers red and raw with calluses; still, every day here feels like a gift.
The ballerina spin evenly distributes my strength to my arms and legs, and my ballet training taught me how to harness that strength to maintain a fluid and constant spin, so it's easier for me than the inversions. I'm still learning to incorporate the pole, but I think I've found a happy medium.
"Thank you, Roxy, that means a lot," I murmur.
"And you seem to be getting stronger?" She takes my hand in hers, inspecting the small callus forming on my palms. The skin is peeling around a blister from my first few days, but beneath that, it's hardening from all the work. I feel so much pride staring at my hands.
"Yes, much stronger. I've been doing those push-ups and planks you taught me, too."
She lights up, then squeezes my bicep. "I can tell! Man, you're really getting stronger. You'll nail those inversions in no time."
I stared in the mirror last night after work, observing the small changes in my body, mostly in my arms and legs. My belly is still soft, but the muscles burned like I'd done a thousand push-ups, and I ghosted my fingertips over the hidden abs, marveling at the changes I was going through. Thank goodness I'm not staying at home right now, my mother would not approve.
After planning out the schedule for the next two weeks, Roxy rubs her hands on her bare legs, then pushes to a stand. "Alright, I've got some work to do for Cass."
"Cass," I echo, savoring the sound of his name, feeling my stomach flutter. I should go talk to him. He'd want to know we've scent-matched. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, startled by the heavy black eye makeup that I'm not used to wearing. Yet, it's the slight smile that curves my painted-red lips that truly catches me off guard. It's not forced or fake. It's imperfect, a little crooked, curling my lips even higher.
As if she can read my thoughts, Roxy appears in the mirror behind me. She tilts her head sympathetically. I almost ask her what's wrong, the furrow in her brow, lips pressed, such a contrast to my first genuine smile in ages, when she says, "Listen, I'm probably wrong, my radar isn't perfect, and your killer scent-block doesn't tell me a thing, but…"
She disappears from the mirrored reflection, leaning instead on the counter in front of me. I push back in my seat to give her room, looking up, tilting my head to the side. I already have a feeling where this is going, after over-hearing her and Cass's conversation.
"One time, there was this girl who worked here, Emily. She was super sweet, an omega. She came from a beta family who didn't know how to protect her. Anyway, long story short, some alphas from the Hills showed up on her doorstep trying to offer her parents money for her first heat."
I recoil, disgusted at the thought. I knew things like that happened, Ophelia's told me as much, but to hear it shared so casually…
"Anyway, she had a rough go of it. Her parents really tried to protect her, but it wasn’t always easy. When she turned eighteen, she showed up here, and Dante took her under their wing. She danced on stage. But she got a crush on the guys, especially Iggy. Something about all that raw masculine power, am I right?" She laughs, waving her hand at her collar. Jealousy strikes, making my fingernails dig into my palms, so I discreetly slip my hands under my bum in the chair to keep from reacting. I know Roxy's packed up. Even so, they're mine.
Except, they aren't mine yet, are they? I need to claim them. I need them to claim me. My knee bounces, but I nod, encouraging her to continue her story so I can get on with it, go track Cass down, then Red and Iggy, and we can have one big happy family and start our happily ever after.
I wonder if they want kids? I do. Will they want to have a big wedding ceremony, as is common in high-society? Or just bond during our first heat? Oh, thank goodness I didn't take any heat suppressants.
Roxy's gentle voice pulls me out of my family-planning fantasy. "They went to the cops for her, and since nothing happened to the alphas who tried to buy her virginity, Dante ended up just beating the shit out of them instead. They gave Emily a job, helped her find the pills she needed through Ophelia, helped her secure an apartment with another omega roommate. It was obvious to everyone she was in love. She was gone for them. Down bad, baby."
Roxy looks away, and lead weighs in my gut. I don't like where this story is going. "They made it clear to her they weren't interested. For a lot of reasons, and they can share it someday if you get to know them well enough, but they don't date omegas. They never will; they've sworn it up and down for years. And they never touch employees. So, Emily waited until her heat came and basically threw herself at them. She snuck into their house while they were at work. They came home and found her, nearly delirious, completely naked. It was awful. Their alphas went insane. They really struggled, and she just kept begging, in pain, for them to knot her."
I know what that pain is like. I've been through more than a dozen heats, and while I feel lucky that I've always been able to share them with an alpha, I still know what that feels like to not get what you need right away. Like you're empty, aching, heartbroken until an alpha takes the edge off.
It's incredibly frustrating, but it makes getting a knot all the more euphoric when it finally comes. But the begging is real. For an alpha to ignore that desperation—a single, unbonded pack at that? Alphas are biologically wired to react to an omega in pain, and alphas respond to an omega in heat the way one might expect. I don't think I've ever met an alpha with such impressive self-control to not fall into a rut in that situation.
"Iggy was livid. He's got his own history with omegas… anyway, he managed to call me and Ophelia. We went to their warehouse and found her in Cass's bedroom. They were trying to make her comfortable so she wasn't writhing on their living room floor, but it only made it worse, being around Cass's scent. She was naked and screaming, and they were on the edge of a rut. Phe and I got her out of there and into the nearest heat clinic. Luckily, Janey, a nurse friend of Phe's, was working, and we got her some help. After that… Well, she didn't work here after that."
Roxy looks off into the distance, unseeing, the dark memory clouding her vision.
My heart aches for the guys. And for the girl, Emily. I hate the idea of an omega—anyone, really—being in such pain. But to steal Dante's choice to share a heat, it's not okay.
I thought being scent-matched was all I ever needed. And for a second, I convinced myself that I could march back into the office and tell Cass I was his fated mate, and we could just live happily ever after.
But life isn't a fairytale.
And even if I told him, it doesn't solve the problem with my family. My parents and their financial troubles and whatever sketchy debt collectors they owe. My engagement.
"The guys didn't show up to work for weeks. They were hurt, to be put in that position by someone they were only trying to help. Upset that they almost rutted her. They were so close to it when we showed up to pull Emily away."
Roxy shivers slightly, coming to a stand, straightening out her shirt. The thin ribbed tank top barely hides the sparkly sequined number she wears underneath. "Obviously, that’s a big dramatic story. I just wanted to share because I think it's important for the omegas here who might get a little twinkle in their eye about one of the guys to know how they feel, so there's no hard feelings or missed expectations. Not that you do feel that way! Please don't misunderstand. I'm not accusing you of anything. But sometimes, it’s good to say these things up front, and I do it with all the new employees. You get what I'm saying?"
Now she really does look like a mother figure. Having the hard, embarrassing talks with the younger girls, the veteran who knows the ropes, making sure we don't misstep.
I don't know what to do. I have to tell them, I don't think I'll be able to keep it to myself. But what if they reject me? What if their discomfort with being with an omega goes so deep they deny their scent-match?
I'm still wearing the heavy-duty blockers. Not even my perfume could penetrate, no one can scent me at all.
Like everything else in my life, it's complicated. My genuine smile disappeared during Roxy's story, lost behind the thick barrier of perfection. I slip on my small smile, straighten my shoulders, and look up. "Of course, there's nothing to worry about."
She doesn't look like she believes me. I can't imagine what I looked like, sauntering into the office, then hit with the recognition of my fated mate Cass, seeing those gray-blue eyes for the first time, breathing in the heady, comforting scent of clean cotton and sunshine. My knees turned to jelly, interest surely written all over my face like a flashing marquee.
Regardless, I give her an encouraging smile, and she goes back to work. Gathering my things on shaky legs, I sneak out the back door, saying goodnight to Jess, who's manning the exit, and make the short trek to my temporary apartment, keeping my omega from running back to the club the entire walk home.