Chapter 12
Imogen
Roxy's been shooting me nervous glances all night. She knows the signs. Apparently, Cass sent her to check on me, but the moment she took me in, narrowed her eyes, and gave me a once over, she knew what was wrong.
My heat is here. Or, it’s coming. Fast.
I feel sick. I've never had an unsatisfied heat before, but I know that's what I'm in for, and I'm so scared and worried. I don't know what to do.
I've avoided Dante Pack for a few days. They seem to be ignoring me, too, and I tell myself this is for the best. Every day, the choices I've made for my family are harder to stand by, and seeing them makes everything hurt so much worse and so much more confusing, especially when they pretend I don't exist.
I'm so pathetic. They haven't flirted or sought me out, which only compounds the fact that we're simply biologically compatible. If they scented me, they'd want me. But they can't, so they don't. They have no interest in me as a person. I mean, why would they? They likely see just another omega stuck in the cogs of the system that oppresses us, and they're the heroes who help us out; I'm just another mouth to feed.
Iggy especially. If I walk into a room he's in, his dark eyes widen, his teeth grit, making the tattooed length of his neck flex, his shoulders somehow growing thicker and broader before he turns abruptly and leaves, his intense alpha energy a physical wake in his absence.
It hurts. It kills. But tonight, the rejection feels worse, that constant low hum of an ache in my veins from denying our match grows sharper with my oncoming heat.
I hadn't prepared for my heat to come early. As Kenneth mentioned, it wasn't due for another couple of months. But meeting and scenting my fated mates must have kicked it into gear.
I've been nesting, stealing things from the guys. I've been sneaking into their office, just to breathe them in, for two weeks. Every day it was getting worse, their scents hitting me harder, deeper. I've been walking around with drenched slick-wicks and have even had to change my dance routine a couple of times because I didn't feel comfortable opening my legs in high splits in a room full of unmated men.
Every day, my temperature spiked a little higher. Every night, I barely made it home with all the slick dripping out of me, barely making it through the door before I was on my toys, using my inflatable knot, shoving my face in Red's jacket, wearing Iggy's gloves.
I thought about giving them back just to recharge the scent. If only they could wear them again, and I could steal them back, but I was worried it would be too obvious that someone at work was stealing their things. And when you employ lots of omegas, there's not much mystery when alpha-scented clothing items go missing. Like that girl, Emily, who stole their clothes and nested, basically forced herself on them.
That's me. And I hate it. But oh my goodness, I don't know how to get through the day without their scent, and I can't stop myself.
A cramp hits my lower abdomen, sweat beading on my brow. Thankfully, my black mask and heavy black make-up obscure what is likely pure desperation in my eyes. I just need to get through this shift. I already warned Roxy I'd be out for a few days. She's worried about me, suggesting I go to a clinic nearby.
She promised it was safe, and I'd have fun, alleviate the pain, satisfy my omega, and be back at work like new by the end of the week.
I can't, though. Before my heat came on, I thought I could get by in a loveless marriage with Stevens, but if the last couple of days—if the ache in my belly from my heat—has taught me anything, it's that I'm out of my mind if I think I'll ever be able to be with anyone but Dante.
The very idea of another alpha touching me intimately is nauseating.
I don't know what to do. I'm panicking. I got through two dances, but they were sloppy and choppy and my heart wasn't in it. I couldn't spread my legs into a split on the pole without wanting to rub my clit against the hard brass metal. It took everything I had to walk off stage, pretending I wasn't a horny mess of need. And Roxy and I only just agreed I was ready for the later performances, getting better on stage. Now I'm worried I've ruined it.
Roxy keeps trying to send me home.
But once I go home, it'll start. The waiting. The waves of need. Of pain, if that need isn't satisfied by a knot. Specifically, Cass, Iggy, or Red's. The silent begging because I know they won't come for me.
Shaking my hands out, trying to cool the clammy heat on my skin, I lean against the bar. "Hey Zach, could you pour me some ice water?"
I took my wings off after my last dance, but I'm still just wearing scraps of black lace. My slick-wicks are soaked, and I've been slipping into the bathroom, cleaning the slick from between my legs every half hour. It's not ideal.
It's funny, really. I've become two different people. The real me, trying to emerge here at Queenie's Strip Club as a dancer, my heat coming on while I'm out in public. The other me, the perfect me, who would have already chosen from an approved list of alphas at my local heat clinic, with my overnight bag packed, all accouterment ready and organized. My life has taken such a turn.
I thought it would take me longer to get used to walking around half-naked. I still haven't gone completely topless. And the bottoms, apparently, can only come off for the very private dances in the back rooms, but Roxy won't even show me the rooms, let alone explain what goes on in them, aside from a few subtle hints, but that's fine by me.
She knows who I am, where I come from. I should be offended that she thinks the goings-on aren't suitable for my delicate ears, but I kind of appreciate the familiarity, someone treating me like maybe I'm too soft for this place. I'm not, and if I really believed that, it would make knowing Dante are my mates even more difficult because I worry they won't accept me. I don't belong in their world, no matter how much I'm starting to want it.
I can want to be a pampered princess, get a pat on the head, and called a good girl while getting spanked and rutted so hard it leaves bruises. I'm complex and have layers. I'm an onion.
Would Dante be too cautious with me, if we ever got together? I love having my heat, but I think I've always given the impression that I'm too fragile to like it rough. But I really like being tossed around. Sometimes, I kind of need it. That bite of pain. It makes me feel like I'm alive, like I'm not just a doll or a prop. A perfect OFA omega. I've got sharp edges, too.
Unfortunately, every pack I've ever shared my heat with, at a clinic or in courtship, is always very gentle. Precious Imogen just needs fluffy pillows, sweet words, and lots of kisses.
Real Imogen, behind the perfect smile, wants to get railed so hard she feels it in her stomach.
Oh dear, don't think about that, Imogen. I feel the slick pooling, and I nearly drop my head to the bar top to regain control of my body, though it's pointless.
"Thank you." I take the water from Zach and down it, wiping the sweat from my neck as I drink. I thank Roxy every day for giving me this mask and letting me drop some of that iron-clad control. Even when drinking water, I was taught to take small, careful sips.
Instead, I swallow it all, then slide the empty glass back. Zach gives me a kind smile in return. He's so attentive, sweet, and kind. Gentle. I wish my alphas noticed I was in as much pain as Zach does.
And, as an omega, Zach knows exactly what I need. He knows what I'm going through, as evidenced by the second glass of water he pushes toward me. "You should get out of here, Imogen."
We share a commiserating wince. He knows how much this sucks. "Yeah. I will. Soon."
Tilting his head, he lets me know I can find him if I need anything—I assume he doesn't mean sexual favors, but you never know with other omegas; sex is a huge part of our life, and we know how to take care of each other. It wasn't uncommon for the omegas in my dorm in school to have fun with each other outside of their heat, when they weren't begging for a knot or when an inflatable toy was enough. Sometimes it's not the alpha; it's just having another person take control of your body, letting you just feel. Experience. Enjoy.
I sip the second water, forcing my thoughts away from sex, though it's pointless. Everywhere I look, there's sex. Not full on, but the hint of it. The idea. Pheromones laced with lust. Lap dances. Franky on stage, completely topless, rendering every person watching speechless and enthralled. I found out recently that she’s blind as a bat, but you’d never guess by the way she moves with the pole.
I look back at a private dance at the corner of the room near one of the booths. A customer does his best not to touch, and though I'm several feet away, I can see his white knuckle grip on the seat beneath him. One of the beta dancers, Chandra, likes to push the envelope, and I wouldn't be surprised if that man came in his pants with the way she's rubbing herself on him, bouncing her body, just barely fulfilling his needs.
"Looks like fun, don't it?" Hot breath makes me flinch, and I turn, alarmed by the sudden orange and grass scent in my face.
"Hmm?" I ask, slipping my practiced smile on, grateful for the feathered mask hiding my discomfort.
He takes my smile as a cue. "How about it? A lap dance? How much?"
"Oh. Thank you for the offer, but I'm not… I don't do lap dances. But I'm certain Chandra would be happy to entertain you later if you're patient." I smile as best I can, encouraging him to fulfill his needs elsewhere.
Unfortunately, it doesn't work. His hand snakes out around my waist, fingers gripping my hip. I squeak in surprise. He is not my mate, and I hate the sensation of being touched. I barely have time to push out of his arms, the feel of his hand on my heated skin making me squirm with nausea while the next few moments register in slow motion.
My back hits the bar, and my water glass knocks over, spilling everywhere. The man who touched me hits the ground, scrambling away from Iggy's fists, lifting high in the air, wailing on the man, pounding into him over and over. People scream, scurrying out of the way. Cass is there a moment later, pulling Iggy off the man, who grunts and rolls onto his side, his face a bloody mess.
I should be terrified. Screaming. Disgusted. Iggy and I lock eyes, he looks wild, crazed.
I want to comfort him, but… I have no clue why. He was the one who overreacted. I'm the omega in heat, I'm the one in trouble and in need. I growl in frustration, and he hears it, brows furrowing.
"Are you okay?" He asks, stepping into my personal space. It's the first time he's spoken to me since we met. My legs press together, his voice caressing down my spine. His concern, it overshadows everything, including his irrational, violent behavior, a totally disproportionate reaction to one hand on my waist. But all my omega sees is her mate stepping in to protect her, and on the verge of my heat, I'm here for it.
He steps back, and the loss of his attention is visceral. But the commotion helped distract me from the ache in my belly, and I'm relieved when I see the man he hit stumbles with his arm around one of the bouncers as he's escorted out of the club in one piece.
"Will he be okay?" I ask.
"Don't worry about him. Are you okay?" Iggy turns back to me.
"I'm fine," I whisper, locking eyes with him once more. His brows knit closer like he's trying to figure something out, eyes dilating, doing nothing to hide the tightly leashed alpha growling within. His spicy red wine and cinnamon scent spikes between us. I want to bury myself in it. I want to drink it. He steps closer and reaches up, fingertips coming to the edge of my mask, but he doesn't quite touch. I blink, unable, unwilling to pull away, to break the spell. I want him to pull off my mask, to kiss me, to never ignore me again. Touch me, Iggy, take off my mask. Tell me you want me like I want you.
It's a pipe dream, though, because Cass comes to stand beside us, causing Iggy to growl and storm off like that didn't all just happen. Like his alpha didn't just step in to protect me.
"He's not a violent guy," Cass says, watching his pack mate walk away. Then he amends, "I mean, he would never hurt you. You okay?"
"Yes, thank you. I'm fine. And I suppose hitting a man who touches one of the dancers is against club policy?"
"Uh… yeah. No touching the dancers without their permission."
He shrugs awkwardly, and it's very out of place for him; he usually looks so comfortable in his skin. Cass scratches at his short blond beard, and I inhale his scent, imagining his chin scratching between my thighs. Clean cotton, like freshly dried laundry from a summer breeze, relaxing and languid.
I'm too lost in lust with him to formulate a response, so he continues, "He's not… he's umm. I dunno. Yeah, he uses his fists to solve problems. But he'd never hurt you. Ever. You know that, right? He'd never hurt any omega, or woman, or… well, there's a long list there. 'Cause he's a good guy. I just feel like I need you to know that."
"I understand, Cass. I'm not afraid of him."
He nods slowly. "Right. Are you feeling any better?"
The reminder of my heat that's pending, the countdown of only a handful of hours before I'm lost to delirium, is jarring. I look away because if I keep looking at him, I'll tell him the truth.
But he won't believe me. He'll just hear some omega, about to go into heat, beg him to take her home and share her with his pack mates to help her ride through the pleasure and pain. We've barely spoken. I've just been stalking them from afar, and if he's noticed at all, he'll think I'm just another Emily. An omega with a crush.
I can't take that rejection.
"Much," I lie, willing myself to take a step away, to put some distance between us, but my feet won't budge.
"Alright. Well, if you need anything." He presses his lips together and nods once. He waits another second, like he wants to say more, but when nothing comes out, he turns and follows Iggy's trail down the hallway.
It's just biology, I remind myself, watching him walk away. I don't know them, not really. That's the most I've ever talked to Cass. And Iggy.
And ever since I first met Red, who saw me without my make-up or feathered mask, I've not spoken to him, either.
I wish he were working tonight. One hit of Iggy and Cass isn't enough, but the recent memory of their scents will help in the coming hours. Red's scent is more industrial, like car engine oil and leather. His lips are pouty, and since he's usually scowling or smiling, but in a lazy, disinterested way, I'm always drawn to them. Staring at the shape of them. Wondering how he tastes when his scent is so masculine.
They're all beautiful in their own way. Cass has this whole Norse-god Viking thing going for him, with his long blond hair and close-cropped blond beard. He's more classically handsome, the most easygoing of the three. His hair is sometimes in a man-bun, sometimes braided in pieces and tied back, not organized or orderly, but messy, in a hapless disarray, and I can't help but picture him shirtless, chopping wood somewhere in the wilderness or some other hormone-inducing thirst trap, in low-slung jeans and a plaid shirt tied around his waist.
Iggy, covered in tattoos, hair shaved on the sides, short and pushed away at the top, is always seemingly annoyed or angry, and he seems the most emotional. His facial expressions do nothing to mask his mood, and I should know, I've watched him like a stalker from across the room for a collection of hours now. I suspect he wouldn't be gentle with me, taking me to heights of pleasure I've never known. He wouldn't treat me like I was breakable, but he'd make sure I was safe, too. There's a raw magnetism to Iggy, something out of my depth, but I want to be brave enough to wade closer, to see if that intensity could be shared with me, too.
Red… Red's the kind of guy you fall in love with. He's cool, walking around with big dick energy and swagger. He walks into the club, and everyone leans in his direction. He's a man of the people, and everybody wants a piece.
Red hasn't scented me, and he doesn't want me. Cass might send a friendly smile in my direction, and Iggy might run from me when I enter a room. But of the three, Red seems the most indifferent.
I wish I recharged his leather jacket with his scent before now. I thought I might be brave enough to. It's sitting in my locker in the breakroom, along with Iggy's gloves. I just need something from Cass, and I can get through my heat. It will be painful. But I don't have a choice.
Another cramp hits me, and I wince beneath my mask.
The busyness of the club is winding down, and ?I'm only delaying the inevitable. I duck down the hall, planning to grab my things, but at the last minute, on a whim, I pause outside the office door. Pressing my ear to the wood, I listen in. After Iggy's freak out earlier, I'd expected to hear him at least making a racket of some kind. Arguing with Cass, or whatever it is they do.
There's nothing. Tentatively, I knock. If they answer, I'll make up some excuse. No sound comes.
With a quick glance up and down the hallway, finding I'm alone, I slip inside the office and quickly shut the door behind me.
Adrenaline has my heart racing. I wouldn't have minded getting caught before. I still had time to explain everything, to figure out what I was going to do. I'd have thought it was a blessing. Now? If they caught me in here now, I'd have to explain I was their scent-match, while on the precipice of my heat. There's no way they'd believe me. I wouldn't believe me.
And the only solace I have over the coming few days is that I can bury my face in their scents to help get me through it. Quickly, I run over to the desk where they often carelessly toss their things. I don't see anything useful, so I circle back. There, draped over the back of the leather couch, is a hoodie. The same one I saw Cass wearing earlier tonight. I snag it, burying my face in the material.
Clean cotton. Summer breeze. My legs go weak, my pussy floods with slick. Resisting the urge to slip it on, I roll it up in a ball so I don't get caught with it, pause to listen by the door, and when I don't hear anything, I sneak out.
Into the breakroom, I shove the hoodie into my locker. I take off my mask, then slip into the bathroom. Looking into the mirror, I use make-up wipes and start scrubbing the black off my eyes. It doesn't come off completely, but enough that I look like me again.
A cramp hits me, and I nearly hit the floor, my knees buckling. It's never been this bad before. I'd have already been at a clinic, letting my inhibitions run wild, if this were the old Imogen. How ironic that she was buttoned-up and perfect but got what she needed. Meanwhile, here I am, trying to carve out my identity and figure out who I am, and I'm suppressing my most basic instincts.
I feel hollow inside. In pain with need, to be stretched, filled. I cry out, but I'm alone, and my voice just echoes in the empty room.
I need to get home. I don't know what to do. Another cramp hits, so I slip into the bathroom stall, sitting on the closed seat. I just need to get off. I can't go home like this, I can't walk through South Loop in heat. Even if I wasn't wearing scent-blockers, that's too dangerous. I've not lost myself to delirium yet, I'm still aware of my surroundings. This was so stupid, waiting this long.
I just need to get off. One orgasm, and I can get myself home.
The problem is, the club is closing. I can hear voices growing in the break room beside me. I keep the stall door locked, tucking my legs into my chest. Closing my eyes, I rock back and forth. I can do this. I can get through this. I'll just let everyone leave. The place will clear out in no time, then I can get off, then get home. Simple.
I'm burning up and overwhelmed with desire for my mates. I need their scent. They're clothes. I need them.
It consumes me, until the thoughts loop, like a record, my baser omega taking control. Need scent. Need knot. Need seed.
I war internally but stay silent, apart from a few desperate whimpers. The club quiets, and eventually, it's empty. Blessedly quiet and dark and closed for the night.
I wait as long as I can manage, which isn't more than a few minutes, before sneaking out of the bathroom. Still wearing nothing but the black lace bra and panties, even though I'm hot, burning with a fever, I rush over to the locker on shaking legs and pull out Cass's hoodie. I slip it on, bringing the material at the neck up to my nose, taking a deep inhale.
It helps calm me, and with trembling hands, I reach out and grab Red's jacket and Iggy's gloves.
This feels so inappropriate. I've already crossed so many lines. But I need to get off. I can barely see straight with the need for it, and I could just get it done right here. Or…
Carefully, I press open the door and peek into the hallway. As suspected, it's quiet, no one left to hear me scream.
I tiptoe down the hall and let myself into their office. I know they aren't here, but I'm no longer concerned about seeing them. If I did, I'd jump on them so fast… I lower myself down onto the couch, but then I think about all the staff that comes in and out of here, their scents hitting me in a cloying, sticky way, and I nearly gag.
Clutching Red's jacket, I whimper, then pull the couch out a tiny bit, away from the wall. Down on my knees, I put his jacket down for me to lie on, then, dissatisfied, move it, fluffing it up, opening it wide, then folding the edges in like a cocoon. It's not great. But it'll have to do.
It's the best nest I've ever had because it's made with stolen affection from my mates. I slip on Iggy's gloves and curl up into a ball, slipping my fingers into my underwear.
I already know it's not going to be enough. I rub my clit until I come, and it takes no time at all, but it's like I was dying of thirst and got a single drop of water.
It's not enough.
And as I writhe in pain, surrounded by the fading scent of my mates, I wonder how I can get through a lifetime of this lunacy.