Chapter One
Charlotte
She could not allow herself time to wallow and feel sorry for herself, not if she was going to eat and keep a roof over her head.
She could always ask her neighbour for a meal or two.
She was an omega too, but she felt bad asking a single mom for help.
And it wouldn't help with the rent situation.
No, she would need to make money somehow.
On her way home, she stops at the budget grocery store and buys a bag of potatoes, a few cans of black beans, and a package of canned tuna.
Omegas had specific dietary requirements that weren't always easy to meet on a budget, but she had long ago learned how to keep herself healthy and fed and housed with a scant amount of money.
Potatoes were a good source of fibre and she could pair them with a can of black beans and a little bit of salsa that she already had in her fridge, or a little bit of tuna and cheese for a cheap meal.
The beta male at the cash register looks her up and down.
She knew her physique screamed omega, but when his interested sniff reveals nothing, she sees his eyebrows furrow.
She didn't smell like an omega. She didn't smell like anything.
Even betas had their own light scents, but the only scent she gave off was cheap soap.
She wouldn't get a perfume until her estrarche.
He watches her with suspicion as he rings her up, but thankfully doesn't say anything. She keeps her head down, trying to keep herself small as she flees the store and hurries towards her apartment.
The total left in her bank account after this shop was $1.05. She does the math quickly, trying to think of how she could stretch this into enough meals to get her through until she could get a pay cheque.
The local gurdwara was always an option for a meal, although it was an hour's worth of subway connections away. She thinks she remembered seeing a sign for an undergraduate research symposium that promised a pizza dinner on Friday too. She could make it work, she tells herself. She always did.
∞∞∞
And so that was how she found herself in the seedy bar on the corner of her block, putting in an application for a waitressing position advertised in a handwritten sign on the window ("WAITRESS NEEDED. SHORT SKIRTS AND BIG TITS ARE AN ASSET").
On her second night as a waitress at Tim's Bar, one of the customers at her table–Gwen, she had said her name was–cornered Charlotte by the bar as she was filling beer glasses for a group of alpha males that were all leering at her from their table.
Their predatory eyes followed her and sent shivers down her spine, which Charlotte tried dutifully to ignore.
"You're too pretty to work here, doll," Gwen had said in a drawling southern accent.
She was pretty, a beta who looked like she was in her thirties with curves in all the right places, perfectly curled blonde hair, and expertly applied makeup.
"What's a nice little omega like you doing working in a place like this? "
"I need the money," Charlotte had said, avoiding eye contact like she did with every other patron here, focussing on the task at hand.
She used a knife to skim the foam off the top of the glass, trying to concentrate on doing it perfectly so the bartender wouldn't yell at her again.
She was always such a cry baby when people yelled at her, especially a man.
Raised male voices made her want to puke, or hide, or both.
The woman's eyes briefly flashed with something that might have been concern, although her voice was almost mocking. "I saw a job posting for a daycare centre worker the other day—"
"I'm a grad student at the university," Charlotte had mumbled in response. "I need something that will work around my schedule."
The woman's eyes turned appraising, flitting over her again in a way that seemed much more calculating than just casual interest. She leaned into sniff her, the movement obvious, making no room to hide what she was doing. Whatever she smelled–or didn't, as the case was–didn't seem to phase her.
"I have a little side hustle," Gwen said then, her voice confident despite the shameful words that she was saying.
"I set up pretty girls like you with men who can take care of them.
Like a mutually beneficial arrangement. No strings attached.
I know tons of great guys who would love to help you out. "
"Oh, I don't think—" Charlotte tried to deny her, but Gwen cut her off, leaning in to sniff her again in a way that, if she was an alpha, would've made her bristle and growl.
"You are an omega, right, sugar? What's your scent?"
"I uh– I don't have one yet," she stammered, her eyes decidedly focussed on the beers in front of her even as her face heated in shame.
The woman's eyes seemed to brighten at that. Her eyes cut over to Charlotte's nametag, which read Lottie. She hadn't wanted to put her real name on it. Hadn't wanted to risk any of the patrons finding her identity or following her home.
"Here's my email, doll. Just think about it and reach out if you change your mind," she drawled as she left her card on the counter.
And Charlotte did think about it. All night, as men grabbed her ass and stared at her chest instead of her face, Charlotte thought about it.
Which was how, that night before she left for the evening, she found herself emailing Gwen after her shift using the bar's internet connection.
She had cancelled her own internet subscription at her apartment the week prior to save money.
She bit her lip and forced her thumbs to type out the words on her ancient phone. There was a huge crack down the middle of the screen that made typing difficult, and it was at least six models old, but new phones were well down the list of her budget priorities, somewhere after kitchen appliances.
From: hiney333@
To: gwen@
Subject: Interested?
Hi Gwen, it's Lottie, the waitress from Tim's Bar. I thought about what you said, and I'm interested in meeting someone who may be able to help, if you have anyone in mind. Thank you for your help. All the best, Lottie.
She quickly put her phone back in her pocket before stamping the time on her timecard and rushing home. It never felt safe walking on the street at night, but she kept her head down and her breath held with every person she passed, her keys clutched in her hand as a weapon.
The bar was only a couple minutes' walk away from her place, but this wasn't the safest part of town even in broad daylight, and it only became seedier after dark.
A few beta and alpha males catcall to her as she hurries down the street, whistling at her like a dog.
She ignores them, silently praying they'll leave her alone.
She picks up her pace until she's nearly running, only taking a deep breath once the door of her dingy apartment closes behind her.
When she finally collapses in her nest after thoroughly scrubbing the smell of unfamiliar males off her skin in the shower, she's asleep almost instantly.
∞∞∞
The next morning, she drags herself out of her nest and trudges along down the street to a cafe with free WIFI, planting herself on the bench outside it.
She couldn't afford to pay the exorbitant amount they were asking for a tea, but she could quickly log in and check her email before anyone shooed her away.
Shivering a little in the morning chill, she finds herself shocked to see there is a response already waiting in her inbox.
The email is brief with a form attached for her to fill out asking her name, height, weight, designation, scent, sexual limits, and desired financial compensation. She quickly fills it out, not wanting to waste any time or risk getting asked to leave before she can complete and send it back.
Name? Lottie.
Height? 5'2.
Weight? She didn't know. She hadn't been to the doctor's office in years and had no reason to weigh herself otherwise. She makes up something that sounded right.
Hair colour? Brown.
Eye colour? Hazel.
Ethnicity? Caucasian.
Sex and designation? She swallows. Female omega.
Scent profile? N/A. Have not yet perfumed.
Sexual limits?
That gives her pause for a moment. She had no idea. She had never had sex. Should she write that? Would that disqualify her? Did they want an experienced person?
She had never given much thought to sex, assuming when she finally had her first heat, she would go to a heat clinic, or her scent would finally attract a mate to her.
Maybe a mate who would take care of her.
Either way, sex had never seemed like much of anything to her except a necessary chore or a means to an end.
Nothing extreme, she finally writes.
Desired financial compensation? One year's tuition. $47,586. Due in September.
The sight of that number sinks her stomach. There was no way anyone would pay that for, what, sex? With her?
She knew she was nothing special to look at. Her mousy brown hair was waist length, curly, and tended to frizz in any humidity. She was small, without much in the way of curves, but there was no muscle or tone to her either. And her face was plain. Not ugly, but not pretty either, just average.
An omega's scent should be something special, something that would draw alphas to her, but she didn't even have that. She smelled like the cheap shampoo she used and the no name scentless body lotion that came in a tub.
She sends the email and stays on the bench, unsure what to do now. She is about to get up to go back to her apartment when her email dings again. Gwen's response was immediate.
From: gwen@
To: hiney333@
Subject: Re: Interested?
I have just the pack for you. I'll give them your email, and you can get to know each other before meeting for a date. xoxo Gwen.