Episode 7 The Omega Gauntlet
Why do people find this shit fun?
I’m huddled around Thayer with the other omegas on his team.
He’s staring hard at the course, like he’ll be able to crack open the best way to do it.
He won’t. It's all straightforward as hell.
At least the part we can see. Once we get to the other side of the gate on the far side of the course, there might be some kind of trick, but here the only way through is… through.
And I’m going to hate every second of it.
It wasn’t always like this. There was a time I would have relished running an obstacle course, competing, proving that omegas are just as physically capable as everyone else.
But now my knee aches just looking at the expanse of sand we have to run across to start.
One wrong step and I could really damage myself.
So just be extra careful, Florence. Do not give anyone any more reason to look down on you.
Ha, too late.
I’m still embarrassed by the reaction I had to Grieves last night.
The soft, almost gentle bark he’d used to ask me to tell him if I need anything slipped like silk over my skin, not constricting, not binding, just a brush of it before it was gone, and I’d still frozen up.
Thank god they’d called for an end to the mixer, because I’m not sure how I was going to come back from that. Instead I got to retreat to the relative safety of my room, where I burrowed under a mound of blankets and talked myself out of leaving, mostly so I don’t make a fool of myself again.
The only reason I managed is because before the bark I really enjoyed speaking to Grieves. It was nice and comforting and easy… a lot easier than I thought it would be. It was only when he used that soft command on me, that it got weird. That I got weird.
And it wasn’t even a full bark.
Nothing like-
I cut the thought off and bring my focus back to the here and now. It's a new day.
A gorgeous sunrise greeted me this morning along with the gentle lapping of the waves outside my cabana. I meditated and focused and did some yoga. And overall I feel much more grounded.
Only now there’s this.
An obstacle course.
A pinch of dread grips my stomach for two reasons.
One: my knee, obviously. It doesn’t handle running very well or at all and running on sand seems downright dangerous.
And two: The entire world is about to see just how competitive Florence Karlin can get.
Because even though I know it's dumb to risk the health of my already injured knee, I’m going to run this thing full stop.
There’s some shuffling as the production team hands out our team “jerseys”.
Normally, when the pack for the show isn’t royal, each alpha and team is just designated a color, but because this is such a special season, they went a little farther.
Forsythe is in Bravonnian blue, that sweet almost periwinkle color that dominates the Ashbourne tartan, and he has a gold crown across his chest. Grieves is in a soft dove grey with a silver shield on his.
Courtland is wearing gold, with a green laurel wreath.
And my team—Thayer’s team—is in maroon with a gold scepter on it.
All very royal and very Ashbourne pack, since all the colors used are pulled directly from the family tartan.
We all line up at the starting line, huddled between the colored lines that match our team color. I’m vaguely aware of the cameras and Cleo Hartwell giving us a quick little pep talk about doing our best.
And then a horn blows and I take off. Hurtling down the first stretch of sand toward the first obstacle.
My team is, surprisingly, right on my heels, though most of the omegas are huffing and puffing.
And I’m pretty sure Diane? Deirdre? Drusilla, maybe?
—I know it starts with a ‘D’— has never run a day in her life not with how uncoordinated she is as we make our way up the white sandy beaches.
I’m impressed with myself that I’m not panting by the time we reach our destination and that my knee didn’t completely give out while running on already churned up sand.
And thank goodness for that, because the first obstacle is a zigzag balance beam stretching to a platform over the water.
On the platform there’s a rope net with six bright pompoms strung up along it and attached to each pompom is a key.
Each of us will need to cross the beams, climb the net, grab a key, and then return the way we came.
When we have all six keys we can unlock a chest with our first set of puzzle pieces.
Only two team members can be on the platform at a time.
“Leave the tallest for Thayer,” I tell them. “In fact, it makes the most sense to grab the pieces in order of height.” Which means I should grab the second to bottom one. Because only Petal, a sweet faced omega with pale peachy pink hair, is shorter than me.
“Obviously,” Joanie hisses at me. And okay, maybe I stated the obvious, but someone has to give some direction. After all, most of the omegas are too busy preening under Thayer’s attention to think properly about what we’re doing here.
And Thayer himself seems more interested in letting us figure it out among ourselves.
I suppose that’s part of it, though isn’t it?
Seeing how we interact with each other, who takes charge, who’s a team player.
It's all about pack dynamics, though no one would be insane enough to have five omegas in a single pack.
Still the way we treat each other means something, so I give her a smile. “Should we go in order of height, then?”
Thayer nods. “I can go first and stay on the platform to help each of you up the net.”
I nod, while the other omegas coo at him in thanks.
One of Grieves’s omegas, Teddy I think she called herself, probably short for Theodora or something, barrels toward the balance beams, makes it halfway before she wobbles and falls with a shriek and a splash submerging entirely before she pops up floundering.
“Help me, alpha!” The plea is fake as all get out.
But Grieves still wades into the water to scoop her into his arms and carry her out while she nuzzles into his neck.
I grit my teeth and look away.
Thayer moves like water across the beams, his pace quick but steady, his back straight, no wobble at all.
He reaches the platform, flashes the cameras a practiced royal smile, and scales the net with fluid strength.
He plucks the highest pompom key free, tucks it into the waistband of his shorts, and then begins his descent.
A chorus of delighted squeals rises behind me.
“Oh my god, did you see how fast he climbed?” Odette gushes, making sure she projects loudly enough for the camera crew circling us like predators.
“I bet he’ll remember who impresses him,” Joanie adds, stretching her arms over her head in a move that’s absolutely not required for this task.
Delia(?), the tallest omega on our team, steps forward as if to cross the beams— she should already be on the platform, honestly—then abruptly stops and shouts to Thayer with a coy little laugh.
“You sure you don’t want to grab mine too, alpha?
Since you’re already up there?” She bats her lashes like she’s auditioning for a mascara commercial.
Thayer simply gives her a polite, tight smile. “Unfortunately I can’t. Order of height is the best way.”
Which is the nicest possible way of saying: Do what we agreed on, for fuck’s sake.
“We each have to get one,” Petal reminds her. “It’s in the rules, Deirdre.”
Oh! Deirdre. I was right on my second guess.
She huffs and crosses the beams with a grace that rivals my own ballet honed balance, and then she smiles up at Thayer, letting him heft her as high onto the net as he can get her.
I watch her climb for a moment but get distracted by Courtland’s booming laugh.
He’s standing on the beach, laughing as two of his omegas scramble up the net, battling for the lowest of the keys.
I scowl at him. He should be helping them.
But I get the impression that Courtland would be happiest watching a mud wrestling match, so maybe this is as close as he can get.
As though he can feel my eyes on him, he turns that full dangerous smile of his toward me, one brow arched in…
challenge? Like he knows what I was just thinking.
I pointedly roll my eyes—which just makes him laugh again—and drag my attention away from him, only for it to snag on Forsythe and Isadora, standing close together, her hands brushing over the forearm porn he has on display in a move that is entirely familiar and comfortable, like she’s touched him like that a thousand times before.
She probably has.
Just like with Courtland, Forsythe seems to feel my gaze on him, and his own eyes snap up to meet mine. Warm, honey brown. Soft and sweet. Whatever he sees on my face has him taking a step away from Isadora, putting distance between them.
“It’s your turn!” Joanie says, all but shoving me toward the water and forcing my attention away from the prince.
I blink, discombobulated for a moment, before my body kicks itself into gear with no input from my brain. Before I really know what’s happened, I’m across the beam and staring up at the net, Thayer’s hand a steady solid presence at my lower back.
Fuck.
They left the second to highest for me. The one Deirdre was supposed to grab since she’s the tallest omega in our group.
“Oops! Sorry about that, babes,” Deirdre calls from the beach. “I didn’t see that one!”
What a little liar.
I should have expected that. Deirdre and Odette are friends with Isadora and I would guess they made some kind of deal to knock out who they see as the low hanging fruit. And I am the lowest of low hanging fruits.
Odette and Joanie immediately giggle like it’s the funniest thing they’ve ever seen. One tosses her hair. The other angles her body toward Thayer so he’ll see the way her sports bra sparkles in the sun and draws attention to her tits.