Chapter 1
Asher - ten months ago
"How many more of these you think we've gotta go to before Rafferty Pack stops trying to pimp out their daughter?" Theo sighs dramatically from the backseat.
"She corner you too?"
"She sure did. You'd think she got the memo we weren't interested. I swear that girl smells like melted crayons," Theo shudders.
"I think it's supposed to be brown sugar," Sully adds unhelpfully. "Madam Fletcher implied she was making changes to keep the parents less involved with courting, but it doesn't seem to be working."
"It isn't. Mrs. Rafferty also made sure to tell me her daughter aced her finishing classes and that she's particularly adept in the Multiple Partner Endurance coursework. Why don't they just call it How To Take A Knot 101?" Theo snorts, causing Sully, who's driving, to groan.
"Don't be an ass, Theo." Sullivan's attempts to uncouth our packmate are often in vain and, therefore, attempted half-heartedly.
"You know why," I retort.
"No, really. I mean, all omegas know how to take a knot," Theo argues. "That shit's, like, instinctual. Why does the OFA bother with a class like that?"
He's not wrong, but I'm afraid to indulge him further lest he trail off with more jokes posed as serious questions.
The OFA, or the Omega Finishing Academy, is a national school with locations throughout the country.
It's open to enrollment for all omegas, where even the wealthiest alphas like ourselves seek out their final pack member.
The omegas graduate anywhere from age eighteen to twenty-five, depending on what classes they take and if they choose to continue attending, even after finding a pack.
The alternative is to take the chance of just running into your mate, and since the very tiny population of omegas out there mostly end up at the OFA, the school is an unbonded pack's best shot.
"I believe the Multiple Partner Endurance course teaches how to cater to multiple alphas domestic demands around the home and less how to take multiple knots."
"Wait, how do you know that?" I turn and stare at Enzo, who's sitting behind me.
He's quiet on a good day, but on nights like these, where women—omega's vying for our attention and pushy mothers trying desperately to get us to notice their daughters—force their way into his orbit, he's even more taciturn than usual.
For some reason, women have always made Enzo uneasy, which only makes our search more difficult.
Enzo shrugs, "Isn't it obvious? Despite pack life, most alphas don't know how to share attention." He leans against the window, not bothering to look up when he speaks, the soft light from the radio of the SUV reflecting in his thick, black frame glasses.
It's true, some alphas do have trouble sharing. Some are bossy and pushy and need to be the first—at everything. It can be challenging for some omegas to navigate, their genial nature urging them to be the peacemakers in their pack unit.
Enzo's words weigh heavily as we drive. We would share our omega. We would treat her so well. We just need to find her.
The OFA recently developed a nationwide scent-matching program to help scent-matches find each other, in addition to hosting events and galas like tonight's.
Though rare, scent-matches have the highest fertility rates, so the government funds the OFA, giving them even more power and control in matchmaking.
I only know of a couple of packs with a scent-match. Most pair based on mutual interests or because they're scent-sympathetic, finding each other anywhere from intriguing to tolerable. At this point, we would take any omega if her scent was at least somewhat appealing to all four of us.
There's always something wrong, though. Some days, it feels like the universe is conspiring against us. One of us will have a scent aversion to an omega the others found tolerable, or we'll all be on board but… bored.
It hasn't been easy, and our pack is aging past the time when most find their mate, and none of us are interested in courting brand new graduates.
They're too young, among other concerns.
Sullivan, our pack leader, constantly deflects rumors on our behalf, trying to keep our name out of the press for being too picky or accusing us of inflating our status as the most eligible bachelors in Arrow Cove by not settling down.
I know one thing: I'm getting tired of going to these fucking Omega Selection Gala's and leaving empty-handed.
Driving through the winding roads leading away from the Arrow Cove OFA facilities, which are nestled high in the mountains for the protection of their charges, it's a long drive back toward our estate.
Most high-society packs live in the High Hills, just south of the mountains.
Being a more reclusive pack—no matter how often our pictures, comings, and goings are reported in the Arrow Cove Daily Rag—we built a large house on the west side, closer to the river, away from prying eyes.
Though we're miles apart, we have some neighbors, and while Theo whines near-daily about the lack of nightlife in our neighborhood, the quiet suits us. Enzo and Sully, especially.
Because most of the alpha attendees at the Gala come from High Hills—any omega, regardless of their socio-economic status, is granted an education, but only packs who can afford it are granted entry into the events—we're alone on our long drive away from the mountain and the Hills.
Skirting the city's center, where the river runs through the largest, most densely populated part of downtown Arrow Cove, we follow along the backroads, avoiding traffic and busy streets.
It takes longer to get home this way, much faster if we took the highway that runs through downtown and cuts west, but we all needed an extra minute to unwind.
Theo suggested we head downtown and find some betas to take the edge off, but I can tell Enzo and Sully want to be done with the night.
Just as Sully turns onto Haver Hill Road, he slows while we approach the covered bridge over the river, the final leg of our drive before hitting our quiet neighborhood.
Maybe it's because I'm in the front seat and not focused on the road in front of us, but the flash of white on the bridge's edge catches my eyes. The back of my hand smacks Sully's shoulder, barely rousing him.
"Hey, slow down," I tell him. He's already driving slowly, so he lifts his eyebrows in response. Just as we approach the bridge, I can identify the flash of white.
"Holy shit. Stop the fucking car," I growl. Sully, alert, glances around, trying to see what I'm seeing. He pulls onto the shoulder, and I'm out of the car before we even roll to a stop, ignoring the questions from my packmates shouting after me.
"Hello?" I call out. A woman sits along the bridge's ledge, and I don't like how precariously close she is to the edge. I don't want to spook her, but my racing heart and the protective alpha within demand I take control of the situation.
"Miss? Are you okay?" I call out. The car doors slam shut behind me. I yell back, telling them to stay put.
I creep closer, ducking under the old wooden beams, gripping the rail to peer over the side. It's too dark to see how far down the drop is. I have no idea if it's rocky or clear, if the water's deep, if the bank is close. We pass this bridge all the time, why have I never paid attention to it?
"Miss?" I call out again, prepared to bark to save this woman from herself if I need to.
I notice the half empty bottle of whiskey sitting on the ledge next to her, her wild, dark brown hair cascading in long waves down her back.
A burst of wind picks up, flowing through her hair, making the thin material of her white dress flutter.
But the scent carrying on the breeze nearly knocks me to my knees.
"Omega?" I whisper, desperate, hopeful, terrified.
She smells like lavender and sage and rose petals. She smells like a warm summer day. Every fantasy come to life. My scent-match. My omega.
Heart racing, I step closer, and her alarmed gaze whips toward me. Suddenly, our position, her sitting on the ledge, my fear that she could fall or jump, grips my throat, my nerves. I hear my packmates calling out, asking if everything is okay. All I see is her.
She sways, and I catch the scent of whiskey laced with hers in the air. Fuck.
"Omega," I growl, infusing my voice with my alpha bark.
I've rarely used it; biologically, it's believed the intention of the bark is to keep an omega safe during their heat since they become lost in delirium, but every instinct inside me screams that I take control.
I'm just afraid if I push too fast, she'll jump.
Finally sensing the danger she's in, her nostrils flare, eyes widen, and she catches my scent. A hint of her perfume hits the air, and I squeeze my fists to keep from lunging for her.
Instead, I nod slowly, "That's right, little one. I'm safe, I promise. Just come back for me, okay? Away from the ledge."
I step closer, but she leans away. I freeze, gripping the wooden beam, then continue on, ducking under the structure's frame.
I'm almost close enough to grab her arm, her scent building stronger as I approach.
She watches me warily, lips parting like she wants to say something, but nothing comes out.
"You don't want to do this. I'll take care of you, whatever you need. It's not worth it, little one. Whatever it is, please, I'm begging you, come away from the ledge."
She scrunches her brow in confusion as if she has no idea what I'm talking about, completely unconcerned about her proximity to the churning water below. She turns and glances over the side, and my stomach hollows out.
She looks back up at me, shaking her head, attempting to clumsily pull herself up to a crouch—wobbling from the whiskey or the cold night's air, I don't know—but when she peers over the ledge once more, fear that she's going to jump clutches my throat, and I bark at her with all my might, "Stop!"
I watch in horror as she freezes in response, but it's too late; she's already tripped and is falling; the first sound I hear from her is a terrified shriek.
I roar and jump after her. Seconds that feel like minutes pass before I'm plunged into the cold water below.
Disoriented, I rush toward the surface, flailing to get under control, screaming for my omega the entire way.
I can hear my packmates shouting, but I ignore them as I search the inky depths of the roaring river.
"Omega! Where is she?!" I scream. But she's nowhere to be found.
The terrifying thought that she could be drowning, that I'd only just found her, that I'd barked at her to stop, which made whatever chance she had of walking gracefully nonexistent.
If the fall, not nearly as deep or long as I'd initially feared, doesn't kill her, my concern and idiocy may have.
"Omega!" I continue to shout, searching the murky depth. Fighting the current, I swim up and down, but she's nowhere. "Omega!" My voice becomes hoarse, but I can't stop. Eventually, Sully's in the water, pulling me toward the river's bank. I fight against him.
"She's here! We have to find her! We have to save her!" My voice cracks.
I manage to explain through incoherent, desperate ramblings that I found her. That I found our omega, but I lost her just as quickly.
We spent the entire night wading the river. Search and rescue arrived, but even together, with the bright searchlights and flashing blue and red from the police cars, we found nothing. No body, no mercurial, soft omega in a white dress, hiding from the chaos.
I found her. Then I lost her.