Chapter 28 Lucy
LUCY
{The day after scent sampling}
Matched.
The action movie exploded across the screen, a fury of flame, pluming smoke, and twisted metal.
I pressed forward into the plush sofa, knuckles whitening on the cushion’s edge as a stuntman vaulted from a speeding car.
It had to be computer graphics, but I still found my heart racing as he aimed for the roof of a moving train.
He wasn’t going to make it! He was going to miss and die!
I breathed a sigh of relief when he slammed down onto his target, rolled a few times, and came to a stop on his knees.
I’d seen this kind of film before; my favorite Christmas movie was Hard Heat.
That involved an Alpha cop, a hostile takeover, and a lot of machine guns.
Yet, I could watch a million pulse-pounding movies and feel the same familiar anxiety and excitement.
Maybe a lifetime of watching the world through hospital windows made the impossible possibility of doing crazy stunts myself something that never grew stale.
The movie continued, but now my mind had drifted. It was entertaining, yet it woke a deeper longing—to approach the world unfettered by sickness or another impediment. I wanted the chance to do anything and everything.
Not sure I’d volunteer for what the guy on the TV was doing—now fighting tooth and nail with six bad guys on the train, his face bloodied and body battered. But that wasn’t the point, the point is I wanted the chance.
Suddenly cold, though the room was well insulated from the Washington winter outside, I pulled a cashmere throw off the back of the sofa and wrapped it around myself.
It was so incredibly soft. Even if I stayed at Eros for ten years, I don’t think I’d ever get use to the luxury. It felt alien after years in hospitals.
I settled back against the couch, gaze drifting to the windows rather than the screen.
The sun poured molten gold over Seattle, igniting the glass facades of nearby skyscrapers.
People would be walking the sidewalks below.
They’d be driving down the roads. Men and women would stop at the street vendor for coffee.
Some would get black drip, others would ask for something fancier.
I felt a flutter in my gut, as I often did these days, when I remembered that hopefully soon, I’d also be part of that hustle and bustle.
Would it be silly to hope my scent matches lived in Seattle?
That would be too good to be true, but I hated the idea of leaving.
A few excursions and I’d fallen irrevocably in love with this city.
The movie faded further into background noise, and I couldn’t shake the urge to leave this room—to run, to leap, to claim my autonomy even just for a fleeting moment.
I hadn’t been cleared to leave alone, not yet, but I knew how to navigate to the right elevators, the right building level, the right exit.
Without meaning to, I stood up. I took a step.
And I was immediately frozen by a knock on my door.
I turned, grabbing the remote from the sofa arm and pausing the movie.
"Come in," I called, smoothing down my hair—it still startled me after all these weeks. I wondered if my original ash blonde would ever return, or if I’d have the silvery-white forever.
Doctor Swann entered, her tall Alpha frame momentarily pausing in the doorway before she stepped fully into the suite. She stopped her journey halfway to the sofa.
Her usually composed demeanor had fractured—fingers fidgeting with the sleek pheromone-blocking device she wore to protect scent sample purity, hair slightly mussed, weight shifting from one expensive shoe to the other.
"Lucy," she said, my name emerging with unusual hesitation from someone so typically assured. "I hope I'm not interrupting."
"Just watching a movie." I gestured toward the screen, now frozen on an image of a man mid-punch, blood spattering from his opponent's mouth. "Learning about normal people things."
She managed a tight smile. “Normal is relative, I suppose.”
I waited for her to come sit, but Doctor Swann remained right where she was, as if she hadn’t quite decided whether she should leave or stay.
I hadn’t known her for a long time, but ever since our first meeting, she’d been the embodiment of Alpha certainty.
This restless, hesitant version felt… wrong.
"Is everything okay?" I asked, a pit forming in my stomach.
Had my lab results changed? Was I regressing? Was my brief taste of normalcy about to be snatched away?
“No… yes—” She paused, then shook her head slightly. "Not exactly.”
“I don’t understand.” Confusion flooded me. My knees shook, so I sat back down, remote still held limply in one hand. “Please just tell me if I’m sick again.”
“Oh, Lucy, no.” Now she did walk over, closing the space between us with four great strides. She sat down next to me, placing a hand on my knee. “It's a very good thing depending on your perspective."
But her voice betrayed her real feelings. The slight tremor, the uncharacteristic pitch. She didn't like what she had to tell me.
“You’ve got to put me out of my misery.” My stomach hurt now, all the very worst things running through my head.
Doctor Swann took a deep breath, then pushed the words out quickly. "You've been matched, Lucy."
My jaw dropped, not believing it could happen so fast. I'd assumed I would have weeks, maybe months of this intermediate existence—no longer a patient but not yet bonded to an Alpha. I’d just been sampled. This had to be a joke.
"Already?" My voice cracked on the word.
Doctor Swann nodded, her discomfort visibly growing. "As soon as we loaded your profile—" She hesitated, choosing her words with evident care. “The match was instant, Lucy. We double-checked manually.”
A dozen questions collided in my mind, none making it past my suddenly dry throat. Who? When? How many? What did they know about me? What did I need to know about them?
Doctor Swann continued into the silence, her words coming faster now. "These clients have been waiting a while. Your compatibility markers match so unexpectedly well."
I frowned. "That's good though, right?" In my head, I added: if our scents match perfectly, there's a better chance they won't hate me. A better chance they'll tolerate the strange, pale creature they're getting saddled with.
Her hand slipped off my knee. She knit her fingers together, looking down at the floor, her brow furrowed.
"Lucy," she spoke softly now, "these Alphas are... dangerous. Frankly, I didn’t think they’d ever be matched."
The words hung heavy between us. I knew she was waiting for me to react.
With anxiety or fear or any of the normal emotions one would feel when faced with peril.
I should ask questions—Dangerous how? To themselves?
To others? To me specifically? But I said nothing.
I'd spent my entire life surrounded by things that could hurt me. Germs. Needles. Drugs. Abandonment. I’d nearly died trying to stay alive.
The concept of danger had long since lost its power over me.
The only thing that truly made me afraid was the idea of being sick again.
I refused to go back to being trapped in a broken body and an isolated room.
“Did you hear me, Lucy?” the doctor pressed.
"Yes," I said slowly.
She studied me, then seemed to square her shoulders and pull herself together. She even swiped a hand down her hair to smooth it.
“Lucy, focus. I want you to hear me and understand. These Alphas aren’t stable. They’re not... gentle." For a heartbeat, anger crossed her face. It gave way to frustration. "They're exactly the opposite of what someone with your medical history needs."
Again, I should feel afraid.
But what bloomed in my chest instead was a spark of curiosity, bright and insistent.
Dangerous.
Unstable.
Not gentle.
The opposite of what I’d been given for so long. Safety. Stability. Gentle doctors who became gentler when they told me bad news.
"Who are they?" I asked, locking gazes with her.
Doctor Swann's expression darkened. "A group that should never have been approved for the program in the first place, but money talks.”
She stood suddenly, moving toward the window as if needing physical distance from the conversation. Her reflection in the glass showed a woman caught between professional obligation and personal ethics.
"I'm going to look into alternatives," she said, more to the skyline than to me. "There are procedures for rejecting matches in extreme cases. Protocols that prioritize Omega safety over compatibility metrics."
"Were there any other matches for me?” I asked. “Even ones that aren’t so… so perfect?”
“No,” Doctor Swann said bluntly, turning back around. Her expression softened. "Sometimes, biology is wrong, Lucy. Sometimes, what seems perfect isn’t. Don’t worry. I won’t let Eros send you to them. I’ll make sure you can stay here until we find a new match.”
“And what if there is no other match?” I challenged her. “What if these terrible Alphas are it for me and I turn them down? I don’t want to be alone. I want a family.”
“They are not the family you want, Lucy.” Doctor Swann's face tightened, and she returned to the sofa, perching on its edge like she might need to flee at any moment. The silence stretched between us, interrupted only by the sound of my own heartbeat pounding in my ears.
“How can I know whether or not I want them when I don’t even know who they are?” I stared her down, waiting for her to give me an answer.
"DemonX," she finally said, the name falling between us like a heavy stone, sinking into water. "You've been matched with DemonX."
Pursing my lips, I racked my brain. The name didn’t ring a bell.
"I'm guessing they're not a boyband," I finally said, trying to smile like she was making a joke at my expense.
A sound escaped her that might have been a laugh under different circumstances.
"No, Lucy. They're not a boyband."
“Bummer,” I shrugged. “Sports team?”
"You’re getting warmer.” She sighed, crossing her arms over her body tightly. “They've been clients of Eros for quite some time. They’re egotistical, suicidal, and downright barbaric. We’ve never even had a near match for them. No Omega has ever come close."
"No Omega until me,” I said thoughtfully, processing the information.
She nodded, a quick, sharp movement. "Until you."
“I want to know more about them.” My tone was almost eager.
The doctor gave me a strange look. "Lucy, I fear any Omega we send to them will come back in a body bag. Just let me talk to Eros. I’ll stop them from notifying DemonX.”
"I didn't think I'd live to be this old," I replied, surprising myself and the doctor with the calm certainty in my voice. "But here I am. I'm not afraid of dying."
"You are alive now, Lucy," she finally said, her voice full of caution. "Cherish that. Protect it. There are provisions for Omega safety that supersede contractual obligations. I just have to prove that—"
"I want to know more about them," I said, surprised by the steadiness of my own voice. "Before anyone makes any decisions about what's best for me."
Certainty washed over me. My entire life had been dictated—by doctors, by disease, by the careful calculations of what my fragile body could withstand. Now, facing my first real choice, I found myself strangely reluctant to surrender it.
Doctor Swann hesitated, then tapped a small button on her lapel. "Bring Lucy the DemonX information," she said to some unseen recipient. Then, after a pause, "All of it."
Doctor Swann left then, but not after making me promise to consider my own wellbeing.
An hour later, I was mesmerized.
Endless, exhilarating footage of DemonX.
Xander. Asher. Nitro. Fallon. Kane.
I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the screen.
Footage of death-defying stunts on motorcycles made my heart pound.
Knives tossed at a target. Each throw precise and deadly.
Fire becoming a living, breathing thing as it danced around a stage.
An arrow slicing the air, rocketing cleanly through small rings, its silvery tip sinking into a piece of fruit atop a scantily clad woman’s head.
I could almost feel adrenaline coursing through my own veins while I watched. This wasn’t a movie. This wasn’t computer generated. This was real.
Yes, DemonX was dangerous. But maybe danger was exactly what I needed to know I was alive.
These were my matches. I wouldn’t let anyone take that away from me.