8. Storm
Chapter 8
Storm
I wake up with a splitting headache, every beat of my heart echoing in my skull like a hammer against metal. Jonathan's scent is still everywhere—in my hair, on my clothes, imprinted into my skin. Smokey cedar and black pepper. It's suffocating, wrapping around me like invisible chains, and I hate how my body responds to it. I hate even more that part of me doesn't want to wash it away.
The morning light filters through the thin curtains, casting the sterile white room in a pale glow. Even after four years, this place still feels temporary. I've kept it that way on purpose. No personal touches, nothing that would mean accepting this as home.
I rub my temples and squeeze my eyes shut, cursing Jonathan with every breath before swinging my legs over the side of the bed and forcing myself up. The cold floor against my bare feet grounds me. A small discomfort to focus on instead of the lingering scent of alpha that makes my omega instincts hum traitorously.
This is the first morning I haven't touched myself in four years. I glance at the camera in the corner of the room, its lens staring back at me like an unblinking eye. Defiant, I flip it off. No more shows for Jonathan. Not when my body is betraying me like this. Not when his scent makes me want things I shouldn't want.
I shuffle to the bathroom, my feet dragging against the floor as I go. The mirror shows the toll of last night’s encounter—dark circles under my eyes, my wild auburn curls a tangled mess. I splash cold water on my face, hoping to clear the fog from my mind and erase the lingering trace of Jonathan from my skin.
"Thirteen days," I whisper to my reflection, counting down to Choosing Day, to freedom. "Thirteen more days and I'm out of here."
Four years in this place, surviving, biding my time. I can make it through two more weeks if I take my blockers and heat suppressants. I'm so close to seeing Rook again. I don't want to fuck that up now, not when freedom is finally within reach.
I grip the edge of the sink, the porcelain cold against my skin, and force my thoughts back to those old promises. Rook's promises. It's the only way I've survived this long. I think of him, of the way he looked at me back then with that mix of adoration and hope.
We planned a future together, just us against the world. That's what's kept me going. Even when I wanted to scream and tear this place apart with my bare hands.
I brush my teeth vigorously, as if I could scrub away more than just morning breath. I need to focus today.
There's a sudden knock on the door, and I freeze, toothbrush still in my mouth. No one knocks here. They just barge in, usually Jonathan or one of the betas letting themselves into my room like they own my entire existence.
I spit quickly, wiping my mouth as I strain to hear any clue of who's outside. Is it Jonathan? My pulse quickens at the thought. Fuck. I'm not ready for that, not today. Not ever. I scramble over to my bed; the panic rising in my chest despite my best efforts to squash it. I have to prepare for what he's about to say about yesterday, about how I responded to him.
I stop, holding my breath, when I hear a small voice.
"Storm?" It's Harley.
Relief washes over me, my shoulders slumping as the tension drains away. Not him. Thank god. I rush over and open my door.
Her eyes dart nervously down the hall, filled with worry and a touch of excitement. I part my lips to speak, to ask her why she knocked, but she beats me to it.
"I need to tell you something," she whispers, leaning in close as she glances sideways like she expects Veronica or one of those beta bitches to appear any second. Her breath is quick, matching my own. "Let's go to the garden."
My mind races. What the hell is she going to tell me? I raise an eyebrow but nod. There aren't as many cameras in the garden as there are inside, so you can talk a little more freely out there without it being picked up.
"Give me a minute," I say, ducking back into my room. I splash more water on my face, and try to look like I didn't just have a minor panic attack at the thought of seeing Jonathan. I throw on a pair of old jeans and Rook's hoodie—my armor against this place.
As I follow Harley down the hallway, I can tell by the set of her shoulders that whatever she has to say, it's big. My heart beats a little faster, hope and fear wrestling in my chest. Maybe today is the day things finally start to change.
Harley waves me over to a large tree, and she's practically swallowed up by it. Like this isn't gonna be sus. It's the most obvious hiding spot in the entire garden, but I duck under the branches and join her, curiosity bubbling up inside me. Her eyes dart nervously around, making sure we are alone. "Quick," she urges, "before someone sees us." Her voice barely louder than a whisper, she leans in, the words tumbling out of her mouth too fast to catch. "I know how to rig the lottery."
My heart skips a beat. "How?" The thought of being able to control even a small part of this whole nightmare is almost too much to believe.
Harley pushes wild strands of hair out of her eyes. "Dahlia showed me," she says. The excitement in her voice has me vibrating. "Yesterday, before she went on stage, she pulled me aside and showed me a ticket—a lottery ticket, with 'Pack Kingston' written on it."
My stomach flips at that name. Kingston. Dahlia's pack. I can't help the flood of hope mixed with adrenaline. I dig my fingers into the bark of the tree, trying to stay grounded. Dahlia's winning ticket was in her hand the whole time? If she rigged the whole damn lottery, then I could… "Are you sure?" I gasp, the words rushing out before I can stop them, my voice barely more than a breath.
"When she reached into the barrel, she pretended to pick a ticket, but she already had the one she wanted in her hand."
My heart beats so loudly I can almost hear it as I process the magnitude of what Harley is saying.
"Holy shit," I breathe. "So the whole lottery is a sham? The omegas choose the packs they want?" My world spins with the possibilities, with the sudden brilliance of this new knowledge.
"Not all of them," Harley says, shaking her head with the weight of experience. "Remember Marigold? She was genuinely upset about her pack. I think some omegas know how, and others don't."
I remembered Marigold well. Fuck. "That explains why some omegas look so happy at their Choosing Day, while others have to be dragged off the stage."
"Exactly." Harley's eyes are big and bright, her excitement infectious. "And Dahlia showed me how." Her voice drops to an awed whisper. "She told me to make my dreams come true."
A slow smile spreads across my face, my heart swelling at the possibilities. This is it. This is my chance to change things. I can pick a pack that lives close to where I'm meeting Rook. I can use this to my advantage. But for Harley, oh I know who she is gonna have on her ticket.
"So you can choose that blueberry pancakes alpha of yours?" I don't even try to hide the teasing in my voice, knowing how she lights up at the mention of him.
Harley watches me, eyes wide, her expression a mix of nervousness and excitement. Then she nods, the movement small but filled with certainty.
"I just need to know his pack name and I can pick him." Her smile mirrors mine, full of hope. We slip out from beneath the tree.
"Let’s go make our dreams come true."
* * *
I twirl in front of the mirror, admiring the way the gold, glittery off-the-shoulder dress hugs my curves and barely covers my ass. The large hoop earrings catch the light as I move, and I feel a flash of my old self coming through. Today is the last day of meet and greets and I want to make an impression.
I wait in the rec room for Harley to emerge from her room. When she walks out, she's looking like a total badass. Her red lipstick is on point, her earrings match her necklace perfectly, and she's wearing jeans with a Black Sabbath tee cut at the midriff, showing off her belly piercing. She wolf-whistles at me as she spots my gold, glittery off-the-shoulder dress, and I spin on the spot, showing off.
"Not bad yourself, girl," I say with a wink, watching her twirl in response. "Your ass looks hella fine."
"Both of you, stop," Jonathan's voice cuts through our moment as he strolls into the room.
My breath catches in my throat, heart stumbling over itself. He's wearing that dark tailored suit that clings to his massive frame like it was crafted specifically for him, the fabric stretching across his broad shoulders and tapering at his narrow waist. Four years I've spent hating this man, and yet my treacherous body responds to him like he's oxygen and I'm drowning.
The smoky cedar and black pepper of his scent hits me in waves, making my knees weak and my pulse flutter wildly at the base of my throat. He glances at Harley with casual dismissal, grunting disapprovingly at her outfit, before his eyes find me.
Those green eyes move over me slowly, deliberately, a physical caress that leaves heat in its wake. The weight of his gaze leaves goosebumps in its path. I try to swallow, but my mouth has gone dry. I should look away. I need to look away. But I can't.
"Like something you see?" The words teasing. My fingers trail down my side, hip, and the top of my thigh. This is dangerous—playing with Jonathan is like playing with fire. Every rational part of me screams to stop, to run, to remember who he is and what he represents. But another part, deeper within, wants to see how far I can push him.
He growls, the sound vibrating deep in his chest—a warning, a promise, a threat. The sound bypasses all rational thought. To my horror, a whimper escapes my lips, my body arching slightly toward him. I can't stop the rush of heat flooding through me.
"Storm," he barks out in warning, my name on his lips both a command and a plea.
But it's too late. My scent explodes around us, rich dark chocolate notes thick and heavy in the air. My body has made its choice, regardless of what my mind wants. Before I can stop myself, my hand reaches out, fingers pressing against the solid wall of his chest. The contact sends electricity shooting up my arm and straight to my core. I feel him, hot and hard beneath my palm, his heart racing as wildly as my own.
He moves into my space, one large hand gripping my hip, fingers digging in with a possessiveness that should terrify me but instead sends a shiver of desire down my spine. I whimper again. The sound torn from somewhere deep inside me. I find myself nuzzling into his chest, wanting his scent on me.
What am I doing? This is Jonathan Kingsley—the alpha who I hate. The alpha who stands between me and my freedom, between me and Rook.
Rook. The name floats through my mind like a distant echo, but it can't penetrate the fog of pheromones and need clouding my senses. All I can feel is Jonathan's hand on my hip, his chest against my cheek, his scent wrapping around me, claiming me.
"Jonathan?" Veronica's shocked voice shatters the moment.
He freezes, his body suddenly rigid against mine. The room falls silent, the only sound my own heartbeat pounding in my ears. I hold my breath, mortification rushing in to replace desire as awareness returns. What have I done?
He steps away, his eyes dark and unreadable, pupils blown wide with what could be desire or anger or both. He looks at Veronica, then Harley, then back to me for one searing moment before strolling out of the room as if nothing happened, as if he hasn't just turned my world upside down.
"Girl," Harley whispers, drawing closer to me, her eyes wide with shock. "What the fuck?"
For once, I have no clever comeback, no snarky response. My mind is blank, still reeling from the intensity of what just happened. My body hums with the ghost of his touch, my omega instincts preening with a satisfaction I refuse to acknowledge. I feel lost, confused, angry—at him, at myself, at this whole fucked-up omega biology to crave the very thing I hate.
I shake my head and push my hair behind my ears, trying to ground myself in the familiar gesture. "Let's go, before he comes back."
Harley nods in agreement as Veronica comes up behind us, ushering us along.
"I should really take my blockers," I mutter to myself as we head to the final meet and greet. But even as I say it, part of me wonders if I actually want to.
* * *
As we approach the meet and greet venue, I can see the line stretching around the block—triple the number of alphas from yesterday. This being the last day, it seems like every desperate pack in Crescent City has shown up for one final chance. When we step inside, the noise hits me like a physical force—the rumble of alpha voices, the mingling of too many scents, the palpable desperation in the air.
I glance at Harley and see her scanning the crowd anxiously, her eyes darting from face to face, searching for her blueberry pancakes alpha. The disappointment is already settling in her expression.
"It's okay. You'll find the dream today," I tell her, taking her hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze. I hate seeing her like this. "I can just feel it."
"You too. I hope today brings your dream," she replies with a small smile, but I can see she doesn't believe it. The slump in her shoulders tells me she's losing hope with each passing minute.
I wink at her, putting on my most confident face. "Oh, I've found my dream."
And I have—it's just not here in this room full of alphas. My dream is waiting for me outside these walls, has been for four years. Rook. Freedom. A life that's actually mine.
The parade of alphas today is more frantic than ever, each pack practically climbing over each other to reach us, more desperate than the last on this final day of selection. It's just like an auction and I'm the prize. They don't even try to pretend it's not.
I sit back in my throne-like chair, watching as Veronica meticulously writes down each pack I express the slightest interest in. I'm being strategic today, only nodding at the elite packs, the ones with money and status. Not because I want them—fuck no—but because they're the only ones who could afford the ridiculously high entrance fee for the lottery. The closer they are to the city center, the better.
Veronica notices my pattern and leans down, her voice low and approving. "That's good, Storm. The elite packs will treat you more like one of them. You'll have a better life than if you end up with some beta-born alphas who can barely afford to feed themselves."
I force a smile, wanting to tell her exactly where she can shove her classist bullshit. Instead, I just nod and continue my charade, pretending to be the good omega who wants a prestigious pack.
"Would you like me to add Pack Montgomery to the list?" Veronica asks after a particularly wealthy group of alphas finishes their meeting with me. "They have three summer homes and their lead alpha owns half the banking district."
"Absolutely," I say, flashing my most convincing smile. "They seemed... promising."
Veronica beams, scribbling their name on her clipboard. She's so pleased with my apparent cooperation that she doesn't notice when I lean forward to grab a mint from the bowl beside her. My fingers brush against the stack of blank lottery tickets next to her registry book.
Quick as lightning, I palm two tickets, sliding them into my bra while pretending to adjust my dress. My heart hammers against my ribs, but no one notices. Not even Harley, who's busy with her own selection across the room. No one ever suspects a little omega of anything devious.
I smile to myself, a small private victory. I now have the blank tickets we need. I'll surprise Harley with hers later, when we're alone and safe from prying eyes and ears.
I sit on a large, padded chair that feels more like a throne, smiling emptily as pack after pack struts before me, hoping for my approval to have their pack names placed in the barrel I will be spinning in less than a week. Their scents mingle and clash in the air—woodsy, musky, overbearingly sweet—making my head spin and my stomach turn.
Across from me, Harley sits with her usual bundle of energy, her eyes constantly scanning the room for her blueberry pancakes alpha. I can see the frustration growing in her, the slump of her shoulders more pronounced with each pack that isn't him. Today is our last chance, and her dream alpha hasn't shown up.
"Miss Storm?" My attention snaps back to the alpha pack currently wasting their breath in front of me.
What was their name again? Doesn't matter. These alphas live well outside the city. As they drone on about their jobs at the shipyard, their plans for the future, their dreams of building a family, I nod and smile, pretending to listen while tuning them out completely. My thoughts wander. I'm a million miles away from here, running through possibilities like they're the only thing tethering me to sanity.
I dream of my future with Rook. The two of us together, free from all this bullshit, finally living the life we've always wanted.
I let them ramble on and flash that thousand-watt smile like they've already won, but I know how to play this game now. And this time, I'll be the one walking away with exactly what I want.
When we leave, that's when I notice the sounds again. The chanting. The protesters. They're growing louder as we get closer to the exit, voices merging with a sense of anger.
At least a hundred alpha voices rising in unison, echoing off the concrete walls.
They're shouting for freedom, for change, for an end to a system that holds them down. Hell, I want that too.
The security at the entrance is doubled, and we have to wait by the door until it's safe to leave. I wonder how much longer they can keep this up before the whole system collapses. I hope it's soon.
Beta-born are always treated like scum. They live on the poverty line and never can get off it. I know what that's like. I am one of them. Elites are always on top.
Harley looks nervous and tries to move past the protesters, but I slow down, taking it all in. I can't help but feel a thrill of rebellion surge through me. This system is so fucked up. Alphas without an omega turn feral by the time they're in their forties. The government just come and take them away… I know what they do with them. They kill them.
Because a feral alpha can't be fixed. And I've seen feral alphas. I've never seen or heard of an elite going feral. It's unheard of. They have the money, the power to rig these lotteries. I don't remember the last time a beta-born pack even won an omega. These alphas are fighting for their lives. The only problem is a lack of omegas. There isn't enough.
I used to think Rook could end up like that. Feral and taken away. It's sad, and the only one thing I'm grateful for being an omega. Is Rook will never have that happen.
I tried not to think about it when he presented as alpha. But it was always in the back of my mind.
* * *
Night has fallen by the time we get back to the Omega House, the hallways quiet except for the soft hum of the lights overhead. I find Harley standing between our doors, her eyes red-rimmed and distant. I can read it all over her face—her blueberry pancakes alpha never showed up.
"He didn't come," she whispers, confirming what I already know. "He wasn't there."
My heart aches for her. After all the hope, all the planning, all the dreams she's built around this mystery alpha, he never even appeared. Now she has fifty packs she didn't want in the lottery for next Sunday, and none of them are the one she wants.
"Veronica didn't even add my backups," she continues, her voice cracking. "Said it was too late to give her the list. It wasn't. She was just being a bitch." She shakes her head, resignation replacing the spark that usually lights her eyes. "But what does it matter? Either way, I'm not going to choose the pack I want."
I feel the weight of the stolen tickets against my skin, a secret burning to be shared. I've been waiting for the right moment, and now, seeing her like this—defeated, broken—I know it's time.
"I'm sorry, Harley," I say softly, holding my breath as I move in to hug her. The last thing I need is to trigger some crazy omega eye scratching.
For a moment, she stiffens in confusion, but then she holds her breath too and returns the hug. I feel her relax against me, a tear slipping down her face as she pulls away and wipes it quickly.
"But you've found them? The ones you want?" she asks, genuine happiness for me breaking through her own disappointment.
I can't help but wiggle my eyebrows, grinning as I think of the blank ticket tucked safely in my room, already marked with "Pack Kingsley" in my neatest handwriting. Not because I want Jonathan—hell no—but because I've discovered his pack lives closest to the theater where Choosing Day is held. Just a block away from where Rook and I agreed to meet four years ago. The look on Jonathan's face when my rigged lottery "randomly" selects his pack will be priceless, and hopefully in the chaos and confusion that follows, I'll slip away and be gone before anyone realizes what's happening.
"I can't wait for Choosing Day," I tell her, injecting mischief into my voice. "It's gonna be wild ."
I see the questions forming behind her eyes. Before she can ask, I slip my fingers into her jeans pocket, sliding the second stolen ticket inside while winking at her. "Just in case. I got you one, too."
Her eyes widen as she reaches toward her pocket. I grab her wrist quickly, glancing meaningfully at the camera in the ceiling corner. "Don't. You know what it is."
Understanding dawns in her eyes. I wink again and look up directly at the camera, sticking out my tongue in defiance. Let Jonathan watch that. Let him wonder what we're up to.
I skip away from Harley, leaving her to process this new development, and head toward the main area where Frankie has set up our usual card game. His face brightens when he sees me, a flush of pink immediately spreading across his cheeks. He fumbles with the cards he's shuffling, a few slipping from his hands onto the table.
"Hey," he says, his voice cracking slightly before he clears his throat. "I, um, thought maybe you wouldn't come tonight." I hadn’t been to play all week. So exhausted from the meet and greets. But if I only have one week left in here. I’m gonna spend it with my two favorite people. Harley and Frankie.
"And miss the chance to destroy you at gin rummy?" I slide into the chair across from him, enjoying the way his flush deepens. "Not a chance, beta boy."
He ducks his head, focusing intently on gathering the dropped cards, but I can see the smile tugging at his lips. His toasted marshmallows and cinnamon scent wraps around me, warm and comforting after the day's chaos.
"I was thinking," he starts, then pauses, eyes darting up to meet mine before quickly looking back down at the cards in his hands. "Maybe we could try a different game tonight?"
The hesitant way he asks makes something flutter in my chest. I lean forward, purposely invading his space a little. "Depends on what you had in mind."
His blush spreads to the tips of his ears now, and he nearly drops the cards again. "Just, uh, poker maybe?"
"Strip poker?" I tease. "I think the virginal omegas in here will be scared to see you naked, Frankie. But I’m not." I wink over at him.
Frankie's eyes widen, and he coughs, clearly flustered.
“Poker, the regular kind is perfect, Frankie.” I save him. It's adorable how easily I can throw him off balance, this sweet beta who treats me like I'm more than just my omega designation. I wish I could take him with me when I leave.
His hands shake as he deals the cards, and all I can think about is how many more moments like this I’ll get. One week. That’s all. The ticket’s under my bed, my way out of this place—out of his arms. And I hate that my freedom feels like heartbreak.