Now, fifty years later, tentative integration had been achieved, and work programs for human Omegas were established on the Mer islands. Their official name was the Paeil Islands, but most humans had taken to calling them the Mermade Islands.
The largest of them appeared over what was once Miami. Perhaps in an effort to ingratiate themselves to humanity, the Mer had named the island after the lost city. It caused more outrage than camaraderie, but the name stuck.
After what felt like hours, Beau made it to the main entrance of his father’s government-owned mansion. A nondescript black car was waiting for him.
“Mr. Montgomery,” the driver said, pulling the door open.
Beau eyed the man. Something about his skin caught the light. Minute, glittering scales. He was Mer. No overwhelming pheromones wafted from the scent glands on either side of his neck. Instead, he was emitting a lightly sweet scent. An Omega, then.
Of course,Beau thought.As if an Alpha would be driving my sorry ass around town.
While roughly thirty-five percent of the human population was now made up of Omegas, it still left sixty-five percent of what was now called “standard male” and “standard female.” Mer, on the other hand, were either Alphas or Omegas. Though there were Mer females, they too were divided into Alphas and Omegas. From what Beau had learned, the Mer typically preferred partners of their own gender, but that didn’tmean an Alpha male couldn’t reproduce with an Omega female and vice versa.
As Beau stared out the heavily tinted window, a pang of fear bloomed in his gut. He recognized this route.
“Uh, excuse me,” he said, flushing slightly. “Where exactly are you taking me?”
The Omega smiled in the rearview mirror.
“First stop is St. Marina’s, sir.”
His stomach twisted. “Just Beau, please.”
Chapter 2
Loriun
Afaceful of saltwater hit Loriun in a beautiful mist. He blew out a sigh of relief and sprayed himself again. This interspecies office was too godsdamned dry. The light brush of rayon fabric against his scales grated on his nerves. Human clothes were the bane of his existence, but for once, that was the last thing on the Alpha’s mind.
The moment he’d clicked the “donate” button on Ashford Montgomery’s campaign site, shame rippled through his fins. The questionable politician said his son was looking for an Alpha, and had agreed to the arrangement, but something about the transaction still felt dirty.
It all started a few weeks ago—Loriun was out at a company dinner, listening to his Alpha employees lament about the scarcity of human Omegas.
One of the human coworkers piped up, “You in the market, Mr. Kolhn?”
Loriun raised a brow. “Isn’t every Alpha?”
The man chuckled. “True. But you know, Mr. Kolhn, I’ve got a cousin with an Omega son. You might have heard of him. He’s up for reelection soon. Ashford Montgomery?”
Loriun’s brow furrowed. Everyone knew the human interspecies liaison. He was notoriously two-faced—displaying a pro-Mer stance when it came to technology and education, while secretly supporting an anti-Mer extremist group. Natural Order of something or other.
It was a tightrope walk, staying in the good graces of both the Mer and his bigoted human constituents. Like him or not, Loriun had to admit that the man was cunning.
“Of course I know of Ashford Montgomery," he replied, unable to keep an edge of disdain from his voice. “I’m surprised to learn he has an Omega son. I was unaware he had any children.”
“Yeah, well.” The human man—Bill?—waved a dismissive hand. “You know how folks are about Omegas in Florida. Anyway, I heard his son is lookin’ to settle down. Ashford’s vettin’ a whole conga line of suitors. Nobody good enough for his precious boy and all that.”
Loriun raised his glass to his lips. Gose beer had been a pleasant discovery for the Mer—salty, low alcohol content, and foamy. Watching his human workers knock back shots of liquor made him feel ill. There was something truly wrong with the entire species. Ingesting poison for fun…
“How old is this son?” Loriun finally asked.
Bill grinned. “Interested?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“He’s twenty-four. Want to see a photo? Ashford sent one over. ‘Course, he knows I work on the islands…”
Loriun’s nose wrinkled slightly. Twenty-four was hardly old enough to be settling down. It felt like a nearly infantile number to Loriun’s thirty-three.
