Once the cameras roll, I check my horse over for injury after a stumble caused by other jockeys crowding us, the reins dangling across my back as I run my hands down the surprisingly slender forelegs. The animal’s presence in the scene forces me to condense my anger to a narrow focus. Facial expressions, a slight quiver in my hands. Fury in my eyes, just as the director wants.
Once the scene’s done to his satisfaction, Sebastien pulls me aside. “You need anything, Red?” he asks, eyes crinkling with concern.
“Glad you didn’t ask if I’m all right,” I mutter.
He winces. “Well, that’s a given, but your acting’s sublime given what you’re going through. I don’t think I could do it if my pack mate got taken away.”
His words strike a distant chord, one that says my coping strategies are working for me, but that inner whisper sounds too much like my counselor’s false hope.
I wave the thought away with one hand. “We do what we gotta do.”
Rickon rests his hand on my lower back, quietly greeting Sebastien before turning to me. “Red, the switch scene is next. Still up for it?” Worry glimmers in his pale green eyes.
I hesitate. Director Yun wanted me to live inside Ashana’s skin for a while and improve my horse riding before we attemptedthe scene where she switches from beta to omega during a big race. I’ve acted her part as a beta, as well as an omega, so now we need the skipped middle scenes. And today’s the big day, the grandstand packed with extras.
Why now, when every breath feels like a challenge? Or perhaps . . . that’s exactly why.
I nod. Now or later makes no difference, really. My heat’s due in three days, and even though there are no pre-signals in my body, I feel its approach like a beast clawing at my soul’s closed door.
Most people call this fear.
While my costume team checks my clothes and the staff do the last touches on the racecourse, I re-listen to a podcast from an omega who switched. The sensations she describes sound like going into heat, but worse because her omega senses opened all at once to things she’d never experienced before—things I live with daily.
For these scenes, I need a hyperawareness of what it means to be an omega, right when I don’t want to be an omega at all.
I pad out of the change rooms, hearing the dull murmur of a crowd in the grandstands. The camera crew shuffle backward ahead of me, capturing the moment of silence before I step out into the Toscatt Cup, one of the season’s big races. We’ll film the race scene in two parts. First, the horse race, and second, the close-in on my face using a green screen and mechanical mounts, to capture every detail of my supposed transition from beta to omega.
The crowd of extras and officials makes it feel like a real event. Nervous butterflies dance in my stomach as we shoot the weigh-in scene, which only requires two takes. I check my helmet fit, and then walk out to get my horse, affectionately nicknamed Chuckles.
We’re well acquainted now, the chestnut gelding and me. He even blows out through his nose in a big huff to welcome me. Possibly because I smuggle him carrots whenever the handler isn’t watching.
The cameras roll, and the groom gives me a leg up. I settle into my short stirrups and wind the reins through my fingers, mentally running through my instructions for the scene.
Bradley, looking filthy rich in his pinstripe suit and cravat, approaches with a smile. “Ride him just like you did in the last trial, Ashana.”
I tap my riding crop handle to the tiny peak on my helmet. “Yes, sir. We’ll do our best out there.”
He rests his hand on my leg, the intimate touches indicative of the characters’ growing affection for each other. I can’t fake a blush, so I settle for a tiny smile. And if it’s a little sour, it should look like nerves related to the impending race. This time, as the scene cuts, Brad removes his hand immediately. Looks like our run-in taught him something.
Before I know it, we’re loading into the starting gates, a cameraman rolling under the front entrance to get upward-facing shots. The bars close in around me, just like the prison cell keeping Zack hostage. I need to ring Calli tonight and find out if he’s heard about my visitation date.
I brace, glancing side to side to check that no one’s going to crash into us today, before slipping the racing goggles over my eyes. My heart pounds as we hang in this moment between silence and a race as real as any I’m going to run. This will be my first time shooting my own galloping scenes. I lean low over my horse’s mane and wind my fingers into a big handful of hair.
The gates snap open.
My mount throws his head up and pushes forward but I count two heartbeats before I let out the reins, imitating a “start from behind” ride. Bright light washes over me as we plunge out ontothe track behind the other horses. The camera drones hovering at head height remind me how serious this moment is, their filming complemented by the open-sided van keeping pace with us on the outside and a camera on a monorail on the inside of the track.
The wind whips at my face as Chuckles accelerates into a full gallop, angling slightly to the outer edge. All choreographed, but seemingly important, as if I desperately need to get out of the crush of bodies. The wind whips me, stinging my cheeks, and my thighs already burn from the crouching position. It’s like perching on a tsunami. Beyond the pounding hooves, I catch snatches of the announcer narrating our progress and the extras screaming in encouragement.
Then the galloping hooves roll into thunder that grows until the roar sweeps away all other noise.
The first mile marker flashes by, the post tipped with bright pink to catch my attention. Time to shift forward in the pack. I let out a little more rein, as the closest rider draws his in. The bunched pack spreads out, forming a line for me to pass one at a time. I glance through my horse’s ears. Only a few racers stay ahead of us. Just a bit more energy, and we can win this thing.
“Come on,” I shout into the wind, waving my crop forward. The extreme speed delivers a burning thrill straight to my veins.
The second post approaches and flashes by, yellow-tipped. Now’s the moment Ashana switches to an omega mid-race. Heat burning through her skin, olfactory senses going haywire, instinctively clocking every alpha within a hundred yards.
I lift my head, noting the scents the wind hurls at me. Horsehair, clogging but not unpleasant. A crowd of alphas and betas. I glance around, twisting my face with uncertainty, and then feign another wave of heat hitting me. Fuck, I hate those endless rolls of fiery agony threatening to blow me apart during heats. How much worse would it be if I’d never had one before?
