Once in a while, I had the unfortunate need to go into the city and meet with my clients one on one. As if that weren’t enough, the new client had trust issues—most humans did, and who could blame them. Their systems of living were contingent on politics and the swaying whims of the government and environment. Shifters had learned a long time ago that communities sharing and caring for each other was the best way to live.
This particular client was wary of everything despite my professional website and services. He’d asked for five references, and I gave him ten, making sure that the majority of them were human in case he harbored some kind of distrust of shifters.
Still, after everything, he insisted on seeing me in person before signing the contracts. He was a big client and had several good but completely unorganizedideas, so on this occasion, I did what I had to in order to gain his business.
I hoped that effort paid off.
Undoing my tie with a growl, I pulled it over my neck and tossed it onto the passenger side seat. I hated dressing up in general, much more for another person. A big part of why I loved my job centered around the need to wear nothing more formal than jeans—and that was dressed up to me. I could finally breathe once the top two buttons were undone.
“Next time, they can go to someone else.” Of course, I told myself that every time.
I was about an hour from home when I turned onto the long highway, headed in the direction of our homestead. We called it that not because of what it was but for what we once hoped it might be.
We had to make it. I wouldn’t have it any other way. I grew up in a pack and learned from my father what good leadership looked like. I strove every day to have my pack thrive rather than survive. All three of us had stories to tell but, in the end, they culminated into one point.
We deserved a good life.
And our omega, whoever and wherever she was, would reap the benefits of that life.
I would personally make sure of it.
Right before the next turn, I noticed a sign signaling an upcoming farmers market. Shoot. I had been so caught up in life and work, I hadn’t even realized it was a weekend. No wonder my client thought it unorthodox to meet today. It was Saturday.
My wolf scratched me from inside. He wanted something. Whatever he sought was in the direction of that farmers market, and who was I to argue? Besides, I could pick up some goodies for my pack brothers. They worked so hard on getting the house ready.
Dax was also busting his ass out in the garden and with the animals. I was the leader, since my alpha was strongest and Talon had the means, but Dax? He had enough heart and mental strength to keep us all going. He was the glue, that was, until we found our omega.
I shucked my button-down in an attempt to blend in and untucked my T-shirt. Nothing I could do about the dress shoes, but at least I wasn’t sticking out like asore thumb. The farmers market was bustling. People greeting each other and calling out for customers to approach their stand. Nothing caught my eye until I saw a stand up ahead.
It advertised honey, baked goods, desserts, and more.
We loved honey and found it hard to find local vendors, so I went over to stock up.
A female stood up as I approached. “Hi! What can I help you with today?”
“How much for the jars of honey?”
“One for twelve or two for twenty.” Her answer was swift.
“I’ll take four, then, please.”
From behind the woman, another approached. She carried a small wooden crate with some kind of paper inside it.
She passed in front of me as the other woman bagged the honey, and I scented the most enticing scent of my life. My alpha wolf howled from his place inside my consciousness. That scent.
“W-what…” I stuttered over my words. “What are those?”
The woman stared at me. “These?” She pulled out a post card with a watercolor scene on the front. “Our friend makes these. They can be used for thank-you cards or whatever you like.”
The scent. I couldn’t get over it, and it only took me five seconds to know that whoever made these cards was our scent match. No question in my mind. A bit unconventional, but the use of scent cards in finding a pack for an omega wasn’t out of the question in omega services, so this was the opposite.
“Is the artist here?” I asked, holding up my hand before the woman could put it down. “I’ll buy them all, please.”
“Oh. She’s not here. But we could persuade her to come next weekend if you wanted to meet her.”
Come on, Archer. Don’t be weird. Don’t be weird.
But also, our omega made these. I knew it in my bones.
