I close my eyes, shaking uncontrollably.
“Oh, fucking shit,” he groans, tugging his hair.
Yeah, fucking shit is right.
I accidentally bonded my high school bully.
2
RAVEN
TWO WEEKS EARLIER
“Marcella Moretti, Omega Weekly.” A woman in a sharp pencil skirt and blue blouse stands from the second row. “How does it feel to be one of the first omegas to openly participate in the Olympics?”
How does it feel? What kind of question is that? There are way too many emotions churning through me to even begin to explain how it feels. Terrifying being the most noteworthy, but of course I can’t say that out loud. I keep my hands clasped on my lap to hide the shaking as I lean closer to the microphone. “Um… exhilarating.”
My coach pointedly widens her eyes at me as if to say,go on.
I swallow against the dryness in my throat. “Uh… it’s a lot of… pressure, but I’m?—”
“Raven has worked hard to get here,” my coach, Ana, interrupts, leaning toward my mic. She actually has no idea how hard I’ve worked, since she just started working with me a few months ago. “And we’reconfident she can make her country proud. Letting omegas into the Olympics has been a long time coming, and it’s an honor for Raven to…”
I tune Ana out as she rambles words that feel like a prepared script about this historic event. It’s not that I’m not honored to be here. It’s a dream come true. But before last year, this wasn’t even a possibility for me. I trained hard to become a professional figure skater, but the goal wasn’t the Olympics.
Then Meggie Hart and other omegas like her started sharing about how they’d competed in the Olympics secretly. They campaigned for omega rights, and the International Olympic Committee heard them. Or at least, the sway of public opinion forced them to pretend they were listening.
They decided the Winter Olympics would be a test run. Being a smaller event, with less public fanfare than the Summer Olympics, they figured it was the perfect time to trial an omega acceptance program. With stipulations, of course. Like heat suppressants, and having pre-approved coaches who’ve been to the Olympics before. Chaperones.
Only six countries agreed to take part in the program. But none of them wanted to bring more than one omega. America recruited me.
They probably should have chosen someone a bit more sociable. When I signed on for this, I didn’t realize there would be quite so many interviews and public appearances, but apparently everyone wants to meet the first American omega to openly compete in the Olympics.
I’m making history, as Coach Ana constantly reminds me.
I don’t know when Coach stopped talking, but hands are raised all over the room again. My attention wanders,snagging on a man standing off to the side of the platform. He’s looking at the audience rather than me, arms crossed, a scowl turning down the corner of his lips. Sharp cheekbones make the frown more menacing, even beneath a neatly trimmed beard. Combined with his absolutelymassivebody and biceps the size of watermelons, this guy looks lethal.
Our eyes catch for just a moment, and something warms deep in my belly. I rip my attention away from him, and call on a man in the front row wearing a tweed jacket.
“I hear you’re planning?—”
“What are you doing to keep from going into heat?” someone interrupts.
Everything inside me twists into a knot. Of course someone had to bring this up. Whenever anyone says omegas shouldn’t be allowed in the Olympics this is their argument. Omegas can’t compete because they’ll drive alphas into a rut and start a riot. It doesn’t matter that heat suppressants have become more effective. They’re convinced that any omega here will promptly go into heat, instigating the abnormally high percentage of alphas to go into a rut and bond them against their will. God forbid anyone hold the alphas accountable for controlling themselves. It’s easier to blame us.
“Okay, that’s all the time we have,” my publicist cuts in, and I heave a sigh of relief. Harriett Davis is known for her strict adherence to schedules, which is part of why Coach Ana hired her. Every minute of my day is planned out in order to make me the best of the best and to win public opinion in my favor.
Everything is scheduled so tightly that we came straight from the airport to the press conference and haven’t evenmade it to the Olympic Village, yet. I’m grateful the interviews are finally over so I can rest and get settled.
Ana guides me off the platform just as the man with the scowl breaks away from the group, coming toward us. Now that he’s closer, I can see he’s wearing a shirt that says Siren Security and an official-looking badge.
“Oh, you must be Foster,” Ana says. “I thought you were supposed to meet us at the airport. What happened?”
“My flight was delayed.” The man keeps his eyes on me as he answers her. He holds out his hand, and I take it. His long, warm fingers wrap around mine in a firm grip. “Foster D’Amico. I’ll be your security detail for the next two weeks.”
“Just you?” Harriett asks.
“Yes.” He doesn’t explain further as he lets go of my hand.
