I smooth my hands down the front of my yoga pants, and they both follow the motion, heat flaring in their eyes. A natural alpha response to an omega unconsciously drawing attention to her hips. “Indeed. Very educational. I’ve met a lot of packs in my time, spent time with them, got to know their values, what they expect of an omega. But I’ve never met one like yours.”
Forsythe bristles and pushes to his feet, towering over me in a way that I should find intimidating, but… don’t. Which is a wonder all in itself given my normal reaction to alphas these days.
“What does that mean?” He bites out.
If this were any other alpha, any other situation, I might bite my tongue and say something polite. I might sugar coat what I think about his pack. Being told I’m not going to be their omega, that Iwillbe going home, is all the permission I need.
I hold Forsythe’s gaze, unflinching. “It means,” I say softly, “That I know exactly whatnotaccept in a pack. I would hate to be adutyrather than achoiceto the people who are supposed to love me most in the world. It means that one day you’re going to wake up surrounded by everything you were supposed to want,” I pause, hesitating here, but then pushing forward, “and realize you never chose any of it. Duty did.”
I skirt between the two loungers and move away from them, eager to have the sun on my skin. I pause still in the shade of the cabana and glance over my shoulder at the two over them. “Good luck,” I add, sincerity bleeding into the words. I mean it. The thought of anyone resigning themselves to aloveless existence is heartbreaking, disappointing in a way I didn’t foresee.
They might think they’re doing the right thing, following duty over love. But one day they’re going to wake up and realize their omega, picked because it was expected by them and not because they love her, isn’t keeping their pack together.
It’ll fracture, if it isn’talreadyfracturing, and Isadora won’t know how to fix it. She won’t becapableof fixing it. I kind of doubt she’ll want to. A bond is for life. She’ll still be a princess even if her pack is broken and loveless.
That will never be me, I tell myself.
I might not have that love now, but I will.
I just have to be patient.
Episode 12: Faith, Trust and Pixie (Dust)
“This challenge,” Cleo Hartwell purrs into her microphone the next day, “tests communication, cooperation, and trust. Omegas will start blindfolded at the edges of the maze. Their alpha will guide them in with only verbal directions. The fastest team wins.”
My stomach tightens with every word out of Cleo’s mouth. The setup for this, the rules, they all but invite an alpha bark, a command. I’m not sure that anyone else would have a problem with it in this context, but I sure as fuck do.
My heart is thundering and I feel a little woozy, like my brain isn’t getting enough oxygen. I make myself breathe. Focus on the rise and fall of my chest, and not on the rise of panic.
Five things I can see: The green palm trees. The bright blue of Forsythe’s swim trunks. The black t-shirt spread over Piers’ chest. The purple flower in Petal’s hair. The white sneakers Courtland is wearing.
Four things I can feel: The sand between my toes. The sun on my skin. The wind ruffling my hair. The warm burn of Thayer’s attention.
Three things I can hear: Grieves calling out another omega’s name. The waves lapping at the shore. A seagull calling overhead.
Two things I can smell: The salt of the ocean. The faintest twinge of cut grass.
One thing I can taste: The lingering mint of my toothpaste.
“Florence.” I blink, focus back on my surroundings, feeling more grounded, and find everyone staring at me. Petal squeezes my hand and then pushes me forward, and I realize someone has picked me.
Who?
Forsythe has two omegas next to him—Catherine and Odette. Thayer also has two—Lila and Julian—and he’s watching me with a ticking jaw that tells me he’s displeased about something. But I have no clue what. Courtland and Grieves each have one omega beside them. Rosamund and Anneliese, respectively.
I take another hesitant step forward glancing over my shoulder at Petal who just gives me a grin of encouragement. Appreciated, but not particularly helpful.
“Come on, pixie,” Courtland says, holding out a hand to me. I blow out a relieved breath and hurry forward, sliding my fingers into his warm grip, letting him pull me into his side. Of all of them Courtland seems the least likely to bark at unsuspecting omegas.
But still just to be sure, as Grieves picks his next teammate I use my grip on his hand to tug him down until I can whisper in his ear. “Please, don’t use a bark on me.”
He draws back as if startled by my request. His green eyes are wide and a little shocked, his jaw clenches, and I think I’ve really messed up. His country must view it as entirely normal for an alpha to assert control.
I take one small step back, dropping my eyes like a good submissive omega should. “Sorry,” I whisper. “I shouldn’t have…”
His knuckle hooks under my chin, lifting my eyes back to his, making sure I’m paying attention. “I would never use my bark on an omega, not unless their safety required it, I promise, Ren.”
I want to believe him. And hadn’t I just thought he’s not the type of alpha to force his will on those weaker than him? But no one would suspect that family man Senator Frederick Bell would have buried his beloved daughter under a mountain of alpha commands.
