Without access to omega pheromones, some alphas end up feral. They lean into the hyper-aggressive stereotype that defines their designation, and if they ignore their needs for long enough, they can pass into rabid territory.
Both are dangerous, but rabid alphas only have one hope at mental clarity. They have to bite a scent-matched omega. Once a bond is in place, it begins to heal their mind, but it’s even better if they can head off that process before it ever gets that bad.
Feral alphas only need to be in close proximity to omega pheromones to begin to regain cognitive functioning.
That means they need us.
I remember what that feels like from what I experienced when I was pregnant with Lucky. I like to believe it gives me an understanding of what they’re going through, and I try to be empathetic with every client, even the gruff and growly ones.
Pheromone clinics are a relatively new thing, but I’m grateful omegas are no longer making house calls to skirt around the ridiculous laws that were in place before the legislation caught up.
We don’t have to have sex with a client to exchange pheromones, but the more skin touching, the faster the process, and the laws now protect our right to do so if we choose.
Also, it’s nice to know that if something ever did happen with a client, I wouldn’t be risking jail time.
Compatible alphas and omegas do seem to love to fuck like bunnies. We’ve lost three or four employees to bonding since our location opened, and it’s only been in business for six months.
Ultimately, being able to come into a set location to get their pheromone fix is convenient for the alphas, and it’s safer for the omegas.
The business has excellent security. Each room has multiple buttons to press if we need immediate assistance, and there are other safety protocols, like strapping down alphas during their first visit and muzzles, as needed.
It can feel barbaric at times, but some of the alphas who come in for treatment are teetering a little too close to the line of rabid, and it’s better to be safe than sorry.
Chapter Three
Charlotte
My first appointment of the day is with a married couple named Chris and Sarah. I damn near accidentally caused them to get a divorce when Chris first started coming in for appointments, and I still feel bad about what went down.
Actually, no.
I’m not taking responsibility for that, not even mentally.
Chris is a sweet guy—clearly dumber than a box of rocks, but he never crossed any lines. The extent of what we’d done during his appointments was to sit six inches apart on the couch while he talked about his boring-ass job at the bank.
It’s not how most appointments go, but I had only seen him twice, and I thought he was just shy. Either way, heabsolutelyshould have warned his wife that he was coming in for treatment.
If I had known he was married, I would have flat-out told him to sit down and explain the situation before she found out on her own.
And oh, boy.
Did she ever find out…
Apparently she came across a card with my name and his next appointment on it. Then she did what nearly any woman would have done in her position. She came into the clinic, booked an appointment with me, and asked why the hell her husband was scheduled to see me in an hour.
For being five-three and a beta, she’s more intimidating than some of the alphas who come in for treatment, but due to the confidentiality agreements that we sign, I couldn’t tell her anything.
Okay, I told her she had nothing to worry about and begged her to please have a conversation with her husband.
She called him, demanded he come to the clinicimmediately, and I sat awkwardly on the couch during the rest of her appointment time and into his while they argued, made up, and then finallytogetherasked me to carry on.
That first appointment was weird.
After that, they’ve come in together. It was the best course of action—at least, I think so. She had to know there was the possibility that he would need to find an omega one day, but I still can’t imagine how hard it would be to be a beta married to an alpha.
Sometimes it’s hard not to ask if they have plans to find a pack, or if they’re going to stick with coming into the clinic every week. It’s ultimately none of my business, even if I am curious.
I lie on the edge of the treatment table as Chris’s little spoon. He keeps his hands to himself, but he does bury his nose in my hair. Sarah cuddles behind Chris, making him her little spoon.
