Inside, the kitchen was chaos, a storm of bodies and steam, shouts and clattering dishes. No one spared me a second glance as Lady Morvane handed me off to the head servant, a tight-lipped beta woman with eyes like flint.
"This one assists with the high table only," Lady Morvane instructed. "She doesn't speak, doesn't serve drinks, stays away from the omega display."
The woman nodded, assessing me with practiced efficiency before thrusting a tray of delicately arranged appetizers into my hands. "Follow the flow, stay to the right of seated guests, don't make eye contact," she rattled off, already turning away to address another crisis.
I steadied the tray, testing its weight. After years of hauling coal and firewood through the manor, this was nothing, but I adopted a servant’s careful gait regardless. I was a ghost, a shadow, present but unseen. It was a role I had perfected in my own home. This was merely performing it for a different audience.
The dining hall struck me first with its light, it was more illumination than I'd experienced in years, chandeliers dripping with crystals that fractured candlelight into dizzying patterns. Beneath them, three long tables formed a U-shape around a central open space where a young woman stood on a slightly raised platform. The omega.
She could not have been older than eighteen, dressed in a gown that managed to be both modest and revealing, high-necked but crafted from fabric so thin it exposed the rapid flutter of her pulse at her throat. Her eyes darted around the room like trapped birds, never landing, never still. A jeweled collar circled her neck, not just decorative but functional, embedded with suppressants that would release into her bloodstream if she lost control.
I moved as instructed, keeping to the edges and offering the tray with downcast eyes. The room held perhaps thirty people, mostly Alphas with a scattering of high-ranking betas. Their scents thickened the air, dominance and wealth and hunger pressing in from all sides, but I kept my breathing shallow, filtering through my mouth rather than my nose.
"The bloodline is impeccable, three generations of certified omega fertility," a man was saying, his voice carrying across the room without effort, an Alpha used to being heard. "The last heat produced clear indicators of multiple egg release. With the right Alpha stimulation, twins would be almost guaranteed."
I watched the omega's face from beneath my lashes. The subtle flinch at "egg release." The flare of her nostrils as anotherwave of humiliation washed over her. She was property being assessed for breeding value, nothing more.
"And the temperament?" This from a woman, her Alpha status evident in her posture more than her scent, shoulders back, chin lifted, taking up space without apology.
"Docile, well-trained. Responds beautifully to a command voice." The broker, a beta male with oiled hair and too many rings, stepped onto the platform and took the omega’s chin between his fingers. "Demonstrate, little one. Presentation pose."
The omega immediately sank to her knees, head bowed, hands resting palms up on her thighs. Exposed at the nape was the most vulnerable place for an omega, where a mating bite would land. Appreciative murmurs spread through the room.
I moved to the next guest, my tray lighter now, hands steady through years of practiced control while threats thrown at me if I make a mess. This wasn't my first witnessing of omega trading, though it was the first outside the manor. Lady Morvane occasionally hosted these events, and I'd spied through hidden vents, learning what my future was meant to be before my body betrayed us both by refusing to develop normally.
The negotiation continued, remarkable not for its cruelty but its mundanity. These people discussed heat scheduling and egg harvesting with the same detached interest they might apply to crop rotation or wine vintages. No voices were raised. No desires declared too loudly. The true exchange happened in subtler currencies, a shift in posture when price was mentioned, a flash of teeth when territory was encroached upon, the deliberate release of dominance pheromones when competition needed to be subdued.
I watched one Alpha place a hand on the table, fingers splayed, and the Alpha across from him immediately leaned back, conceding some point without a word being exchanged.Another tilted her head just so, exposing a sliver of throat, not submission, but an acknowledgment that allowed negotiations to proceed. This was power at its most refined, its most dangerous.
"The contract would cover three heat cycles, with option for renewal," the broker continued, circling the kneeling omega. "Full extraction rights, of course. Any viable embryos would be the property of the contracting Alpha."
The omega's breathing changed. Just a fraction, just enough for me to notice because I was watching for it. Too fast, too shallow. The collar at her throat began to glow faintly, a warning.
"Is there some issue with control?" asked one of the Alphas, nostrils flaring.
"Not at all," the broker said smoothly, though I saw his hand tighten on the omega's shoulder. "Simply anticipation. She's been prepared for this evening and knows what an honor it is to serve."
But something was wrong. The omega's scent began to shift, sweetening in a way that cut through even the neutralizing agents they'd doused her with. Her eyes widened, panic replacing the dull resignation of moments before.
"I—I can't—" she whispered, the first words I'd heard from her. Her hands trembled where they rested on her thighs.
The room changed in an instant. Alpha attention snapped toward her with predatory focus, pupils dilating, postures stiffening. The polite veneer of civilization stretched paper-thin over sudden, primal hunger.
"Control your merchandise," someone growled, but the command was halfhearted at best.
The omega was going into heat. Not the controlled, scheduled heat they'd been negotiating around, but a stress-induced spiral triggered by fear and adrenaline. The collar at her throat pulsed brighter, releasing chemicals meant to dampen theresponse, but it was too late. The room filled with her scent and answering growls rumbled from Alpha throats.
My tray trembled in my hands. I'd never been this close to an omega in heat, never breathed air so thick with desire and danger. The suppressants in my system should have dulled any response, but something inside me recognized the scent, resonated with it. My skin flushed hot, then cold.
"Get her out of here," commanded a voice that cut through the growing tension. An Alpha who hadn't spoken before, seated at the head table, away from the main display. "Now."
The broker and two assistants scrambled to obey, lifting the omega, who had collapsed into a shivering ball. They carried her from the room as she whimpered, already lost to the hormonal storm overtaking her body.
I pressed myself against the wall, trying to make myself smaller as the Alphas in the room struggled to regain composure. Some left abruptly, stalking out with barely contained aggression. Others remained seated, knuckles white around glass stems, jaws clenched as they fought their biology.
Instead of panicking, I turned inward, the way I'd taught myself during my earliest heat symptoms, before Lady Morvane realized what I was and began the suppressants. I focused on my breath, drawing it deep into my belly, holding it there, releasing slowly through my nose. I built walls in my mind, stone by careful stone, creating distance between myself and the lingering pheromones.
But as I did, I discovered something troubling. The suppressants weren't just muting my omega responses, they were containing something that pushed against them from within, something wilder and stronger than I'd been led to believe possible. My defective biology wasn't weaker than normal omegas'; it was something else entirely. Something that,fully unleashed, would make what we'd just witnessed seem tame by comparison.
