“We agreed you’d never say that witch’s name in our presence.”
The corner of my mouth curls into a smile. “You’re right, I’m sorry. I wouldn’t want to upset your delicate sensibilities.”
“Do you need help?” Gabby says, tucking her phone away.
The other half of my mouth moves to follow the first, resulting in a full smile. “You do have a habit of asking that just as I’m finishing up.”
Gabby beams at me, spins on a pirouette and then gives me an adorable little curtsey. “What can I say? It's my talent. My alphas have only made it worse-” She cuts off face paling. “I’m sorry, Ren. That was thoughtless of me.”
I wave her off even as a jealous little niggle works its way under my skin. “No, it’s fine. Omegas and alphas belong together. People have relationships, even if I don’t.” I’m proud of how I force the words out of my mouth, prouder still that I don’t sound like I’m crumbling. “You can’t walk on eggshells around me for the rest of my life, I don’t want anyone to feel the need to do that.”
Gabby gives me a small smile and reaches out to squeeze my arm. “You’ll find your pack, Ren,” she says softly. “You’re too kind for that to not be the case.”
No one knows that I did find my pack, that there won’t ever be another one for me.
“Oh, what the hell?” Sophie’s vicious curse has both of us turning toward her. She lifts stormy eyes to me. “You dodged a bullet, Ren. Truly.”
I frown. “What do you mean?”
Helena’s staring at her own phone, brow furrowed, nibbling on her lower lip. “The queen,” she doesn’t need to clarify which queen, there’s only one that would be of anyinterest to us. “Just passed the Omega Welfare and Community Stability Act.”
I’m reaching for my own phone before I’ve realized, digging it out of my bag and pulling up a news site. I’ve been avoiding them for weeks, but I really don’t like the sound of that.
“It requires omegas to register their status.” The US does too so that’s not the shocking part. “It also requires bonds to be formalized?”
Gabby makes an outraged noise. “Listen to this. Unbonded omegas will be required to attend government funded seminars with packs in the hopes of, get this, ‘fostering more stable bonds.’ That’s more like the government matching omegas and packs and forcing them to bond. But they don’t really mean that, right? They wouldn’t do that?”
All three of them look at me, as though they expect me to know the answer. But I don’t. I don’t want to believe anyone related to Forsythe would support limiting omega rights to that degree, but then this is also the woman who expects her grandson to bond with an omega he doesn’t like because she requires it of him.
I shrug. “I honestly wouldn’t be surprised if this was just the first of many reforms the monarchy puts in place.”
“But surely Forsythe and his pack will speak out against it,” Sophie says, sounding genuinely upset at the idea that they might not. “They were so kind on the show, so solicitous to the omegas, to you, that they won’t just let this go, will they?”
I don’t have the heart to tell her they likely will. That the queen’s word is law as far as they’re concerned, so if she’s enacted the law, they’ll support it.
“I don’t know them well enough to say,” I finally hedge. “I thought I did, but clearly, I was wrong.”
They all give me unhappy, pitying looks and I hate it.
Thankfully, at that moment, a slew of alphas wander into the front of the studio, ready to gather Gabby and take her home. Helena and Sophie go with them, catching a ride to the apartment they share together.
I wave them off from the back of the studio, keeping my distance from the alphas and then finish with the mats, rolling them and stowing them on the shelf.
One of the Calloways should be showing up eventually. It's sweet but sometimes I just wish all of this wasn’t necessary. No, not sometimes. All the time. I don’t want to have guards following me around. Don’t want to need an alpha to take me to work and pick me up. God, I wish like hell my safety wasn’t an issue.
Maybe with time it won’t be. I’ll be able to drive myself to wherever I need to go, walk down the street without fear of being accosted or cornered.
I shut off the lights and pack my bag, carrying it to the front of the studio and looking out the window to watch for one of the many Calloway pack cars.
Across the street, the black sedan that I see everywhere now that Creed pointed it out to me, is parked at the curb. I resist the urge to wiggle my fingers at them in a wave, just to let them know that I know they’re there.
I don’t really care if they want to follow me around, so long as they keep their distance. And so far they have. No approaching me. No trying to get me to make a comment. No weird stalkerish gifts left on my doorstep.
Just this. The black sedan, idling by the curb of wherever I go when I leave my house.
Most recently it’s only been the yoga studio.
And one trip to a building in downtown Granton, that Creed thought would work as a warehouse and a design space. Somewhere where I can meet with clients, have the space todesign and sew custom gowns, and also ship my more mass market items from.
