“You have a pack now, Zilas. Two strong alphas. Let us take some of the burden,” Azane says tenderly.
He nods, eyes dropping without a word.
Chapter Five
Tristan
Iwake in my small bed. Alone.
Only twice more in my life will that happen.
I sit up, rubbing the crust from my eyes, and my gaze lands on the thick packet on my bedside table.
Pack Traex.A smaller pack, at only three.
As an omega, my job will be to keep them pleasured. Sated.
That, I am sure I can do.
My sexual experiences are limited, I admit, but I am sure I can figure out how to make someone cum.
The paperwork explains that I will likely never return to Earth. That I will, of course, be allowed holocalls to family or friends back on Earth, but that myhome, myresponsibilities, will be there.
Fine with me. Those student loan companies can kiss my ass.
I get to bring a plane carry-on sized bag.
What do I bring?The thought had run through my head over and over again.
Finally, I figured it out.
Coffee.
I packed coffee beans. And my stovetop espresso pot, and a hand grinder. Hopefully, they have something similar that I can use when my stock runs out. But that, some old photos,some underwear, a pair of jeans, and a couple tee shirts are all I packed.
Well, that and as many books as I could stuff in.
The information packet had been kind of sparse on details, but it had said that I’d be provided a new, appropriate wardrobe by my pack. Whatever that means. So clothes are whatever.
Those Omega Concord folks had moved fast. I went in for the initial blood draw just three weeks ago.
A week after that, I got the call to come in. They told me I was an omega, and I needed to show up for more testing. So I did: brain scans, personality tests, questionnaires on medical and sexual history. At the end of the afternoon, they had told me they’d let me know when a pack was matched.
Lo-and-behold, a mere eight days after I did the secondary testing, I got a call. I had been matched. A planet called Celnoe, with large, horned, tailed, blue-skinned aliens. I needed to report for molecular transport, on the fifth.
I don’t know exactly what I’m gettinginto, but I know what I’m gettingout of, so fuck it.
I had messaged my landlord, not that I needed to really, but just not to be a prick, and let him know I wouldn’t be renewing the lease.
I had told both my jobs that I’d be leaving. The other baristas had arranged a goodbye celebration at a nearby bar and gotten me as drunk as a monkey while politely trying to pry information on what I’d need to do as an alien omega from me.
The museum? They’d given me a coffee mug from the gift shop and a chain grocery store cake send-off. It was nice, if impersonal. I packed the coffee mug, though.
I had texted several old friends from college and my one cousin I occasionally talk to. All had responded with surprise, but wished me well.
But that was it. There was no one else to tell. No one who would care one way or another.
I was ready.
