“Miss—”
“Have you heard of his bond-mate? She is reputed to be an omega of amazing abilities. She will walk into this room and know in an instant that everything I report is true.”
The younger nurse cried louder. Beside her, the other woman wore a grimace of understanding. Another nurse appeared, and then, finally, the baffled alpha doctor.
Phee decided not to stick around to let anyone attempt to calm her or change her mind. No, shewouldreport this.
She fanned her fury, letting all of it free as she exited the horrible, useless clinic. The door shut behind her without slamming, but she still saw heads turn out of the corner of her eye, staring at her.
They all knew what she was now—that she had not just failed treatment, but had failed in life. So much for confidentiality. And all the women in the lobby, some of them bright and pregnant, the nurses and staff—they knew what Phee’s ashen face and glossy eyes meant. After all, they’d seen it before; twenty-four omegas had sat in that room, each of them told they’d entered an early menopause and that their reproductive organs were shutting down.So sad for you, my dear, but there’s not much to be done.Twenty-four of them had exited the building, barely holding together the shattered pieces of their hopes and dreams.
She wouldn’t let these staring bystanders see a single tear fall.
Three months ago, Phee had looked for an unregulated clinic where word would never get back to any of her friends and family that she was having issues. She’d hoped to correct things. Two of her friends had come away from here with amazing results. They’d said the alpha doctor was kind. After trying a couple of medications, eventually, he found just the thing to kickstart their failing heat cycles.
Phee could not believe that hers was over.
All her life, she’d fulfilled her role, happily performing for her parents as their favorite girl. Properly married at nineteen, wife to a wealthy alpha in his prime, Phee had done all the right things. She led the Female Reformation League and held an important seat on the Orphan Solution Society. She’d decided her fate and chosen her perfect life.
Heels striking a staccato beat on the pavement, she walked to the Administration building to file her complaint. It was a serious matter. If the authorities found enough evidence, every worker in that clinic could find themselves in a holding cell, waiting on a brutal punishment they may never come back from.
She would get restitution for each and every one of the grieving omegas led to that evil little room before her. Phee would ask for records to be checked. The Administration would seek out the damaged parties to find out their current mental state, and how much the clinic visits affected them. Phee only hoped they would be found alive and know that justice might be served.
They would not be forgotten.
Chapter Two
Mother knew about Phee’s clinic visit before Phee even got home.
Phee told her drones to not answer the intercom. If her mother called, she would grill them with questions, which they’d helplessly answer. Not all omegas could influence a beta to talk—some didn’t have the stomach to look another person in the eye and force compliance to their will—but every breed could influence drones if they tried, the poor things. It was why drones served.
It was the natural order of things. Phee worked too hard at establishing her household to allow her mother to encroach. Which meant when Phee checked the intercom, her mother had left several increasingly frustrated messages.
After the clinic and the ordeal of having to report every detail, Phee just wanted to sit down. Rage expelled, she had nothing left. The last thing she wanted to do was recount the events to Mother. Phee had kept the woman in the dark about the doctor visits for a good reason. But it would all be out now. Looking down at the messages, she contemplated a meal and a bath.
The intercom buzzed. The sound grated so bad that Phee pushed the button to answer it before thinking through the consequences. Before she could terminate the call, Mother said, “Hello? Hello? Phee, is that you?”
“Hello, Mother.”
The housekeeper, Menollie, peeked out at Phee from the kitchen. She was a bit young to hold the position, but Phee had paid the girl’s hire cost, thinking that if they got on, it could be a long-term position. Menollie was efficient, but she a tad too much wit for Phee’s liking. She would never be the equal of Phee’s favorite housekeeper, rest her soul, who had come to the family before her birth. A familiar, comforting figure, everyone had liked her. Her natural death the month before Phee’s bonding day ceremony brought all her brothers and her sister to tears. It was a shame that drones lived such short lives.
The girl came forward, her hand out to take Phee’s walking things.
Mother began rattling off questions before Phee had her coat off. “Why were you at Flower Fertility Clinic? How long have you been going there? Have you been taking public transportation? I know the king has made sure everything was upgraded and that it’s safe for everyone, but I still think you shouldn’t leave the house alone. Have you been going by yourself? Or has Swift been going with you? Is everything okay between you two? Your doctor called me to see if you were all right. He said I was your emergency contact. How could I be your emergency contact if you didn’t even tell me you were there?”
Phee took off her scarf last and handed it to Menollie. “You know medical always wants a contact. I had to give them one. Who else would I name? Naya is too far away.”
The voice on the other end darkened. Naya was a very touchy subject for her mother. “That isn’t funny. Of course you should name me. But you should tell me what is going on. I’m your mother, Phee. I care about you. The doctor who called sounded very concerned.”
Had he? Phee needed to know what her mother had been told. “What did he say to you?”
“He said you left the clinic very upset. He was concerned for you and wanted assurances you’d gotten home safe. But when he called, no one answered. So, he called me. I told him that no one ever answers your intercom. I’m sorry, Phee, but your drones are dreadfully trained. You need a new agency.”
“My drones are fine,” Phee said, watching Menollie hang up her coat in the closet. Her starter home with Swift was small. Two closets were not enough. Menollie fought to wedge Phee’s coat in with the other fashionable wear. The fit was so tight the added coat didn’t need the hanger.
After her first four months of pregnancy, they would have been able to apply for a house and get out of this tiny dormitory complex for childless couples. But Phee suffered two early miscarriages instead—and then no estrus cycle at all.
“Phee, what is going on? Are you going to tell your mother what is happening? Are you all right, honey? You’ve been acting strange for a while. Don’t think I haven’t noticed. You missed two Female Reformation League meetings and a luncheon for the Solution Society. That isn’t like you. Did you miscarry again?”
