Either way, I need to figure something out. A way to keep them away, even if it means I lose all my nesting items in the process.
I refuse to let them touch me without my permission. I will scratch and claw my way out if I have to. They can make me clean and do their laundry. They can intimidate me into complying with anything—except this.
For too long, I’ve held onto the dream that one day I’ll share my first time with someone I love just to have them rip it away from me.
I can’t panic.
At least at my family’s home, I knew that I had some semblance of protection. Mother and Father could discipline me, but it would only ever go so far. No pack wants an omega with a black eye.
But here?
Based on their reaction this morning alone, I have no idea what will set them off.
And that…that’s the most dangerous thing about them.
“Oh, hello!” A warm voice has me startling, dropping my sponge into the sink.
Heart racing, I turn to the source of the noise, coming face to face with a middle-aged beta woman, her hair in a bun at the top of her head.
“H…hi,” I swallow nervously, my heart beginning to race. Who is this person? Will I be held responsible for someone breaking into the house while the pack was gone?
“I’m Beatrice, the personal chef.” She smiles, shifting the paper bag of groceries in her arm, “Are you…?”
“Wren,” I squeak out, wringing my hands. My heart races. This is a new person, and I don’t do well with new people. “I’m…” being held captive? A product of what happens when late-presenting omegas try to avoid really courting a pack? Scared shitless? “New.”
She eyes the sponge in my hands. “Ah. They finally hired a house cleaner.” Then her discerning gaze catches on the clothes I’m wearing, a scratchy summer dress that I should definitely not be cleaning in.
But, of course, it was one of the few outfits they left for me in my suitcase.
“I…I’m the new omega.” My eyes dart to the camera in the corner of the room, wondering if they’re watching right now.
Her brows furrow, her eyes darting around the room in confusion. “Oh, sweetie, you don’t need to be cleaning then—”
I shake my head furiously. “I…yes I do. I’m sorry, I’ll get out of the way.”
“If you’re sure…” she trails off as I turn on my heel, ready to exit the room. The sight of the dishes from this morning’s failed breakfast on the drying rack glare at me, and an idea hits me.
Having a repeat of this morning tomorrow is not an option. And I need to test the waters. Is Beatrice someoneI can trust?
I turn back around, trying to not wring my hands. “Actually, could you please give me a recipe for something the Pack would like to eat for breakfast? I made a scramble this morning, but I’m afraid it wasn’t very good.”
“Ah yes,” she gives me an understanding smile, pulling a pen and paper out of a nearby drawer. “They can be a little picky. Here’s a recipe for an omelette Iknowthey like.”
“Thank you, Beatrice.” I swallow the lump in my throat, my heart pounding as I take the paper from her. “And…” here’s the test, “you won’t tell them I asked, right? I just…I want to impress them.”
She smiles again. “Of course dear. Why don’t you go get some rest before dinner? You look a little peaked.”
Nodding, I follow her directions, keeping my cool until I get to the stairs, and then running up them as fast as I can. Anxiety swirls in my gut as I race to the bathroom, retching into the toilet. Nothing comes up, but the waves of nausea don’t leave me. My breathing comes in sharp, short gasps.
Panic attack.
What if they find me in here like this?
What if they punish me for it?
The thought only sends me spiraling further, my vision swimming as I try to come out of it.
What if Beatrice tells them after I asked her not to?
