Translation:No, I don’t.
I deflate a bit. “What’s the display room?”
“You don’t get to interact with the alphas.” Dr. Plume’s whole demeanor turns cold, telling me it’s not a great option. “There’s a barrier between you and the alphas. You can’t talk to each other. You can only look.” His grip tightens slightly on the clipboard. He looks… unsure. Nervous. “Would you rather be in the display room?”
I pause—but only for a second. Then I shake my head. “No.” Even though I won’t actually get to pick my pack in the showroom, it at least makes me feel like I’ll have a little bit of a say. “I’ll do the showroom.”
Dr. Plume beams, like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders. “Excellent.” He leans back and peeks out through the curtain. Charlie’s gone again. “Kelly!” He turns back to me. “While you’re in the showroom, you’ll be perfectly safe. There are guards posted all around the room as well as medical staff should you get too overwhelmed.”
A very tall nurse with a tight blonde ponytail slips around the partition. At first glance, she looks like an alpha, but her scent is too muted. I can’t even pick it out. “Yes, Dr. Plume?” she asks with a polite tilt of her head.
“Autry will be in the showroom,” he says proudly, likeI’m his star student. “She’ll need a low-dose suppressant and a neck guard.”
“Of course.” Kelly nods and walks off.
“Suppressant?” I ask, suddenly uneasy.
“Yes,” Dr. Plume says as he stands. The conversation is clearly over. “You’ve been in isolation. No interaction with alphas for months. You’ll need something to keep from falling into your heat.”
“But I was in the car with that she-alpha all morning.” I pause, trying to remember her name. It’s been a long day. “Angelica.”
Dr. Plume goes stiff, before peaking around the edge of the partition. He checks one way, then the other, before leaning in and whispering, “She-alphas refuse to admit it out loud, but their pheromones aren’t as strong as males. Especially not dozens of males all packed into a single space.” He gives me a pointed look. “You’ll need the suppressant.”
All the blood drains from my face, and I’m suddenly not so sure about the showroom. But before I can say anything, the doctor is already gone, walking briskly toward the front of the tent, clipboard in hand.
I sit there frozen, the fear I’ve been holding off creeping up the back of my neck. I want to run. I want to scream. But most of all, I want Charlie back beside me.
The next hourbleeds away like a bad dream.
A plastic bracelet is snapped around my wrist. It has the number 5223 scribbled in black ink. And just like that, I become inventory. Two sharp injections follow, leaving a cold weight blooming in my veins. I’m guided to anothertent, larger than the last but no more comforting. Inside, the air hums with tension and perfume, lit with fluorescent bulbs that make everything a little too bright.
I’m ordered to strip.
The beta who handles me is older, fussy, and far too clinical. She looks me over, discussing my body type and what kind of lingerie will complement my figure the most.It’s humiliating.
“Large chest, narrow hips,” she mutters. “Classic pin-up. Bright red will make the most of that waist.”
It’s like being dressed for slaughter.
“Head up, love.” She lifts my chin with two fingers and brushes something glittery over my cheeks. “You’ll do fine.”
I wrap the thin blanket tighter around my shoulders, even though I’m sweating. The shots are messing with me—my thoughts feel hazy, slipping through my fingers like water. A detached calm tries to take over, but it never quite reaches my heart. That’s still racing.
Around me, other omegas are in various stages of preparation. Hair curled, makeup caked on, lingerie tugged into place. Some are quiet. Others… not. One girl whispers to herself through silent tears. Another stares into the mirror, eyes vacant.
“Deb!” a dark-haired beta calls. “Another van pulled up. I think this batch is for the auction. They all look like hell.”
“Great,” Deb rolls her eyes as she pushes a bobby pin deeper into my scalp. “It’s so hard to do their hair when they keep falling asleep. I hate that they sedate them so much.”
Sedated.
The word makes my stomach flip. My bracelet. The shots. My foggy thoughts. It wasn’t just a heat suppressant. They drugged me.
I twist the bracelet, watching the numbers blur as my fingers tremble.
“Alright, girlie,” Deb says briskly. “Let’s get a look at you.”
She strips the blanket away. I flinch but don’t protest. The red slip clings to my body—thin and short, barely grazing the tops of my thighs. Thankfully, they gave me matching underwear, but they’re tiny, riding up my crack.
