A red-haired blur comes flying out of the shadows. He’s tall and lean, pale as bone, practically glowing with excitement. He throws his arms around Scar’s shoulders, laughing like this is a festival and not a sale of flesh.
“You won her!” He grins, voice rich with glee. “I told you that you would! She’s perfect—didn’t I say she was perfect?”
Scar doesn’t answer. His eyes are still locked on me.
My stomach turns to ice.
I want to run. But I can’t move.
Then rough hands close around my arms. One yanks me sideways, the other pushes from behind. My bare feet stumble against the cold concrete stairs as I’m dragged down, away from the stage, away from the false light and into the deeper dark below it.
The noise of the crowd fades behind me, swallowed by canvas walls and muffled voices. Someonepulls back the flap of a side tent, and I’m shoved inside like cargo, the air thick with dust and stale perfume.
I barely catch myself before hitting the floor.
“Congratulations,” chirps a voice to my left.
I turn, breath catching.
A male beta stands there, clipboard in hand, smiling too wide, too bright. He looks like he works here, and deeply enjoys it.
“You should feel honored,” he says, like this is supposed to be comforting. “An already-mated omega hasnevergone for that much before.Ever.”
I stare at him, saying nothing.
Because I don’t feel honored.
I feel like shit.
I don’t want a new pack. I don’t want a fresh start.
And even though I know better—god,I know better—some small, pathetic part of me still aches for my old pack. In my drugged-up haze, I can’t help but miss the way they used to say my name. I still crave the warmth of a bond that quickly turned to poison.
I slowly press my back against the tent pole and close my eyes, willing that part of me to die.
But it doesn’t.
It clings, stubborn and sick, like a bruise that refuses to fade—beating quietly in the hollow of my chest. It’s a reminder that my broken body already destroyed one pack.
And now it looks like I’m about to do it again.
The Claiming Booth
Alex
Honestly,I thought there’d be more fanfare. Trumpets. Fireworks. A banner that saysCongratulations on Your New Omega!Maybe some cake. Preferably chocolate. With sprinkles.
I fucking love sprinkles.
Instead, we’re standing in a dreary line, on the outskirts of the field, watching Knox scribble his signature for the hundredth time. He’s hunched over a sad little table like he’s applying for a library card instead of finalizing the biggest decision of our lives.
Tadeo is pacing again, no doubt burning a hole in the ground with all that anxiety. Dakota’s chewing his thumb like it owes him money. And me? I’m trying not to bounce on my heels like an over-caffeinated golden retriever.
We actually got a fucking omega!!
“What do you think she smells like?” I ask, nudging Tadeo as he passes me for the third time. “I’m assuming flowers. All omegas smell like flowers. Right?”
The young alpha grunts, too tense to answer. I get his worry to an extent. I mean, our new omega did look a little stressed on that stage—it had to be terrifying for her, standing up there with all those eyes locked on her. But this is still an exciting moment.We’re about to meet our newest packmate!The mother of our children. Our reason for living. The bond that will hold us together for the rest of our lives.
