Somewhere out there is the quiet I've been looking for, the stillness of a match. I don't know who they are, or where they are, but I can feel the absence of my match, of my mate like a hole in my chest.
I push off the wall and start walking, deeper into the shadows of Redbrook. I’m an S-Class Enigma in the middle of a rut, a living bomb with a shortened fuse, and for the first time in my life, I'm the one holding the trigger.
The neon signs of the Lower Ward bleed into the puddles, shivering in hues of synthetic violet and dying amber. The suppressants Mercer forced into my veins are starting to curdle, making the heat dipping into my cock even worse.
I reach down to adjust myself, a small growl peeling from my lips as my knot throbs against the pressure. If I don’t find somewhere quick, some poor Omega is getting bent over in the streets.
Which wouldn’t be all that bad if I knew they’d survive my Esper connection.
I turn a corner into a narrow passage choked with discarded crates and the hum of a rusted ventilation unit. My knees buckle and I hit the wet ground hard, the impact jarring my teeth, but the pain is a relief. It's sharper than the dull, throbbing ache ofthe Black Current. I press my forehead against the cold brick, eyes squeezed shut as I try to breathe through it.
My scent thickens, a beacon to any Guide within three blocks who will feel the ripple of my instability like a physical blow to the chest. Any ESA patrol with a decent sensor will be on me in minutes.
I have to move. I have to find a place where the static isn't so loud.
"Can't stay here, big man," a voice rasps from the shadows of the vent. A scavenger, eyes wide and pupils dilated from a cheap hit of flare-dust, watches me.
I force myself up, my muscles screaming in protest as I head toward the Vesper district. It's a risk, even though the clinics there are monitored, and neutral ground is a fairy tale Mercer tells the press--but there are places in the cracks of Redbrook where identities are traded for credits and questions aren't asked.
I need an anonymous stall, a scent-blocker, anything to muffle the roar of my blood, and then a sweet little hole to knot until my rut is over.
Continuing to push forward, my hand brushes a metal railing and the iron groans, twisting into a spiral as the Current leeches out of my skin. I pull back, tucking my hands into the pockets of my pants, but I can feel the heat radiating off me.
Why did I run? The question flickers in the dark of my mind. I could have stayed, let Rue pump me full of enough sedatives to turn my brain to mush, and woken up in three days with a clean file and a new set of restraints. But I saw Mercer's eyes. He wasn't looking at me like a patient or even a soldier. He was looking at me like a problem he was finally tired of solving. He's going to replace me, or he's going to break me so thoroughly that there's nothing left to rebel. The Redbrook assignment wasn'tjust a mission; it was a test of how much I could take before I shattered. And I've reached the limit.
The sweet smell of Guide essence and Omega scents fill my nose as I make another sharp turn to the right, heading straight for one of the clinics. A growl permeates through my chest as I get closer, the insane need to fuck into something taking over my rational mind.
I push through the door, the interior a stark contrast to the grime of the street with its muted lights, soft music, and the faint hiss of aerosolized stabilizers. The receptionist doesn't look up immediately, busy with a terminal. I stand there, dripping water onto the pristine floor, my breath hitched in my chest. When she finally looks up, her eyes go wide, her nostrils flaring as she catches the scent I'm trying so hard to hide.
"I... I need a room," I rasp. My voice is almost gone, a dry husk of a sound. "Private. Emergency intake."
I don't have my credits. I don't have my ID. I have nothing but the clothes on my back and the monster in my blood.
“Right, of course.” The small Alpha fumbles with something in a drawer before producing a small kit and clearing her throat. “I just need to conduct a quick blood test to ensure we pair you with the right Omega.”
I manage to nod, the muscles in my jaw pulling tight as she opens a small pin, jabs it into my finger, and dots the kit paper. She stares for several seconds, her eyes widening impossibly further before she nods.
“Wow, yes. Okay. Please, right this way.”
I don’t know what she found so long as it gets me into a room with someone I won’t kill. The Alpha grabs a key and rushes around the desk before herding me down the hall to one of the rooms at the back.
She flinches as a spark of black static jumps between us, but she’s already moving to close the door. I don't know if this willsave me. I don't know if I'll burn this place to the ground before morning. All I know is that for the first time since I was a child, I’m out of Mercer's reach, and the city of Redbrook is the only witness to my collapse.
Asa
Fuck.
The heat coiling in the pit of my belly isn’t supposed to be there. It’s mostly just inconvenient, because knowing something’s wrong does absolutely nothing to fix the biological momentum of an Omega who hasn't been properly knotted in three years.
It’s not entirely my fault, what with trying to juggle teaching at Redbrook University, finding a mate who won’t just treat me as a hole,anddodging the responsibility of being an F-Class Guide. It doesn’t even mean anything but I still get those god-awful pamphlets every year showcasing the wonders of being a guide and being paired with an esper.
As if there’s an F-Class Esper running around looking for a match.As if.
Which is how I end up spending the morning in my office, pretending I haven’t coated my slick underwear for the thirdtime in the last hour. The hardest part is trying to keep a straight face and ignore how much my body wants a knot.
I’m not doing it well, obviously, but effort should count for something.
There are half-graded probability exams spread across my desk, and I’ve been staring at the same wrong answer long enough that I should either mark it incorrect or start charging it rent. Instead, I’m sitting perfectly still because every time I move, my underwear shifts against my cock, reminding me that I should have called out today.
