Page 5 of Flight of the Omega

Jack had never met a birdmore stubborn than Cerulean. Two weeks had passed since the bird had first shown up, and nothing he did seemed to get the flighty thing to come around. He’d tried offering treats and sweet words, reassuring the bird that he meant no harm at all. All he got was that critical, strangely intelligent golden stare.

Cerulean would allow him to approach, hand out, voice soft, and just when he thought the bird might let him triumph, the avian bastard would unfurl his wings, toss his head back to the sky and squawk, loud and angry, before taking off in a furious flutter of feathers, and well, good luck to anyone trying to catch him then. The bastard was quick, Jack would give him that. Real quick, probably faster than most of the other birds in the flock. He stood a good chance in a race.

If anyone could ever get a saddle on him.

That led Jack to wonder where Cerulean had come from. If he’d wandered down from one of the other ranches in the area, then surely someone would have been looking for him by now. Such a pretty bird, a born racer like this, had to be a thoroughbred thatsomeonewas missing.

But not a peep had been said. Nobody from the other ranches seemed to know anything about a missing blue bird.

It was puzzling, to say the least, because Jack knew if Cerulean was part of his flock, he’d have been moving mountains to try and find him. A bird that fast was a natural for the race track.

With the Rose Plate a scant few weeks away, Jack was running out of time to get Cerulean broken and ready for the race.

Maybe that was why the bird had shown up in Midlothian’s yard that January night—someone had figured they couldn’t break him, so they’d dumped him. Jack had seen it before.

That also explained the bird’s suspicious nature. Cerulean didn’t want to get close to anyone, it seemed; he was standoffish with the other members of the flock, usually scratching in one corner of the pen, as far away from the other birds as he could be. He didn’t seem to get along with the other birdies, which puzzled Jack more, because Saffron, Blue, and Blossom were all very sweet little birds who would have welcomed Cerulean with open wings. But Cerulean kept his distance.

Jack supposed the bird had maybe been chased off by his former flock or else taken by his ranchers and dumped. Contrary to popular belief, the birds were anything butstupid. They knew when they’d been betrayed; they knew when someone meant them harm. So being treated like that, Jack supposed, would make Cerulean’s heart hard. He wasn’t gonna give his trust to just anybody.

That made Jack want to redouble his efforts to befriend the bird. Of course, part of that was pride too—he wasn’t called the bird whisperer for nothing. Blue, Saffron, and Blossom flocked to him. Saffron would sing sweetly to him; Blue would nudge around, looking for treats; and Blossom often laid her head against his, her neck flush against his chest, her eyes closed as she cooed softly and he petted her.

Cerulean kept his distance, and Jack couldn’t figure why. None of the other birds showed any fear at all, so surely Cerulean had to have figured out that Jack wasn’t so bad.

So yeah, Jack had a bit of a chip on his shoulder when it came to trying to befriend the blue avian. He’d never been so thoroughly rebuffed, and it only made him more determined—like he had to prove he was worthy of being the bird’s friend.

He couldn’t say the same about the other new addition to Midlothian. He didn’t care if JP was the boss’s son. The boy was just about as haughty and standoffish as Cerulean and, as far as Jack could see, had less reason to be. Jack didn’t appreciate the way the golden-eyed boy looked down his beak-like nose at him, like he was some kind of bug or something.

Needless to say, Jack didn’t exactly feel inclined to try and be friends with that piece of work. Ever. The sooner JP left Midlothian, the better off they’d all be. They didn’t need him hanging around, not when they were all busy getting ready for the Rose Plate. Duckie was overworked in the kitchen as it was, never mind His High-Ass sending breakfast back because it was just a touch toastier than he liked or ’cause he preferred raspberry jam to strawberry. Duckie had better shit to do than chase after his entitled ass.

Same with Teal, the head of gardening. The Rose Plate asked so much of the landscaping team, and here was JP, demanding fresh flowers for his chambers almost every morning. Jack wondered what he did with the ones that had been brought previously; he’d half expected the jerk would just throw them out the window, but he had yet to see any telltale splashes of water or dead blooms littered across the dusty path beneath the balcony.

He didn’t understand why the brat was down here. Oh, sure, Burr said he’d been sent down to ride, but Jack had yet to see hide or hair of him in the barn. He’d expected to have to give him lessons, but the prick never showed up.

Wasn’t like anyone else was giving JP lessons either; Jack hadn’t seen him anywhere near the birds. He didn’t know how JP or his old man expected him to jockey a bird to victory in the Rose Plate if JP had never ridden before.

But then again, thinking wasn’t necessarily what Jack was paid to do, and what the rich did with their time and money wasn’t any of his business.

No, he got paid to wrangle the animals, and right now, that meant dealing with the unruly blue-feathered fiend who was lurking in the far corner of the pen.

Cerulean didn’t seem to be paying him much mind, actually; he was a bit surprised that he got within just a few feet of the bird before his head shot up and he stared at Jack with that critical gaze of his, like he was mad at Jack that he hadn’t been paying attention.

“Hey there, buddy,” Jack said, and Cerulean snorted, then cocked his head and scratched the ground. Jack unfurled his hand, holding it out to the bird. “Are ya gonna let me get close to you this morning?”

Cerulean eyeballed him, then screeched, flapped his wings, and trotted off to the other end of the pen. He scratched two or three times—aggressive behavior from an omega—then folded up his wings and just stared at Jack, as if saying, “Come at me, bro.”

Jack was really getting tired of this bird’s shit, but he was a patient man. He started his slow approach again, ambling across the pen with his hand out. “I’m not gonna hurt you, you know.”

Cerulean tilted his head again. Jack knew a lot of folks thought the avians weren’t all that intelligent, but he was pretty sure Cerulean understood him, plain as day. And he emoted too: the look on his face said plainly that he didn’t believe Jack for a single second.

Time for a new tactic then. Jack paused, then reached into his pocket. He produced a sugared plum he’d nabbed from breakfast. He held it out to the reluctant bird. “See? I brought a peace offering.” He shook the plum at Cerulean. “You think we can be friends now?”

This was the closest Cerulean had let him get. The bird seemed to be mesmerized by the plum; his gaze followed it as Jack waved his hand back and forth.

“You want it?” he asked when the bird’s golden eyes were forward again. He stopped. “It’s okay. You can have it.”

Cerulean seemed incredibly suspicious, but that plum had him intrigued and he sidled a little closer. He craned his neck, peering down at the plum.

“Go on,” Jack encouraged. “I brought it for you. It’s yours. None of the other birds here are gonna have it.”

Cerulean tilted his head side to side, like he was trying to get a better look at the offering. Then he pecked Jack dead- center of the hand with bruising force, and Jack shouted and dropped the plum. Cerulean dived after it, and Jack dived after the rascal, who came up with the plum and ran, wings out, around the pen, until he was at the opposite end. He tossed the plum up in the air, then caught it with his wide-open bill. Jack glared at him, nursing his sore palm.

Blossom cooed in his ear, clearly upset he’d been injured. He glanced at her, then patted her neck. “Don’t you worry about me,” he told her. “Just that bratty bird.”

She snorted, like she agreed. She gazed at Cerulean, then chirruped loudly and stretched her wings. A warning—“don’t hurt my friend.”

Jack patted her neck, and she folded her wings up. “That’s all right,” he told her. “He’ll learn.”

He glanced back at Cerulean, who had gone back to pecking and scratching at the ground. “Maybe.”