Page 74 of Run Wild Omega

“I don’t want to do this because it’s strategic,” he says. “I want to do this because the idea of you being claimed by anyone else makes me want to put my fist through a wall. But if the strategic angle is what gets you to say yes, then I’ll use it. I’ll use whatever works.”

I look at Miles. He’s the one I least expect this from. He’s logical, detached, the one who operates on data, not emotion.

“You’re the strategist,” I say. “Is this actually a good plan?”

“It’s the best available option,” he says. “I’ve modeled the scenarios. If you remain publicly unbonded, the probability of the predatory packs escalating to legal action is above eighty percent. The probability of the lawsuit against Leo succeeding increases to roughly sixty-five percent if the ’unbonded Omega negligence’ argument gains judicial traction. And the probability of the media finding your Denver connection—” He pauses. “I’d estimate it at forty to fifty percent within the next two weeks, depending on how aggressively they dig.”

The numbers hit me like cold water. Forty to fifty percent chance that Marcus becomes front-page news.

“But if you’re publicly claimed,” Miles continues, “those probabilities shift dramatically. The packs back off—ninety-five percent probability. The lawsuit weakens—a claimed Omega with a supportive pack is a much less sympathetic target for the ’negligence’ argument. And the media?” He tilts his head. “The media moves on. Love stories don’t generate outrage. They generate engagement of a different kind—the kind that fades after a news cycle or two.”

“And the Denver thing?”

“If you’re a claimed Omega in a committed pack, your past relationships become less relevant. The narrative changes from ’damaged Omega with a history of poor choices’ to ’Omega who found her place.’ It doesn’t erase the risk entirely, but it reduces it significantly.”

I close my eyes. The ceiling is blurry above me, the fluorescent lights smearing into streaks of white.

I think about Marcus. His hands on my hips in the dark. His voice telling me I was too needy, too much, that no one else would understand us. The way he made me feel like my worth was tied to his silence, like I was a secret he was doing me a favor by keeping.

If the world finds out about that—if they see the texts, the emails, the desperate, needy girl I was in Denver—everything I’ve built in Sweet Creek turns to ash. Not just my reputation. My sense of self. The fragile, hard-won belief that I’m more than my designation, more than my past, more than the worst thing that ever happened to me.

And then I think about the alternative.

A fake bond. A public claim. Three men who already lied about being my pack standing up in front of the world and saying, “She’s ours.”

It’s not real. It can’t be real. I don’t trust easily—Marcus saw to that—and the idea of letting three men claim me, even on paper, makes something inside me recoil.

But the alternative is being hunted. Being managed. Being turned into a cautionary tale that ruins not just my life but Leo’s business and the livelihoods of every unbonded Omega in a high-risk profession.

The alternative is Marcus’s face on every screen in America.

I open my eyes.

“If we do this,” I say slowly, “it has to be on my terms.”

Wyatt’s posture shifts, a barely perceptible release of tension. “Name them.”

“First, it’s temporary. We set an end date. Six months, a year—something specific. After that, we dissolve it quietly.”

Miles nods. “Reasonable.”

“Second, no one outside this room knows it’s fake. Not my parents, not Daniel and Mara, not Leo. If it’s going to be believable, everyone has to believe it.”

“Agreed,” Dylan says.

“Third, the claim itself—it has to look real. Whatever that entails. Marks, ceremony, public statement, registration. I don’t know how this works, but if we’re doing it, we’re doing it properly. Half-measures will get us caught.”

Miles is already nodding, his mind clearly racing ahead to logistics. “The registration process requires a notarized claim form filed with the National Registry, a public notice period of fourteen days, and either a ceremonial marking or a signed affidavit from all parties. The marking is more convincing publicly—it’s visible and harder to fake. But it’s also more intimate, and I understand if⁠—”

“Marking is fine,” I say, and my voice doesn’t waver even though my stomach is churning. “And fourth, I keep my job. I go back to guiding as soon as I’m cleared. The claim doesn’t change how I live my life. I’m not moving in with anyone. I’m not playing the demure, claimed Omega for the cameras. I’m still me.”

“You can be whoever you want,” Wyatt says. “The claim is about protection, not control.”

I look at him. Behind the exhaustion and the stubble and the dried blood on his uniform, I see the boy I fell in love with at seventeen. The one who never could lie to me worth a damn. The one who looked at me like I was the whole world and then pushed me away because he thought he wasn’t enough.

I see the man he became. The one who ran into an avalanche for me. The one who lied to a doctor to stay by my side. The one who’s standing in my hospital room right now, offering to tie his life to mine to keep me safe.

I don’t know if I can trust him. I don’t know if I can trust any of them.