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“Omegas are treated as second-class citizens simply because of their biology. Of course, some of this is tied to the fact that more than ninety percent of omegas are women, but a huge portion of the stigma comes from omega-specific stereotypes. Stinking because of natural hormones. Being weak simply because an omega is more fertile. These biases are harmful and untrue.”
Reading that made a shiver run the length of my spine. Even without saying it out loud, I could feel myself committing a crime by consuming the words.
Then, the book went into the various options for resisting the social framework abusing us—some of them I skimmed through. Some I read extensively.
Chapter four focused on the possibility of suppressing one’s heat, either through medicine or physical intervention.
Heat suppressants—something I’ve wished for in the past but never really believed in. Even if they do exist, which the book insists that they do—they are surely highly illegal. And potentially dangerous.
What would happen to an omega if she didn’t have her heat? Every book I’ve ever read about it talks about the heat like it’s an irrefutable fact of nature. Like without it, something impure would pile up inside the omega, making us even less desirable than we already are.
Aurora lets out an impatient noise, and I realize I’m all lost in my head again.
“Sorry,” I rasp. “I—I don’t know, Aurora. It was…”
What—frightening? Exhilarating? Like jumping off a building, feeling free but also knowing that the pavement will come up to meet you sooner rather than later?
The guard pounds on the door, hard, three times. His voice follows. “Everything okay in there, girls?”
Aurora scowls mightily in the direction of the door, then clears her throat and says back sweetly, “Just a tricky bra!”
He coughs on the other side of the door, and there’s the sound of him shuffling away. Aurora turns her attention back to me, looking me over quickly as though she can read something about me in the way I’m standing.
“I know someone,” she says, quickly, like we have a limited amount of time to finish this conversation. Apparently, that is true.
“You know…someone?”
“A doctor. She can do an operation that will suppress your heats. I can’t imagine you really want to have one while you’re here, do you?”
My eyes widen. “…suppress my heat? Is that even safe?”
Aurora gestures to herself. “I had it done, and I’m not dead yet.”
My eyes cannot get any wider. Aurora, sister to the king, princess of the Northern pack, has had an operation to suppress her heats. And apparently nobody around here is the wiser. Surely Augustus would know…right?
Although he is her brother. He likely wants absolutely nothing to do with that stuff when it comes to Aurora.
The thought of a heat happening to me now filters back in. It would be just like before, writhing in pain, desperate for something to fill the ache inside me, to relieve the impossible tension. Except this time, instead of screaming into the void, begging for a mate who would never come, I would know precisely where he was.
In the same building as me.
No wiser to my pain than he was before, when I was far away.
It would be a million times worse to be here and in heat.
Three more bangs on the door. Aurora turns me around, pulls up my shirt, and wrinkles the back slightly before patting it down. She turns off the faucet, pushes me toward the door, and just before we exit that bathroom, hisses, “Just let me know.”
Chapter 14 - Augustus
“Good morning, boys!”
Denvil kicks into the meeting room with his typical over-the-top energy, and I do my best not to wince at the sound of his bright voice. The man is all boots, all boom, the center of attention in any room because it’s nearly impossible to look away from him. His copper hair shines brightly under the golden glimmer of the light through the windows.
The central meeting room is bathed in bright early morning sun, a pale yellow that fills the room. It’s unendingly cheery, and that almost pisses me off. I don’t feel cheery, so the room shouldn’t either. Neither should my friends—or, rather, just Denvil.
“Good morning,” Brack responds, already in his seat, his arms crossed, tattoos dancing over his skin.
He must have freshly buzzed his hair, because it’s looking even closer to his scalp than before. The Western Pack way for alphas—even the female alphas buzz their heads, few as they are. And nearly every alpha in that pack gets their first tattoo when their cast is confirmed. Throughout their lives, they add them. That meant that while Zade, Denvil, and I had bare skin, Brack was already sporting several tattoos at just fourteen years old.
