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However, the reason I have that heated blanket is to replace an alpha. My strict diet of no packs means that I need that blanket, along with the body pillows I sleep with and Minnow, who purrs all night long, keeping me asleep.
Peeling off my shirt, bra, and my leggings, I flop back on my mattress. Violet will head over any minute now, as she does every day after work. One would think we’d get sick of each other, but we don’t, even though many omegas have an issue with another omega in their space. I don’t, but she does. It’s why she comes here, and I don’t go there. I get it. It’s more than just her omega potential though. Trauma messes a person up, and Violet never had a space to call her own. I have, and that’s alright with me.
I can’t seem to bring myself to roll off the bed, though, not when Max’s face flashes behind my closed eyes. He’s the first alpha who has truly interested me. That bastard. How dare he intrude on my solitary thoughts with his sparkling eyes and gruff, grumpy exterior? All those muscles and sex appeal.
“No!” I shout and shoot up as though the bed burned me. Grumbling, I grab my comfy sweats off the floor and a hoodie. “I will not think about him.” Or any other man for that matter. Like the twins...
Grumbling to myself, I make my way down the steps just as the front door opens and slams against the far wall.
“I got bubbly,” Vee shouts as she slams the door closed. Thank the Fates. Violet, I’ve learned, has two levels—quiet or loud. There is no in-between, which is a normal level for the rest of us. She is also obsessed with champagne, but it has low, and I do mean low, alcohol content. Omegas can’t hold their liquor. As far as gammas, Violet holds her own, but only just slightly better than I can.
As I round the steps, I see Vee and her bright smile. Her hair is down, jet-black ringlets springing away from her face as though they are angry at her for restraining them all day. Her hazel eyes glitter with excitement against her light brown skin. Wearing similar sweats and a T-shirt, she looks just as cozy as me.
However, it’s the scrapbook in her arms that has me squinting at her. “What are you doing with that?” I grab the bottle from her and enter the tiny kitchen where I grab a towel to pop open the top.
“Oh, this?” she taunts as she slides onto the stool at the counter. “The new dean gave it to me.” She blushes as she sets the scrapbook on the counter. “I was hoping you’d help me.”
I pop the cork first as I think through my reply. Vee became my friend by proximity, but it’s remarkable how easily she became an integral part of our tight-knit group. Sometimes when someone enters a friend group, they don’t always mesh, but it was never like that with Violet. She fit as though she always belonged with the rest of us.
We are a mishmash of puzzle pieces, placed together by designation and circumstances out of our control. Violet is a gamma, and she’s had to navigate a world that always saw her as the bottom of the totem pole. It’s so much more that her never getting to do things the rest of us did, like make the scrapbook I loathe. Gammas aren’t often seen as individuals, but as the maids of our society, so I swallow my pride, grab two glasses, and fill them to the brim. Saying nothing, I walk over to the closet, Violet’s eyes burning through me as I tug out the tote on the floor. I look over at her as I set it on the carpet.
First things first, I push up my sleeves, then bend over and put my long blond hair in a top knot.
“Oh, this must be serious if you’re putting your hair up,” she murmurs, a teasing smile dancing on her lips.
I stand there with my hands on my hips, looking at my friend. “Inside this tote, you’ll find everything you need to fill that scrapbook,” I inform her, observing as excitement lights up her face. “Which one did the new dean give you?”
Violet turns in her seat, her eyes fixated on the tote. “She gave me the guide. I thought the empty one might be a bit overwhelming.”
“It can be. That guide doesn’t have a lot of direction,” I remark, finding a spot to sit on the plush hallway carpet. “Can you grab the bubbly? We are going to need it,” I request as I remove the lid to the tote.
Violet rushes over, balancing glasses of bubbly in one hand and her scrapbook under her arm. I take the glass she hands me and place it next to the tote’s lid, which serves as a makeshift tabletop. Vee’s eyes scan the tote, spotting my scrapbook on top. “Mind if I take a look?”
“Go ahead, but it’s not your typical scrapbook,” I caution her, all while Minnow nestles into my lap, purring contentedly.
With a curious look on her face, Violet retrieves my scrapbook as if it were a precious artifact. As she opens it, I reach for the little boxes filled with fabric.
The dean sent this tote to me upon my departure, saying that one day I might want to create a scrapbook of my own. I never planned to, but as I run my fingers along the box’s edge, aware of its contents, something inside me shifts. I spent eight years denying my true nature, suppressing who I really am, yet all it took was one encounter with an alpha, one I don’t even particularly like apart from the fact that his muscles are incredibly tempting, to make me consider making a scrapbook.
I cringe as I open the box, and Violet bursts into laughter. “Seraphina, all of these are cats cut out of fabric!” She runs her fingers over one of the cat shapes, her eyes twinkling with amusement. I had known exactly what I was doing when I put those together.
“Yep,” I confirm and reach for the scrapbook beside me. “I didn’t want to follow a single instruction.”
“Can I ask you something?” Violet pulls a magazine from the tote, filled with images of bonding ceremony dresses.
“Of course,” I reply, though a sense of apprehension lingers. Personal questions have a way of making me feel exposed, which is something I’d rather avoid, especially on a good day.
“Why do you despise it?” She flips a box open, her gaze averted. “Being an omega, I mean.”
I understand what she’s getting at.
“My sister,” I begin, my voice wavering slightly as I extract a bundle of fabric samples, still bound by the untouched paper. I tear it off like I’m ripping off a bandage, causing numerous fabric samples to scatter between us. Without waiting for her to inquire further, I plunge into my explanation. “Dorothea embodies the stereotypical mean girl omega.”
Violet tilts her head, genuine curiosity in her eyes. “Isn’t that true for most of them?”
“Some, yeah,” I reply, mindful of the fact that she wouldn’t have taken this class since she grew up as a gamma. “Alphas and mages make up about the same low percentage in society. I think it’s like ten or below each. Betas make up the most now that they learned they can produce offspring with each other.” My fingers glide over a sage green fabric sample, appreciating its perfect texture and color, before I set it aside.
“That doesn’t tell me about the mean girls,” she remarks, reaching back into the tote for scissors to cut out a picture from her page.
