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She isn’t the only one either. The crowd is anxious, and my omega instincts pick up on the energy, amplifying it to new levels. Unease turns in my gut, and I glance behind me, searching for some sense of assurance. My eyes land on the designated safe area where the newly announced omegas are supposed to be waiting. They don’t join the rest of the participants since they’re so rare. It ensures they’re protected from any alphas who get it in their mind they can kidnap an unclaimed omega. But when I find the space where they’re supposed to be waiting, it’s completely empty.
Not a single omega was announced while I was daydreaming? Seriously?
The beta walks off the stage, their shoulders lowering in relief to have the ordeal behind them. “And last but not least, we have Verity Graves!” Mrs. Violet exclaims. I stride forward with my head held high despite the nerves fluttering in my belly.
There’s a sudden shift in the auditorium. Everyone leans forward in their seats so they can be a smidge closer for when my designation is proclaimed.
A bead of sweat trails down the back of my neck now that my mind isn’t distracted by all things Andrik. Where are all the omegas? There has to be more, right? There are always multiple omegas.
Then a thought strikes me. What will they do if I’m the only one?
The alphas will revolt, and I want to be as far away from that as possible.
Mrs. Violet’s unmistakable alpha scent of sweet pea wafts to me as my feet land on the mark they have mapped out on the stage, showing where I need to stop. I face the woman whose scent is overpowered by the nearby alpha. She’s holding the chalice. The holy grail. The cup that will make my squid ink spill in the only non-embarrassing show of exactly what my lady bits are thinking of. Thank goodness they don’t know how much a scent enhancer isn’t needed for me. All they’d have to do is bring Andrik up here and order him to whip his shirt off in front of me.
Or better yet, have his twin join him. Yum.
Karen Heinz, the assistant, holds the cup out for me to take a sip. I search her hold, looking for the cloth I’ve always imagined she uses, but never show on TV, but I don’t see it anywhere.
Surely she wipes the cup clean in between each sip, right?
It becomes clear she doesn’t when she encourages me to drink. Holy fuck. I’m last in the line of like fifty fucking people. There’s no telling where their mouths have been!
A slight gag pulls at me and I realize I’ve been struck dumb with thought vomit. It’s not embarrassing like word vomit, in fact, it can sometimes be amusing… just not in this moment.
“Verity,” Karen whispers, nudging the cup closer to me, realizing I’m frozen to the spot. It snaps me out of my ick though and I give her a wobbly smile, reaching for the chalice as if I’m steadying it to take my sip. In reality, I run my thumb over the edge and hope to all that is holy the cooties stick to my thumb instead of transferring to my mouth.
There’s never been a case of death after a ceremony, right?
The thought isn’t comforting as the liquid burns on the way down with none of the added benefits of alcohol. Shit. That sounds good right about now. Alcohol kills germs, right?
An instant later the smell of pears overwhelms even me, radiating throughout the rest of the room, overpowering every other scent. You can see the rippling effect it has on the audience, the straightening of postures as it reaches each person, almost like a wave at a sporting event. A beaming smile overtakes the assistant before the snarling echo of growling thunders from the audience.
Every alpha in the room jumps to their feet as Mrs. Violet says, “Omega,” into her microphone, as if my potent scent alone isn’t obvious as to what I am. “Oh, how wonderful,” she coos. “Verity Graves, Omega.” My heartbeat skyrockets as the alphas continue to breathe in my perfume, inching toward me as the room erupts into chaos.
Just my fucking luck.
The only omega of the season.
Chapter 3
Emmett
Anticipation permeates throughout the auditorium as men and women of all social castes take their seats, waiting for the ceremony to begin. Some have family sitting on the stage today, while others are complete strangers. It doesn’t matter. This ceremony is a life-changing ordeal. It’s a chance for alphas, like me, to potentially catch a glimpse of their future omega. And everyone wants to get the first look—the first scent of said omegas emerging this season—to gauge how well they might get along in a pack.
If we’re chosen, that is. Normally, the council invites the most eligible bachelors each season and then adds in another handful of lottery winners to even the odds and keep everyone happy. Then they go on Heat Paradise where the omega and alphas’ dating lives are broadcasted to the rest of the world and society votes on which alphas end up in each omega’s pack. It’s a bit of a fucked up, vain system.
The strong alpha scents make my nose burn. With so many of us in one place, it’ll be a miracle if there’s not an incident this year. Although, I guess that’s why there are enforcers posted around the room, out of the spying eye of the cameras.
“Quite the crowd this year, isn’t it?” the alpha on my left asks, studying the scene with watchful eyes. He’s a wealthy tech company CEO named Desmond something, if my memory serves right. A total bigwig with the ego, and money, to back it up. As a doctor, I’m well off myself, but his riches are on an entirely different level. Hell, his dress shoes, one of which is crossed over his lap, likely cost more than my entire ensemble today.
I glance at the packed auditorium and give a nod. “It seems so,” I respond. “I can’t say I’ve ever seen a bigger turn out for the ceremony. Are you hoping to be invited for the season?” Knowing how influential he is, I make small talk. It’s not a good idea to spurn someone of his status. Never know when you might need a favor.
“I’m sure it’ll be a surprise when I say no. Don’t get me wrong, I’d love to have an omega to call my own, but I don’t want to be chosen because society sees the billions attached to my name.” He pauses and his eyes seem far away. “I want to find someone who desires me for me. Not what my name brings to the table.” As soon as the last word is out of his mouth, he curses. “Fuck, I didn’t mean to admit that shit out loud. I sound like a fucking sap.”
Except he doesn’t because I feel the same way. I crave the kind of connection with someone that isn’t bought or brought on because society fucking says so. “Nah, man. I totally get it.”
He turns to look at me with a raised eyebrow, saying he doesn’t believe me. “If you get it, then why are you here?”
