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I try not to think about either generation of the Wyvern Pack, even if they’re constantly claiming space in my brain.
I remember the guys at my bedside when I first woke up, still bandaged and drugged.
I also remember wanting them gone.
I wasn’t ready.
I needed space.
I’m still not ready, but I thought they’d be pounding down my door.
Days later, I’m still alone, and I couldn’t be more grateful.
I’m beyond grateful they didn’t cash the blank check I wrote when I presented myself to their nest, deep in heat and deluded off my ass.
If they’d have bitten me, mated me, taken me…
Instead of getting a chance to do this omega thing my way, I’d already be perma-stuck to mates who fail me on every level.
“I’ll call the center. I’m going on the rotation roster.”
“Excellent.” Doctor Morgan nods. “The sooner you can match to heat partners, the better for your hormones. You’ll want alphas lined up to ease you through the heat spikes leading up to the big event. Until you have that sense of stability, you’ll experience more erratic behavior, moodiness, and intensified nesting instincts.”
“You think?” I gesture to myself, wrapped like a pig in a blanket and vibrating like a freaking loon.
“Yes. Well.” Doctor Morgan stands, brushing her pants. “I can discharge you as soon as you know where you’ll land.”
“One more thing,” I call before she can march to her next crazed omega patient.
“I can’t sedate you through your heat, Lilah. It would be too risky after the first—”
“Not that.” Clearly, I’ve asked a few times. “I want birth control.”
“For your first—”
“It’s not my first.” Been there, barely survived, and if that did nothing else, it gave me a hell of a lot of clarity. “I don’t care about the side effects. I’m not breeding.” I scowl the word. “I’m not putting my name out to packs who think that’s even an option.”
I’ve grown up seeing the sketchy-ass alphas you attract when your last name says Darling and they read it as Disposable.
I’m all about hit it and quit it at this point, but on my own terms. Not some random alpha gangs whose hit it would be literal.
What would I even do with a baby?
Teach it to stab the other kids?
I never had a real parent or childhood. I was too busy hiding, biding my time so I could age out of the system and escape my omega fate.
But here I am.
All I can do is walk forward my own way, holding as hard as I can to the version of Lilah I still want to be.
Maybe Doctor Morgan sees the stubborn tension in my jaw, or the fucking-try-me look in my grey eyes. She sits down and rattles off my options.
I go with an implant, and in the afternoon, she inserts it into the arm that still sports a semi-healed bullet wound.
That arm throb is my favorite feeling.
It’s a reminder.
