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Contempt, neglect, disgust.
Those are my home base.
Whether it’s my genes or what I am, people aren’t supposed to like me. Other than Lilah—the only omega who stands hand-in-hand with me on strangeness—and the Meadows pack, who knew me before I became a walking threat.
Every other alpha, beta, gamma, omega, and sane breathing organism who spends more than an hour in my company flips the second they subconsciously sense the danger I work so hard to hide.
On the first day of gamma training, Elyse smiled and introduced herself.
By day two, she had her wannabe mates tripping me on our training runs. My relationship with the team only spiraled down from that doomed start.
It’s about time for Lisa to sense I’m not safe.
To instinctively push me away and stop me from hurting her loved ones.
But she keeps smiling like she’s happy I’m here. Feels like sailing off a cliff until the reason clicks.
Then I splat bedrock.
Lisa thinks I’m her boys’ perfect match.
Betas have the weakest threat instincts. If she’s convinced I’m THE ONE, a few twisty somersaults will be enough mental gymnastics to explain away my off vibes.
Wait until she finds out I can’t center a pack bond, and I’m the reason her real daughter-in-law is stewing in military prison.
Simple as that, I remember my lines.
Just be what Lisa wants me to be. Don’t kill her light.
I whip out my safest, good girl smile—all plastic, perfectly rehearsed.
Or maybe not?
Frowning, Lisa reaches to check my forehead. “Do you feel alright?”
“Fine,” I robo-answer, ignoring the drone in my head, and Lisa’s innocent fingers burning like cherry-red pokers. Even her barely there beta scent has my stomach boiling like a thermal swamp.
Push through.
Hold in the pain.
“How can you be so cold?” Lisa asks. “You should be close to feverish with your heat spiking.”
“Took a cold shower.” I duck her hand. “And the guys were wrong. My heat’s not due anytime soon.”
Or ever.
“Don’t be so sure.” Lisa’s gaze flicks from alpha to alpha. “Those boys haven’t looked away from you long enough to blink. They’re waiting to give you what you want. Even some things you don’t know you need.”
“They’re good to me,” I repeat, all broken-record.
“Have you planned birth control?”
I jerk, almost tipping my ass to the sand. “I’ve planned.”
It’s called trauma.
Omegas only conceive during their heat.
