Page 1 of Heat Hesitation

Chapter 1

Asher - ten months ago

"How many more of these you think we've gotta go to before Rafferty Pack stops trying to pimp out their daughter?" Theo sighs dramatically from the backseat.

"She corner you too?"

"She sure did. You'd think she got the memo we weren't interested. I swear that girl smells like melted crayons," Theo shudders.

"I think it's supposed to be brown sugar," Sully adds unhelpfully. "Madam Fletcher implied she was making changes to keep the parents less involved with courting, but it doesn't seem to be working."

"It isn't. Mrs. Rafferty also made sure to tell me her daughter aced her finishing classes and that she's particularly adept in the Multiple Partner Endurance coursework. Why don't they just call it How To Take A Knot 101?" Theo snorts, causing Sully, who's driving, to groan.

"Don't be an ass, Theo." Sullivan's attempts to uncouth our packmate are often in vain and, therefore, attempted half-heartedly.

"You know why," I retort.

"No, really. I mean, all omegas know how to take a knot," Theo argues. "That shit's, like, instinctual. Why does the OFA bother with a class like that?"

He's not wrong, but I'm afraid to indulge him further lest he trail off with more jokes posed as serious questions.

The OFA, or the Omega Finishing Academy, is a national school with locations throughout the country. It's open to enrollment for all omegas, where even the wealthiest alphas like ourselves seek out their final pack member. The omegas graduate anywhere from age eighteen to twenty-five, depending on what classes they take and if they choose to continue attending, even after finding a pack.

The alternative is to take the chance of just running into your mate, and since the very tiny population of omegas out there mostly end up at the OFA, the school is an unbonded pack's best shot.

"I believe the Multiple Partner Endurance course teaches how to cater to multiple alphas' domestic demands around the home and less how to take multiple knots."

"Wait, how do you know that?" I turn and stare at Enzo, who's sitting behind me. He's quiet on a good day, but on nights like these, where women—omega's vying for our attention and pushy mothers trying desperately to get us to notice their daughters—force their way into his orbit, he's even more taciturn than usual. For some reason, women have always made Enzo uneasy, which only makes our search more difficult.

Enzo shrugs, "Isn't it obvious? Despite pack life, most alphas don't know how to share attention." He leans against the window, not bothering to look up when he speaks, the soft light from the radio of the SUV reflecting in his thick, black frame glasses.

It's true, some alphas do have trouble sharing. Some are bossy and pushy and need to be the first—at everything. It can be challenging for some omegas to navigate, their genial nature urging them to be the peacemakers in their pack unit.

Enzo's words weigh heavily as we drive. We would share our omega. We would treat her so well. We just need to find her.

The OFA recently developed a nationwide scent-matching program to help scent-matches find each other, in addition to hosting events and galas like tonight's. Though rare, scent-matches have the highest fertility rates, so the government funds the OFA, giving them even more power and control in matchmaking.

I only know of a couple of packs with a scent-match. Most pair based on mutual interests or because they're scent-sympathetic, finding each other anywhere from intriguing to tolerable. At this point, we would take any omega if her scent was at least somewhat appealing to all four of us.

There's always something wrong, though. Some days, it feels like the universe is conspiring against us. One of us will have a scent aversion to an omega the others found tolerable, or we'll all be on board but… bored.

It hasn't been easy, and our pack is aging past the time when most find their mate, and none of us are interested in courting brand new graduates. They're too young, among other concerns. Sullivan, our pack leader, constantly deflects rumors on our behalf, trying to keep our name out of the press for being too picky or accusing us of inflating our status as the most eligible bachelors in Arrow Cove by not settling down.

I know one thing: I'm getting tired of going to these fucking Omega Selection Gala's and leaving empty-handed.

Driving through the winding roads leading away from the Arrow Cove OFA facilities, which are nestled high in the mountains for the protection of their charges, it's a long drive back toward our estate.

Most high-society packs live in the High Hills, just south of the mountains. Being a more reclusive pack—no matter how often our pictures, comings, and goings are reported in the Arrow Cove Daily Rag—we built a large house on the west side, closer to the river, away from prying eyes. Though we're miles apart, we have some neighbors, and while Theo whines near-daily about the lack of nightlife in our neighborhood, the quiet suits us. Enzo and Sully, especially.

Because most of the alpha attendees at the Gala come from High Hills—any omega, regardless of their socio-economic status, is granted an education, but only packs who can afford it are granted entry into the events—we're alone on our long drive away from the mountain and the Hills.

Skirting the city's center, where the river runs through the largest, most densely populated part of downtown Arrow Cove, we follow along the backroads, avoiding traffic and busy streets. It takes longer to get home this way, much faster if we took the highway that runs through downtown and cuts west, but we all needed an extra minute to unwind. Theo suggested we head downtown and find some betas to take the edge off, but I can tell Enzo and Sully want to be done with the night.

Just as Sully turns onto Haver Hill Road, he slows while we approach the covered bridge over the river, the final leg of our drive before hitting our quiet neighborhood.

Maybe it's because I'm in the front seat and not focused on the road in front of us, but the flash of white on the bridge's edge catches my eyes. The back of my hand smacks Sully's shoulder, barely rousing him.

"Hey, slow down," I tell him. He's already driving slowly, so he lifts his eyebrows in response. Just as we approach the bridge, I can identify the flash of white.

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