Page 14 of Hunted Omega: Part Two

I can’t help but laugh at the image of my friends taking on Pack Clarke. It’s like imagining a group of chihuahuas facing off against a pack of wolves—adorable, but probably not effective. “I appreciate the offer, but I don’t think violence is the answer here.”

“Violence might not be the answer,” Ginger quips, a mischievous glint in her eye, “but a little creative sabotage never hurt anybody. I’m thinking glitter bombs in their fancy alpha cars. It’ll take weeks to get it all out!”

“Maybe not,” Willow says thoughtfully, her expression turning serious, “but knowledge might be.” We all turn to her, waiting for her to elaborate. It’s like we’re in a courtroom drama,and Willow’s about to deliver the key evidence. “In my work with Omega Guardians, I’ve been researching mate bonds. They are powerful, yes, but they are not a life sentence. You have choices, Aria.”

“What kinds of choices?” I ask, leaning forward, desperate for any semblance of control. It’s like I’m drowning, and Willow’s throwing me a lifeline.

Willow explains, her voice taking on a measured, almost professorial tone. “Mate bonds can be accepted or rejected. It isn’t easy to reject one, especially a strong one, but it’s possible, and even if you accepted it, you’d set the terms. The alphas don’t get to dictate how this plays out.” She pauses, meeting my gaze with unwavering support. “Remember, Aria, biology isn’t destiny. You’re more than your omega status, and any alpha worth their salt will see that too.”

Her words settle over me, both terrifying and liberating. I’ve felt like a pawn in a game I never wanted to play, but maybe I’ve been holding more cards than I realized. It’s like I’ve been playing Go Fish when we’re actually in a poker game. “So… what do I do now?”

“You take it one day at a time,” Cayenne says firmly, her confidence a steadying force. “You keep living your life on your terms. If Pack Clarke wants to be a part of that life, then they’ll do it on your schedule, not theirs.” She leans in, a spark of excitement in her eyes. “I have some contacts in the underground omega network. We could dig up some dirt and level the playing field a bit. What do you say, girls? Ready for some espionage?”

My curiosity is piqued, and I can’t help but ask, “Underground omega network? What exactly are we talking about here, Cayenne?” I feel like I’m in a spy movie, and Cayenne’s about to reveal she’s been a secret agent this whole time.

She grins, her eyes glinting with mischief. “Let’s just say it’s a network of omegas who have had enough of society’s bullshit. They share information, resources, and safe houses—everything an omega might need to stay off the grid or fight back against unfair treatment. Some of them are pretty tech savvy too. If there’s dirt on Pack Clarke or Scent Synergy, they’ll find it.”

Ginger chimes in with her usual gusto. “Consider us your personal omega SWAT team. On call twenty-four seven for ass-kicking and ice cream runs.”

Warmth blooms in my chest at their words, a feeling so potent I swear I can smell it. For the first time in days, I feel like I can breathe again. It’s like coming up for air after being underwater for too long. “Thank you,” I whisper, my voice thick with emotion. “I don’t know what I’d do without you all.”

Who needs alphas when I have a pack like this?

We fall into a group hug, and I let myself be held, enveloped by their love and unwavering support. When we finally pull apart, Willow clears her throat, her expression shifting to something more serious.

“There’s… one more thing,” she says hesitantly. “Malachi from Pack Clarke reached out to Omega Guardians. He wants to set up a meeting and talk about collaboration.”

The room goes still, the air thick with unspoken tension. My heart picks up speed, every beat echoing in my ears like a drum solo. The scent of my anxiety spikes, sharp and acrid. “What… What does that mean?”

Willow shrugs, meeting my eyes with a quiet resolve. “I don’t know yet, but I promise, Aria, that nothing will happen without your approval. We’re on your side, always.”

I nod, trying to process this new piece of information. My mind is spinning like a hamster wheel on steroids, but I force myself to take a steadying breath. “Okay,” I say slowly. “Let’s… Let’s cross that bridge when we get to it.”

Cayenne raises her glass once more. “To Aria, turning alpha expectations upside down since… well, always!”

We cheer and clink glasses. As the night wears on, the conversation shifts to lighter topics—gossip, Ginger’s latest escapades, the little joys that make everything feel normal, even if just for a while—but beneath the surface, I know something has changed. My friends aren’t just here for a fun night, they are my lifeline, my protectors, and my pack.

It’s well past midnight when they finally leave, each one giving me a fierce hug before heading out. As I close the door behind them, the quiet of my apartment feels less like solitude and more like peace.

I’m tidying up the wine glasses, the clink of glass against glass a soothing rhythm in the quiet apartment, when my phone buzzes. My heart races as I stare at the screen, an unknown number burning into my retinas like a brand. My fingers hover over the keyboard, trembling slightly as the weight of my next move crashes over me like a wave.

Unknown: I know you probably want to digitally set this message on fire, but I had to reach out. How are you holding up?

Unknown: It’s Malachi.

I stare at the screen, my stomach churning like a washing machine on spin cycle, a knot of tension tightening with each passing second. I wipe my clammy palms on my jeans, trying to steady my shaking hands. A part of me wants to shove the entire mess to the back of my mind and pretend it doesn’t exist, but another part of me is just tired of running.

My mind races with conflicting thoughts. On one hand, Malachi’s deep, commanding voice echoes in my memory, sending an involuntary shiver down my spine. The ghost of his scent—cedar and rain—teases at the edges of my consciousness, but on the other hand, I remember the hurt, betrayal, and fear of that night when my secret was revealed. The memoryof Zane’s accusatory glare, Quinn’s shocked expression, and Dash’s uncharacteristic silence all comes rushing back, a surge of emotions threatening to drown me.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I type a response.

Me: Honestly? I’m a mess, but I’m dealing.

Dealing? More like barely keeping my head above water, but he doesn’t need to know that. There’s no need to give him a detailed map of my emotional state.

I hit send before I can second-guess myself, my heart thudding in my chest like it’s trying to escape as I wait. The scent of my nervousness fills the air, a mix of sour oranges and burnt sugar. I don’t know if I’ll regret this in the morning, but for now, it feels like a step—however small—toward reclaiming my life on my own terms.

The first thing I’m going to do tomorrow is figure out just who put my information into Scent Synergy. I smell a rat, and I’m going to find it.

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