Page 5 of Hunted Omega: Part Two

Is that… No. Stop it, Aria.Not every guy is Noah.But what if… What if he’s here, watching and waiting? What if he picked up a sudden interest in organic produce and farmer’s markets?

I don’t stop until I’m back in the apartment, the door slamming shut behind me like I’m reenacting a dramatic scenefrom a soap opera. I slide down against it, trying to catch my breath and convince myself that I’m safe.

Safety feels like a distant memory, though, and as I sit here, gasping in the dim light, all I can think is that no matter how far I run, I’ll never outrun this fear or the part of me that still, inexplicably, wants them.

Them being Pack Clarke of course.

The realization hits me like a physical blow. I want them. After everything, after a month of hiding and running, some traitorous part of me still craves their touch, their scents, their presence. It’s terrifying and exhilarating all at once, and I don’t know how to handle it. It’s like my heart and brain are in a constant state of civil war, and I’m caught in the cross fire.

As my breathing slowly steadies, I force myself to face the facts. My heat is coming, and without suppressants, I’m more vulnerable than I’ve been in years. I might as well hang a sign around my neck that says, “Free omega. Come and get it!”

Pack Clarke is still out there, their scents alone enough to send me into a tailspin—into a heat—and somewhere in this city, Noah is waiting, planning, and hunting me, because apparently, I’m living in some twisted version ofThe Most Dangerous Game, minus the tropical island.

I drag myself to my feet, stumbling to my nest. Curling up in the familiar comfort of blankets and pillows, I try to piece together a plan. I need suppressants, I need to figure out how to face the world without falling apart, and maybe, just maybe, I need to start considering the possibility that running isn’t the answer. Though, to be fair, it’s worked pretty well so far. Olympic-level emotional sprinting, that’s me.

I’m a hot mess, and not in the cute, rom-com way. More like theone loud noise away from a total meltdownway. If my life were a movie, it’d be a dark comedy with a side of hormonal horror.

As I lie in my nest, a strange feeling settles in my gut. Something’s coming, and I’m not sure I’m ready for it, but then again, when am I ever ready for anything?

My phone buzzes again.

Cayenne: We’re outside your door. Let us in when you’re ready. We’re not going anywhere, and we have those pastries you like. You know, bribery and all that.

I stare at the message, tears pricking my eyes. With a shaky breath, I push myself up. Maybe I can’t face Pack Clarke or Noah yet, but I can face my friends. It’s a start, a small one, but hey, even Mount Everest is climbed one step at a time, right?

As I reach for the door handle, one thought echoes in my mind—I can’t keep running forever. Sooner or later, I’ll have to face Pack Clarke, Noah, and my own traitorous heart.

God help me, I don’t know if I’m strong enough, but maybe I don’t have to be strong alone. After all, I have two of the most stubborn, loyal friends a girl could ask for and pastries. Never underestimate the power of good friends and good pastries.

Here goes nothing, or everything… I’m not really sure anymore.

2

ARIA

Late morning sunlightbarges into my apartment like an uninvited guest, flooding the place with a warmth I definitely didn’t order. I’m sitting at my tiny kitchen table, staring down at an envelope that just arrived. The Scent Synergy logo glares up at me, looking about as friendly as a hungry shark. I already know what’s inside, but it doesn’t stop my hands from shaking like I’m in the middle of an earthquake as I tear it open.

The letter inside is all crisp and formal, carrying the kind of weight that makes my stomach feel like it’s full of lead. My eyes scan the words, each one hitting me like a sucker punch to the gut.

We are pleased to inform you that a compatible match has been identified…

I read the sentence again, my heart pounding so hard I’m pretty sure it’s trying to escape my chest.

How dare they? How dare they reduce my life, my choices, to some clinical match? It’s like they’ve taken my entire existence and boiled it down to a really messed up dating app.

And then I see it—the name that makes my blood run cold.

Pack Clarke.

Memories slam into me harder than a freight train—scents tangled in heat, their eyes dark and knowing, the moment they discovered what I was.

Zane’s intense gaze burned into me, his voice a low growl that could strip paint.“You lied to us, Aria. How can we ever trust you?”

The memory is so vivid, it’s like a 4D movie playing in my head, and I definitely want a refund.

The air thickens around me with phantom presences—Malachi’s cool authority, Zane’s brooding intensity, Quinn’s playful intellect, and Dash’s carefree charm. My scent spikes with distress, orange creamsicle turning sour and burnt like I left it in the oven way too long. I crumple the letter in my fist, my breath coming in short, sharp gasps that claw at my throat.

Without thinking, I grab my phone and dial Scent Synergy, each ring stretching into an eternity. When a cheerful voice finally answers, it only fuels the anger simmering under my skin.

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