Page 11 of Knot Happening Again

For a break, if nothing else.

I roll onto my back, staring at the water-stained ceiling. The paint is peeling in one corner, revealing the dingy plaster underneath. It's a perfect metaphor for my life, really. A thin veneer of normalcy barely concealing the mess underneath.

My gaze drifts to the nightstand, to the drawer where I keep my "toys." Maybe if I just...

No. I've tried that.

It doesn't help.

Nothing helps except an alpha's knot.

And with my scent unlocked, I attract a dangerous amount of attention under normal circumstances, even with the suppressants. If I go into full-blown heat, I'll be a magnet for every creep in a three-mile radius.

An unlocked scent is just another fun side effect of bonding sickness. A rare one, but no surprise I got it. Most omegas are only a beacon to alphas in heat, but me? I smell like an omega in full bloom twenty-four-seven, three hundred and sixty five days out of the year when I'm not on those damn pills. Mating regularly helps, too, which is one of the reasons I went into this line of work to begin with—that, and desperation. But an alpha's knot can only mute the scent for a few days without suppressants, and without them, pregnancy would pretty much be an inevitability.

That's thelastdamn thing I need.

But there's something else in that drawer. Something that's been at the back of my mind since Natalie mentioned it. I hesitate for a moment before reaching over and pulling the drawer open.

Buried beneath a tangle of charging cables and half-empty bottles of lube is a crumpled brochure. I fish it out, smoothing the glossy paper against my thigh. The logo stares back at me, sleek and professional.

Temporary Bonds.

I snort. As if anything involving alphas and omegas could ever be truly temporary. But... what if it could be? What if there was a way to get through my heat without ending up bonded or broke or both?

I flip open the brochure, skimming over the carefully worded promises. "Discreet." "Professional." "Safe."

Yeah, right. I've heard all that before. But as my eyes land on the phone number at the bottom of the page, I can't help but wonder.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I grab my phone and punch in the number. It rings once, twice, three times. I'm about to hang up when a cheerful voice answers.

"Thank you for calling Temporary Bonds! This is Samantha. How may I assist you today?"

I freeze, suddenly at a loss for words. What am I supposed to say?Hi, I'm a desperate omega with a busted mating mark and an unlocked scent looking for a quick knot?'

"Hello?" Samantha prompts, her voice still irritatingly chipper. "Is anyone there?"

"Uh, yeah," I manage to croak out. "Sorry. I'm, um... I'm calling about your services?"

"Wonderful!" Samantha chirps. "Are you interested in becoming a client or a staff member?"

I blink, thrown off by the question. "A... client, I guess? I'm an omega," I add, as if that wasn't blindingly obvious.

"Excellent! We're always happy to help omegas in need. Can I ask what specifically you're looking for? Heat assistance? Scent therapy? Tactile therapy? Or perhaps you're interested in our short-term arrangement options?"

My head spins at the barrage of choices. "Heat assistance," I blurt out before I can overthink it. "But, um... how much does all this cost? There's got to be some kind of fee, right?"

Samantha's laugh tinkles through the phone. "Oh, honey, no! There's absolutely no charge for omegas. Our alphas and packs pay a membership fee that covers all services."

Great. So we're the product.

Should've known.

But it’s not like it would be the first time I've sold myself out of desperation. Somehow, though, this feels… different. More personal. Mostly because I'm looking for something other than money in return.

I take a deep breath, steeling myself for the real question. The one that's been eating away at me since I first laid eyes on that damn brochure. "What about... what about omegas with incomplete marks? Do you work with them?"

There's a pause on the other end of the line, and my heart sinks. This is it. This is where they tell me I'm damaged goods, not worth their time or effort.

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