Page 38 of Feral Alphas

The Omega Center is big, and best of all it’s lit everywhere with natural light. There’s a wing for infants and toddlers that genuinely looks like a happy daycare center (according to what I’ve seen on TV), and a whole sports therapy and gym department. It also seems like this isn’t a one-way street, because through the windows I see plenty of people coming and going, such as the elegant, familiar-looking lady with a gym bag over one shoulder who gets into a waiting silver Mercedes.

“Omegas can come and go?”

“Yes.” Leslie smiles.

All her mannerisms are relaxed, no doubt to calm me, but I’m not convinced yet. I’ve been through too much.

“Many of the city’s omegas come here to socialize or have their self-care in peace. There are gyms and health practices dedicated to omegas throughout the city as well, but our primary responsibility is omega wellbeing.”

That reassures me a little, and I watch the car crawl along the round driveway and out through double security gates.

“Are you hungry?”

I spin away from the window. “Heck yes!”

Leslie chuckles. “High appetite is to be expected after a heat. Your body neglects everything else in order to get you through. That’s another reason it’s good to have a pack, because they help remember these things for you.”

I steal a glance at her as she holds open a door for me. “Are you trying to sell me on a pack for some reason?”

She chuckles. “I can’t get anything past you, can I? Many omegas from abused pasts struggle to trust again. We provide the best therapy we can, but it’s also a fact that we see the best results in omega recovery when they find their true pack.”

Scents of cooking meat and vegetables hit my nose, making me drool. Leslie leads me between the long rows of tables to a food service area and shows me how to swipe the wrist bracelet on the turnstile.

“What about abused alphas?” I ask as I grab a tray and load it with plates.

Leslie sighs and shakes her head sadly. “They’re usually much harder to reintegrate into society. The alpha psyche does not cope well with repression trauma, but it depends on the circumstances and the amount of harm done.”

Something tells me that being used as pit fighters will be at the extreme end of that damage spectrum.

I’m so hungry I slip green beans and a piece of garlic bread in my mouth as we move along the steaming bain-maries. Once our plates are full, we sit down at one of the tables.

“I’d like to ask you a few questions, if that’s alright,” Leslie says, pouring a packet of salt over her food. “You don’t need to answer anything you’re uncomfortable with.”

“Sure.” I load my fork up with crispy potato.

“Do you know how old you are, Rose?”

I tilt my head back and forth. “Twenty-seven, I think. According to my old medical charts, my date of birth is August seventeen.” I shrug and wrinkle my nose. “Assuming I can believe a word they said.”

She nods and sets the salt packet aside. “The agent mentioned this appeared to be your first heat. Is that true?”

I stab a bunch of peas, seeing how many I can get on the fork tines. “I had one pre-heat about two weeks ago, but I was on my own. At the place where I was raised, they told me I wasn’t normal and couldn’t cycle. Turns out they repressed my cycle medically. Once they sold me to the Grom Kennels, two little pills brought it on like that.” I snap my fingers and load the peas into my mouth. “Apparently by suppressing my heats that long, it made my scent stronger.”

Her fork clatters to the table with a sharp noise and I twitch. I look up to find Leslie staring at me, mouth hanging open and tears pooling in her eyes. “Rose, I’m so sorry that happened to you.”

I look down at my plate and clench my hands around my cutlery, willing my own tears not to come. “Nothing I can do about it now, right?”

She leans across the table and squeezes my fist. “Things will be better from here on out, I promise.”

The peas are gone so I move on to the strips of lamb in sweet and sour sauce. “You mean if I find a pack?”

“Yes, but even if you don’t, no one’s going to be lying to you or trying to use you.”

I pick apart some sort of fish casserole with my fork—I put a bit of everything on my plate. “And how do we do that?”

Leslie smiles. “We have a system that includes giving you samples of scents submitted by alphas all over the country. If there’s one or more you match with, you’ll know right away.”

“Let’s do that quickly then,” I reply. Surely Colt’s scent will be in there and I can prove it wasn’t a one-time thing.

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