Page 4 of Want It All
Well, that’s not ominous at all.
‘I read a little about the Banksia Prize,’ I said, trying to steer the conversation elsewhere. ‘But I’m still unclear on how they award it. It’s just for first years, right?’
As prizes went, it was one worth having. Two years of personal mentoring with the expert of your choice, a reserved place in the Banksia PhD program, and a hefty scholarship to go with it, all the way to graduation. Recipients were routinely head-hunted the moment they got their testamur, with residencies, exhibitions, book deals, fellowships, and jobs scattered at their feet like bouquets.
I wanted it so badly I could feel it in mybones.
Marina nodded. ‘There are other prizes for second and third years, and another set again for research students. The prizes are generally academic, based on the top marks. But the Banksia Prize is a little different. No one is really sure of the criteria.’ She shrugged. ‘But the Revels fund the scholarship and organise the mentoring, so they have the final say on who wins.’
My heart skipped a beat. ‘TheRevelsfund it? The secret society?’
Marina snorted. ‘The Revels are more of a club these days, though it’s still invitation-only, and I’ve heard rumours they still haze potential members. But they’ve left behind anything that might get them sued, and they’re one of Banksia’s main sourcesof funding – other than student fees, of course – so SECU politely pretends they don’t exist. I’d join, if I could,’ she said, sounding slightly wistful. ‘What a thing to have on your CV. Or better still, pack up a Revels member. All the benefits, without the extra work.’ She lifted her fork to her mouth, then froze. ‘Oh,’ she murmured, low and quiet. ‘I was wondering when he’d show.’
I followed her gaze, turning in my seat – and stopped breathing.
Designations could be kept private here, but there was no way he was anything but an alpha. Six-foot-six and every limb curved with muscle, his black shirt clinging to rounded pecs, black jeans wrapping around thick thighs. Tattoos peeked up past the collar of his shirt and wound down his arms, a mix of floral motifs, illustrations, and text. A messenger bag – just like my own – was slung across his wide chest, pulling his shirt tight across his abs.
I swallowed, my eyes travelling up to fix on his face.
He had a square jaw, a straight nose, black brows, and stormy grey eyes above cheekbones so sharp I could cut a finger on them, all framed by waving hair so dark a brown it was almost black.
Alpha, my instincts purred, immediately taking notice.Alph –
They fell silent when they saw his wrists.
The government monitored us all. When alphas and omegas revealed their designations – usually between the ages of eighteen and twenty – they were forced to report their status and be added to a national database or face jail time. We all completed monthly online surveys, monitoring changes in mood and habits, and collecting information about how our designations affected our daily lives. Some of us occasionally sat through awkward visits from official agencies during what the government termedwellbeing sweeps. Omegas were monitored more than most, with heats and any offspring tracked by theOmega Support Agency, but there was one group who was watched even more closely.
With our designations came our instincts, and with alpha instincts came the chance of what the medical profession termedinstinct blackout– periods of time when humanity took a back seat and the alpha beneath the skin ran the show. It was uncommon; when it did happen, instances were reported to the Alpha Protective Force, who intervened to monitor theat-risk alphas.
The popular consciousness had a different term: feral. The APF didn’t help matters, in my opinion, by making at-risk alphas wear wristband monitors – just like the ones this alpha was wearing.
I shivered, my skin breaking into goosebumps from an odd mix of a hot flush and a chill. From what I understood, instinct blackouts rarely occurred in alphas so young – he couldn’t have been much older than me – and I’d never imagined a feral alpha to be so handsome.
‘Who is he?’ I whispered to Marina, unable to tear my gaze away.
‘Byron Griffiths. He’s the new Dean’s son.’ Marina lowered her voice. ‘I heard that she negotiated his enrolment here as part of her contract.’
His eyes snapped towards us, as if he’d heard. His gaze lingered on Marina for a moment, before shifting to me.
Alpha, my instincts whimpered. I had the sudden urge to tip my chin to the side and bare my throat. I fought the compulsion to drop my gaze, trembling as his grey irises darkened.
His brow creased – as if in surprise – and he murmured one word. He didn’t say it loudly, but silence had fallen over the dining hall in the wake of his arrival, so his soft voice was as clear as a shout.
‘Omega.’
IknewimmediatelythatI’d made a huge fucking mistake.
The colour fled her cheeks and her jaw went tight. Her knuckles were white as her fingers tightened around her fork.
Perhaps with the intention of using it – on me.
The dark-haired woman across from her started, her eyes wide, her lips parting in an astonishedo; the news was clearly a surprise.
You fucking fool, B, Tina’s voice said, disgruntled.You just outed an omega.
I hadn’t meant to, but my intentions didn’t matter. I’d been told that omega students at Banksia House rarely disclosed their designation to their peers and sometimes graduated with the other students none the wiser, but then I’d seen her, covered in scent cancellers – there was no trace of natural perfume in the air – and yet so obviously, blatantly an omega. And a fucking delicious one at that, all curves wrapped in a plaid pinny and cream silk shirt, her thick auburn hair pulled back into a loosebun. Her light brown eyes had looked me over with interest, but now shone with a mix of fury and unshed tears.
I’d just fucked up her life, after all.
