Page 7 of Want It All
She didn’t open the door until I was out of sight, and I couldn’t blame her. As I climbed the stairs to the second floor, I heard the soft hiss of a door sliding over carpet, and the clink of cutlery as she picked up the tray.
I would have been lying if I said I didn’t feel a stab of satisfaction at the thought of her eating the food I’d brought to her, the food I’d chosen. It was an instinctual thing, the alpha beneath my skin preening at the notion of serving the beautiful omega. If she were mine, I’d want to make sure she always had the best of everything – preferably from my own fork.
If my alpha tried to fuck with my meal planning, I’d eatthem, instead.
I didn’t hear Tina all the time anymore. I heard her when I needed advice, or when she would have shaken her head at me – or knocked me up the back of mine. She was always right, and this time was no exception, no matter what my instincts had to say about it. Alphas had one main job: to protect. Sometimes, ensuring safety was physical; that was why my six-foot-six frame was draped in muscle, despite me spending most of my time on my ass with my nose in an eReader. Sometimes, ensuring safety was psychological.
An alpha can fuck up a mind as easily as they can fuck up a body,Tina had told me once.Remember that, B.
As if I could ever forget.
When I got to my apartment, I flicked on a streaming service and started a comedy I’d watched a hundred times, because I knew there was no way I’d be able to concentrate. I shoved food past my lips, chewing and swallowing until it was all gone, but I hadn’t tasted a thing. When I finished, I realised something.
The omega –Rosemary– was on the first floor. In the single rooms.
I didn’t have a pack, but I’d been given a pack room simply because my frame wouldn’t fit on the smaller beds. It meant my apartment had two bedrooms instead of one, with king beds in each, and a third room nestled between them with a low ceiling and small windows that could be used as a nest. There was a second door to one side – securely locked, of course – which opened into my neighbour’s apartment, so that bigger packs could have more space if needed. The nest in my room was empty, still smelling of new carpet and fresh paint, but at least it was there.
The single rooms didn’t have nests, I remembered. But nests weren’t just for heats. They were an omega’s sacred space, a place they ruled, a place where every detail was to their liking, somewhere they felt entirely safe.
Did the administration think Rosemary wouldn’t need one?
I pushed my plate away and grabbed the Banksia brochure, frowning. The rules around taking scent blockers and wearing cancellers were strict; I skimmed through them.
Omegas will remain on heat suppressants during teaching periods and mid-term breaks.
My frown grew deeper. Suppressants were fine; nine times out of ten they worked with no problems and minimal side effects. But it was a mistake to think they were infallible. It usually came down to a clash of medications – generally antibiotics – but I’d also read a study where a scent match had triggered a heat, despite the omega being on suppressants.
Not your omega, not your problem, I reminded myself.
I couldn’t help but feel responsible for her, though. I’d taken away her secret and her safety. The least I could do was keep an eye on her.
Surely I owed her that much.
‘Haveyouseenthis?’Sebastian hissed, showing me his phone.
Ihadseen it. Banksia House had strict rules about what could be shared on social media; no photos of the manor or its immediate grounds, and no photos of any enrolled student or staff member taken on the property could be shared. To make up for it, Banksia had its own – albeit simple – social media app, and the clip of the dark-haired alpha snarling in the dining hall after outing the pretty little omega had been posted multiple times.
‘Yeah, I saw it,’ I nudged his plate. ‘Eat.’ I opened my laptop.
‘Aren’tyougoing to eat?’ he said pointedly.
I shoved a forkful of chicken in my mouth and clicked into the student administration system.
I’d gained access before we’d arrived; for an institution with so much cash flow, I’d have thought they’d have better system protections.
We already knew who the alpha was: Byron Griffiths, youngest child of Banksia House’s new Dean, Professor Carla Griffiths. The omega in question was more of a mystery.
‘Rosemary Morris,’ I murmured a moment later. ‘Twenty-six years old.’ My eyebrows rose; I pushed my glasses up my nose. ‘A graduate of our university, same year, same faculty. She majored in ancient history.’ I looked across at Sebastian. ‘Surely we would have had some of the same classes.’
‘You can take history online,’ Sebastian said.
An emerging designation was a shock to anyone, but it was especially difficult for omegas. Their hormones took longer to settle, and their heat cycles could be erratic for several years. They were more sensitive to scent than any other designation, so public places could be an uncomfortable experience. In that context, online study made a lot of sense.
I clicked into her offer documents; my eyebrows rose further. I cleared my throat. ‘She’s a scholarship student.’
Next to me, Sebastian went still. I met his clear blue gaze.
The pretty omega could be his biggest threat.
