Page 17 of This Fate That Guides Us
Working DAU-sponsored protests is one of my favorite activities. I always manage to meet so many interesting people with such heartbreaking stories. Some of my best work has come from these events.
Attending the protest at United Square today isn’t as inspiring. Not because the crowd lacks the emotional spark or back story I usually find myself fascinated with but because of the limits placed upon me. Donovan insisted I shouldn’t attend the event alone. I didn’t want to drag my new bodyguard out on his day off so I called my friends Shepherd and Foster to attend with me.
“I bet standing here in the middle of the crowd with us is driving you crazy,” Foster laughs. He’s dressed casually in ripped jeans and a graphic tee from one of the local breweriesthey like to visit. His lemony scent mellow despite the pressing crowd.
A calm I find myself envying. Without the blockers I took this morning my own scent would have drawn unwanted attention when my discomfort was blasted into the space around us. I usually stick to the edges of the group or find a high vantage point to work from.
Surrounded by so many people I can’t help but look from face to face searching for some hint of recognition or suspicion.“Yeah,” I swallow and force myself to turn away from the crowd to face my friend. “It makes me antsy being surrounded by so many people.”
“No one will recognize you,” Shepherd cuts in. His sharp golden brown eyes trained on me. He recognizes and respects my fear of discovery.
We both know all too well how my birth father will react if he ever gets his hands on me. As a DAU undercover operative, Shepherd often goes into hazard states to help bring at-risk citizens to safe houses until they can transition into a new life in a safe state.
Which is how we met. He was working in New Hampshire when my older sister Hannah reached out to the organization for help getting me out of the state.
“Even if your sperm donor himself were to walk by you on the sidewalk, he’d never know it was you. He’s still searching for the broken, meek child he created. Not the confident, independent woman you’ve become.”
“He’s right, Omen. You’ve grown so much since we met you,” Foster encourages softly.
I appreciate their support, I truly do. It isn’t that I don’t trust them to protect me, I know they will. No matter how secure I feel with their support, I won’t be able to rid myself of the fear of mybirth family until they are proven to no longer be a threat to my safety.
I wasn’t expecting Pack Graves to show up today. The rock stars leave for their tour in a few days so I’m surprised they have the time to attend a protest.
I guess I might also still be amazed to see the four handsome men a second time without their masks. Though I do kind of miss the fantasy behind their anonymity already.
It takes all of my willpower to not react to the vibrant outfit Nexus is wearing. I didn’t know they made pants that tight. Or sparkly. Though his ass looks phenomenal wrapped in the magenta material. A loose black and white checkered button-up dips low to reveal most of his chest and upper abdomen. Somehow it suits him with his messy auburn hair and the joy shining in his warm brown eyes.
I’m still shocked by my reaction each time I see him. The urge to taste his skin. I’m going to embarrass myself if my instincts keep demanding I lick Nexus’ abs like they’re covered in melting ice cream.
I bit my tongue instead. The pull I feel to Pack Graves scares me. I’ve never been drawn to someone as completely as I am to these four men. A small voice in my mind suggests they may be the pack I’m Fated to be with, but I shove the thought away.
They aren’t.
They can’t be.
Fate wouldn’t be so cruel as to put my Fate matched mates within arms reach knowing I can’t be with them yet, right?
I’m spared from our slightly awkward conversation about my association with the DAU when a ruckus at the front of the crowd draws our attention. Someone has stepped outside with a microphone to address the crowd. A spokesperson for the capitol building or maybe for one of the Senators. I scrambleonto the bench Shepherd and Foster stopped near, my camera in hand.
My fears and concerns revolving around my pull to the pack behind me slowly fade away as I watch the crowd from behind the lens. My focus completely on the reactions of the groups around us.
United Square is a small but beautiful oasis in the midst of a political swamp. The large white brick capitol building acts as a stoic, heartless background for the majority of my shots. The center of the square houses a huge, circular ground water fountain with several dark bronze sculptures of children playing beneath the spray. However, the city made sure the fountain would be off for the duration of the protest to prevent as many accidents as possible if things get rowdy.
Most of what the government representative says goes unheard but he catches my attention when he mentions Doctor Harrison. Disgust has my nose scrunching when he tells the crowd they are presenting another attempt to repeal pack protections after the discovery of a new drug to help alleviate the worst of an omega’s heat symptoms. Any drug created by the madman my biological father helps fund is sure to have cataclysmically awful side effects.
The few times I was forced to interact with the Doctor were enough to scar me for life. He’s a modern-day mad scientist who avidly works towards stripping all mankind of the genes that give us our designations. Alpha, omega, beta he doesn’t care. He wants them all gone. And he will do absolutely anything to see his goal achieved. Black market surgeries, illegal testing, kidnapping- the list of his sins is endless.
The rest of the speech fades from my thoughts as I turn my attention back to the crowd once more. A pack stands huddled around a woman, her eyes pained as tears coat her cheeks. Her worry is palpable even through my lens.
I capture the image of her fear with their reassuring words and physical acts of support. Together they perfectly encapsulate how a pack bond should be. The symmetry between them. Each member helps to balance out the needs of the others while the pack as a whole helps to even out the demands of the population.
That’s the purpose of a pack after all: balance.
Time flies by as I remain lost in capturing the heightened emotions of the other protesters. I barely register Pack Graves’ presence. At least not until strong hands grip my waist and pull me down from my perch.
Blinking rapidly to force myself to leave the trance I often go into while shooting, I nearly get lost in the obsidian eyes peering down in concern. Titan Graves is massive. Towering over all of us. Sculpted muscles flex along his biceps as he steadies me on the ground.
Up close it’s easier for me to catch his soft leather and pink pepper scent. Masculine and a little spicy. I unintentionally sway toward him, eager to bury myself against his throat to smell him directly from the source.
