Page 54 of This Fate That Guides Us
I glance toward the other omega, confused by what she means. I’ve never heard of a mini-heat before. Is it just a short heat?
“They are kind of like a short heat,” Omen explains. I must have asked the last part out loud. “They usually only last a few hours to half a day, but they’re as physically taxing as a regular heat.” Her face is red with embarrassment, something I’ve noticed tends to happen anytime she experiences normal omega reactions. Like when she perfumed at our hotel in Chicago.
I make a note to talk to Nebula about helping to normalize her reactions when she’s around us. Don’t want my girl thinking she’s anything less than wonderful.
“Do you have someone help you through them?” I ask cautiously, my eyes flicking to Ridley and Lex. Omen’s teeth sink into her bottom lip as she tries and fails to bite back a chuckle at my question.
From the corner of my eye, I see Bea’s jaw tick, silently answering my question. Bea would kick Omen’s ass if she touched either of their bodyguards. I already knew there was something between the two men and the manager, but thinking rationally isn’t always possible when your instincts are screaming possessive thoughts.
“I do not. They’re very difficult to predict and I never know how long they will last, so I ride them out by myself.”
My shoulders relax at her soft words. I still feel awful she has to experience these mini-heats alone, but I don’t know if I could handle knowing she asked someone else to help her. Not when we’re a parking spot away.
“They’re most common as a side effect of using the wrong birth control or suppressant,” Bea adds.
“Her mom is a doctor and she helped me with my birth control a few years back. I experienced the mini-heats muchmore frequently then, but we found the right medicine and I haven’t had one in over two years. At least not until a few weeks ago.” Omen clarifies with an exhausted sigh.
I can practically see the mental checklist building in my girl’s head. I want to offer to help her with whatever tasks lie ahead, but I know she isn’t ready for me to help air out her nest or any of the other things omegas have to do post heat.
Maybe I’ll bring her ice cream or chocolate later.
That always helps, right?
Remembering what she said, I voice a question that’s sat at the back of my mind since we met Bea. “I’ve been wondering, you two aren’t sisters?” I finally meet Omen’s eyes and freeze. The icy blues I’ve grown to love are currently a pale blue-green.
“I’m adopted. The Powell’s were my foster family after I was brought into the DAU when I escaped a bad situation several years ago. We ended up being a perfect fit and they made me an official member of their family pack shortly after we met.” Omen rushes through her explanation before I can question the change in her eye color.
Little pieces of the puzzle click into place with this nugget of information. Omen’s barely mentioned childhood, her crowd anxiety, the self-doubts, even her reaction to gifts and affection. So many things make sense now.
“You were rescued by the DAU, so Omen isn’t your real name?” I tilt my head as I study her. Both memorizing the way she looks with those beautiful greens and trying to find a hint of other things she may have changed to hide herself.
“Omen isn’t my birth name.” She pauses. “But it is my real name.”
“I understand. My pack and I feel the same way.”
She relaxes in her seat when I don’t push her further on her birth identity. I love my family, but the kid I was growing upisn’t who I am today. My mates and I all understand the need to reinvent yourself to escape the bad things in your past.
“If you use masks to remain anonymous, why use your stage names full time? Won’t that give away who you are?” Ridley asks with a grin. He’s leaning against the side of the couch where Bea is sitting, his hand tugging at one of her loose curls like he can’t stop himself from touching her.
Same, dude. It’s killing me to not have my girl wrapped in my arms and smothered in my scent.
“It does seem counterintuitive, doesn’t it?” I laugh.
Omen blows out a breath of relief when we change topics and scoots over on their couch to offer me room to sit. An apologetic look fills her eyes when I push myself off of the floor.
“We all know it’s inevitable as a masked band for our identities to be discovered and publicly outed, so if we meet someone who is a fan and they realize who we are by our names, it doesn’t bother us. When we are on stage we want the crowd’s focus to be on the messages in our music. Not our identities. It is too easy to get so caught up in the personal life and social drama of a musician making their lyrics and performance seem less important. Which we hope to avoid. Not at the level other artists face anyway.”
Ridley seems contemplative as he nods along with my answer. His hazel eyes are still bright with excitement, which honestly seems to be a permanent part of his personality. “That’s pretty cool. Makes sense too. Hopefully it works out for you guys long term.”
We talk a bit more about my band’s aspirations and Ridley’s interest in music. I can feel Omen drooping beside me, her head leans against my shoulder and her eyes fall closed. My girl is fucking exhausted, rightfully so after a mini-heat apparently. I hope my presence is helping to take away some of the turmoil she’s been struggling with the past several days.
When Omen slips from my shoulder and nearly topples to the floor, I call it. Wrapping one arm around her shoulders I keep her upright. “Go to bed, gorgeous,” I whisper against her ear. Her eyes blink open before falling closed again. A small sound of displeasure escapes her kissable lips.
I pull away with a smirk on my face knowing she doesn’t want me to leave. At least not on an instinctual level. Grabbing her hands, I pull her to her feet and send her to the back of their bus to her nest.
"Thank you for the flowers. They’re beautiful,” she whispers as she walks away.
“Anything for you, sweet girl. We’re leaving at nine tomorrow, but one of us will stop by before then to check on you,” I call after her.
