Page 57 of This Fate That Guides Us
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
NOW PLAYING: MYNew Reality- Beartooth
Omen is practically vibrating in my arms. Her instincts demand she fix whatever is causing our distress. My own instincts are on edge with the need to comfort her. To ease the anxiety I can feel physically manifesting in her.
It’s been a week since our little date. Since I felt her lips pressed to mine, tasted her hunger, her desire. I haven’t been able to get the daring little omega out of my mind. She consumes my thoughts and dreams. I want to ask her why she’s been pushing us away. Why was she going to push me away after our kiss? Does she not feel the pull between us as we do?
Fear stills my tongue. Everyone knows how deeply rejection can cut an omega, but they never mention the effect it has on an alpha. We’re tougher, built to handle all the bad things in life,but we are as human as everyone else. We still experience the same ups and downs, the insecurities our pasts can create.
Instead of voicing my fear of rejection or my concern about Omen’s behavior toward my packmates and me, I offer her my truth.
“My family comes from old money in Nashville. When the city first became a real hub for shipping here on the East Coast, my great-great-great grandparents invested their wealthy inheritances to open a manufacturing company. A business that has grown exponentially in the years since it was created, only increasing my family's wealth.”
Omen tries to turn in my arms to look up at me, but I hold her tighter, not wanting to risk getting lost in her eyes and asking questions neither of us are ready to hear. “Relax,” I mutter into her hair. The sweetness of her sunflower and honeysuckle scent blends well with the vanilla smell of her shampoo. She listens, melting against me as much as she can with the nervous energy still bubbling inside of her.
“Being raised in an old-money family meant growing up learning old-world values. Prejudiced values. The area I lived in held heavy anti-pack beliefs, but that was just the bias they were the most vocal about. Those people hate anyone who is different. Whether it’s their lifestyle choices, their skin color, or their designation. If they decided you didn’t fit in, they ran you out.”
Omen makes a noise of frustration in my arms, her squirming worse when she hears the pain in my voice. I can’t bear to see her face for the rest of my story though, not yet. Nexus distracts her by running his fingers through her hair, working out the tangles, and braiding a few sections of the long strands.
“My father is an alpha, one of four children. All alphas. Including my Aunt Abigail. She was seventeen when she presented, but no one in the family knew until shewas in her early twenties. She was out of town for a cheerleading competition when her pheromones started to release. Apparently, she’d gotten help from someone nearby and she started scent suppressors immediately and used them every day for almost five years. Until they failed and my grandparents found out her true designation.”
Omen tenses. I almost don’t want to tell her. To save her from the pain of my past, but the words won’t stop flowing now. Telling her this story—the origin of my fear—alleviates the weight I’ve been carrying as we grow closer to our hometown show.
“What happened?” she whispers.
I tell her everything. About my family disowning my aunt. Running her out of town after they tore her life to pieces. It’s old news to us, but seeing Omen react to each part, the wound feels fresh. I’ll have to call my aunt tonight and check in. Tell her about the tour. Maybe I’ll even mention the little omega who is slowly stealing all of our hearts.
“I’m glad she found her haven,” Omen says quietly. “Even if her newfound peace doesn’t replace the hurts of her past.”
The understanding in her voice reminds me how little we know about this omega. Her likes and dislikes, her hopes for her career, her work with the DAU. Her past is a mystery and I wish I knew why she always shies away from sharing those parts of herself.
“I would really like to hug you now,” Omen blurts. Her knee is bouncing against my leg and I can’t hold back a small chuckle. Pulling my arms back so she can move freely, my breath is knocked out of me when she spins and locks her arms around me. It’s like being strangled by a deliciously scented boa constrictor.
What startles all of us–Omen most of all–is the soft purr vibrating from her chest. The sound instantly eases the tensionin my body, turning me into a giant puddle of alpha. Icy blue eyes glance up warily. I can see the fear there, the turmoil as she tries to fight against her instincts so she can run away.
My mates aren’t going to let her escape when she’s still wound up though. Nexus wraps himself around her back, sighing happily as he absorbs the relief her purr brings too. The pain our return home brings to the surface of our minds fades to the background.
Whatever the reason for her reluctance, it’s clear Omen belongs with us. I hope one day soon she feels it too.
Nashville doesn’t disappoint. We’ve barely rolled into the city when we see them. Groups of protestors standing at every corner and in every park. Our stress runs high as we drive to the campground where we’ll be parking our RVs for the night, half expecting to be turned away at the entrance. Thankfully the owner of the site is more interested in the exorbitant fees the label is paying for our spots and not who we are.
Driving back downtown to the venue we are playing at is an entirely different story. We all sit rigid in our SUV. Masks firmly in place. Though they do little to hide our apprehension. With the number of protestors we’ve already encountered, we’re all on edge.
Why are we even performing in a city so filled with hatred for us? What fans will risk the wrath of these masses to attend our concert?
The warmth of a summer sun fills my soul as my arm begins to shimmer with the telltale signs of an incoming message from our fifth mystery mate.
‘Even in the darkest of places, your love leads me toward a brighter future. Thank you for being my haven.’
Something about the words sparks a sense of familiarity…
Before I can connect the dots, I’m distracted by something slamming against the window. Something dark and slimy coats the outside of the glass.
Outside I can see the mass of people gathered in opposition to our messages. Signs showing both anti-pack and anti-designation messages rise above the crowd. More of the projectiles–rotten food by the looks of the crates they’re holding–splatter against all of our vehicles.
Local police are also here, but they’re doing little to keep control of the crowd. Like everyone else in this dreadful city, they’ve been raised to believe the same outdated values.
As we turn toward the enclosed parking lot, a glass bottle is tossed through the crowd and shatters against our windshield. Searching for the person who threw it, my eyes lock on a familiar face. Thick black hair, dark brown eyes. They watch us with disdain, throwing slurs at me and my mates.
