Page 6 of This Fate That Guides Us
‘When you aren’t used to good things in life, they become harder to accept than the bad. -W’
The impact a Fated connection has on one’s instincts is a widely researched topic ever since they were first discovered nearly seventy years ago. Despite the extensive research, there is no conclusive decision regarding what allows the connections to be formed.
Feeling my instincts magically settle, the restlessness keeping me awake loses its sharper edges. I’m inclined to agree with those who believe the connections are inspired by some mystical being.
‘Over time it gets easier. The more good you have in your life, the easier it is to change your way of thinking. You go from constantly worrying when those around you will leave, to planning your life with them by your side. -W’
My heart breaks knowing at least one of my mates has felt abandoned by those around them often enough to feel the same sense of impending catastrophe I do. From their message though, they’ve overcome those fears.
‘I can only hope to be so brave one day.’
‘Have faith in yourself, Omega, and know one day you will have us to help guide you. Fate wouldn’t have connected us if we couldn’t bring the balance you need in life. -W’
Fear strikes deeply in my heart at the thought of meeting these mates. The threats I still face from my past are a large factor in my decision to wait, but I’m also afraid they will breakme as thoroughly as my birth family once did. If we get to know one another and they choose to reject me…
The distance between us is best for now.
Allowing fantasies of the love-filled future ‘W’ spoke of to fill my head, my eyes finally drift closed and sleep beckons me to a dreamland where the darkness of this world cannot touch me.
The dorm is quiet as I blink awake. The muffled sound of Bea’s soft snores the soundtrack to my Sunday morning. Climbing from my bed, I wander into our kitchen and turn our electric kettle on. The clock on our stove tells me I slept in much later than I usually would. It’s almost one in the afternoon.
Shaking my head, I cross the room and crack Bea’s door open. Her coconut lime scent fills the space, making my nose twitch as I fight back a sneeze. I toss one of the plush bears from the chair she keeps by the door, giggling when it bounces off her face. “Bea, it’s afternoon. Time to rise and shine. The apartment won’t pack itself.”
“Wha–?” She jerks upright, cursing when her arm slips and she almost falls to the floor. Standing in her silk sleep pants and tank top, she glares at me. “You’re a pain in my ass.”
“You love me anyway,” I call over my shoulder as I walk back to the kitchen.
The shower turns on a few moments later, so I throw her favorite bagels in the toaster and start a pot of coffee for her. She won’t stop acting grumpy until she’s had her first caffeine fix. Or her sixth. It varies day to day.
Fixing my cup of tea, I snack on leftover French toast. My mind zips from one task to the next as I start a mental to-do list. Today’s biggest goal is to pack more and clean our dorm to get ready to move out on Saturday.
“I’m so tired,” Bea groans, collapsing into one of the seats at our dining table. Her head rests on the cool wood.
I frown as I slide her bagel and coffee over. She was already passed out in the car by the time we got back at midnight last night, so it’s unusual for her to be so visibly exhausted. I glance at the calendar hanging by the door and sigh.
“Your heat is coming up,” I remind her, earning an exasperated growl.
“Heats are the worst.”
I nod in response. Riding out a heat alone or with suppressors is awful. Even with medical support, by the time it’s over, you are so exhausted you need to sleep for several days to recover. The only saving grace we have as omegas is our heats usually only occur once every three or four months.
“Hopefully it holds off until after we move.” She finally sits up and downs half of her coffee. I stifle a grin as I finish off my breakfast and wash my dishes before turning to the stack of empty totes sitting by our door. Time to get to work.
I startle as my phone starts ringing loudly from where it sits on the coffee table. Picking it up, I check the screen but don’t recognize the number. Another photography gig maybe.
“Omen Powell speaking,” I answer politely.
“Good afternoon, Miss Powell,” a gruff masculine voice answers. “My name is Brady Moore. I was calling to inquire about a professional contract for your services.” Brady sounds older and his voice carries the distinct pressure of an alpha.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Moore. What services were you looking for in particular?” Bea stares with wide eyes, wordlessly relaying her excitement. Finding friends who will cheer on your every endeavor is the key to a happy, self-employed life.
“I manage a band for Soulbound Echo Studios. When one of our bands goes on tour, we hire a photographer to join us for theduration to capture promotional shots. We are looking to hire someone to replace our previous photographer.” Brady explains.
My jaw drops as I stare at Bea. There is no way this is happening. My literal dream job just dropped into my lap the day after I graduated.
Grabbing the stack of colorful sticky notes Bea keeps in the coffee table drawer, I write down his name and where he works. Bea gasps loudly beside me, dancing excitedly where she hovers over my shoulder.
What are the chances we both wind up working at the same label?
