Page 41 of Waiting for Fate
“Wewere fine,” Ridley chimes in, leaning into the camera’s view. “But the bands and staff inside had to find a way out through the chaos. I guess someone knocked over one of the food tents, starting a fire that spread through the merch area before the fire department arrived to put it out.”
I shake my head, fighting back a demand for Bea to quit her job and stay at home, where she is safe. Being a controlling asshole will not win me any points with her. Not after I’ve turned her away at every available opportunity.
“There are hundreds of injuries,” Bea adds solemnly. “Thankfully, no one was killed. It’s still a mess. The label is stepping in to help with the cleanup and to support the victims.”
“What about the rest of the tour?” I ask, my tone terse.
“Right now, they aren’t pulling the plug. After the next three shows in Canada, they will reevaluate. They don’t see any point in canceling those shows when they don’t pose as great of a threat.”
I suppose that is accurate. Canada as a whole has accepted designations and packs much more easily than the States. Their equal rights movements were widely successful, while ours face strong opposition at every step.
“With Omen in heat, I’ll have to remain in Boston for a bit. I will take this time to touch in with friends at the FCDA and get their input on the threat level for the shows on the West Coast. Your safety is a priority over your career. Do you understand?”
Bea looks livid. Her eyes alight with outrage at my demand. She can fight as much as her heart desires. I will not budge on this. Reaching career goals can wait until the threat Senator Pierson’s campaign poses has been resolved.
Ridley steps in, shaking his head and placing his hand over her mouth. “I agree with Lex, sunshine, and the label will too. I know it isn’t fair to ask you to step back simply because you’re an omega, but the dangers are a thousand times stronger because of it.” He gets a gooey, lovesick expression on his face as he stares down at her. “We just want you to be safe.”
She melts, curling in on herself as she looks at him. What would it feel like to have her look at me that way? I’m too much of an asshole for it ever to happen. Every look we exchange will always be filled with anger.
With grumbling complaints, she relents. “I will only step back if the threat level is on par with what happened today.”
“Fine,” I agree. I knew she wouldn’t back down without a viable threat. She’s too stubborn to give up now. Not when she’s finally proving herself and earning her way in the music industry.
The image of her on the screen, head held high and a determined look in her eyes, clings to my mind long after we end the call. Nothing makes me harder than seeing her so confident in herself.
Five days of torture and I have to leave. It’s unreal how thick Omen’s perfume fills the suite. Scent suppressant materials are used to build omega nests. They help to contain their pheromones in one room, but her scent is overpowering all of those precautions.
I’ve already checked in with the local doctor, who believes it was a black market drug inducer. This type of drug isn’t regulated by the government and can have severe, potentially deadly side effects. Including amplifying an omega’s scent.
My mind stalls when I realize Bea could have gone into heat while we were on tour. How would I have ever been able to resist the delicious scent of my Fate matched mate in heat if I can barely resist Omen’s wilted scent?
It will be better for us both if I never find out.
Luckily, the hotel has single rooms built between the heat suites for beta heat helpers who aren’t taking part in the sexual aspect. From here, I can monitor anyone who approaches her room without drowning in her scent.
My phone rings with a video call. I pick it up to see Ridley’s face staring at me through the screen. My heart rate settles when I see Bea sitting beside him. They are currently in Quebec, having continued with Primordial Covenant’s tour. After the show tonight, they are off for another five days before the West Coast portion begins. Despite my attempts to convince her otherwise.
I called Creed the day after we booked the heat suite here to ask him to look into threats at all the label’s West Coast stops, but he hadn’t found a viable reason for me to demand the label drop the tour.
“How is she?” Bea asks immediately. The DAU urged us not to tell her Omen’s sudden heat wasn’t natural. We don’t want to amplify her concern and cause her to spiral.
“Still in heat and miserable.”
Bea’s lips purse, her eyes sad. “That sounds like an unassisted heat. How are you managing?”
My chest puffs up hearing the concern in her voice, but I just shrug. There isn’t much I can say about this situation without making her worry.
She rolls her eyes at my non-response but doesn’t press. We stay on the call for another fifteen minutes, all of which are spent with her giving me play-by-plays of all the ways Pack Graves is losing their minds without Omen. The lightness of the conversation steals some of the stress from my body, which I’m sure was her intention from the start.
“We have to head to the venue. Call us if anything changes! I’ll be back in Boston to check on Omen tomorrow!”
I collapse back against the couch, my phone dropping to the cushions when silence fills the room once more. One minute to soak in this feeling, then I need to go check the hall.
Loud rapping on my door lets me know Ridley and Bea have arrived. They drove straight here after dropping their tour bus in Starburgh this afternoon. It’s close to midnight now. Too late for them to be driving after a long trip back from the show. I want to demand Bea come in and take a nap, but the sassy little omega just holds out her hand expectantly.
She disappears a moment later, using the keycard to get into Omen’s room. I wait outside, watching and listening. We can’t hear what they are saying inside, but if she were to scream for help, it would be loud enough to reach us.
Bea is gone for a while. Hopefully, Omen’s heat finally broke.
