Page 1 of Running on Empty

Chapter1

15 years later.

The minute an alpha pack catches my attention, a countdown starts in my head.

I woke up to the sound of my alarm blaring, reaching for my phone blindly. Tap, tap, tap, there! Gotcha. I grabbed my phone then turned the alarm off without even looking at the damn thing, the movements automatic as I groaned. When I finally did crack my eyes open, I saw it was 2 pm and half the day was gone.

Maybe for most people. Mine was just about to start.

I didn’t want to go to work. I’d revealed as an omega in high school so my bed was my nest. The softest minky blankets I could find and pure cotton sheets that got softer with each wash. Pillows surrounded me, more pillows than any one woman could possibly need, falling against me as I sat up in bed, and singing their siren song. My wolf wanted me to just dive back into their depths, feel the way they’d cradle my body, lull me back to sleep and—

Nope.

Jonesy, my manager at the local pub, would fucking kill me if I was late. It was Friday and the pub would be packed with all the fuckers who could look forward to a long relaxing weekend while I pulled beers and poured shots until my hands ached. I shoved the blankets away and stepped free of my bed.

A quick cold shower had me waking right the fuck up, and when I stepped out, grabbing at my towel and shivering a little, I was glad to dry off and get into my uniform. Skinny jeans that looked like they were sprayed on, because Jonesy liked his girls to look fuckable. Apparently, it helped sell more beer. A tight t-shirt with the pub logo went on over that, the neckline scooped so damn low that there was no need to worry whether I was giving the fellas at the bar a show, because I was, always. But this was all normal shit to me.

I was an omega. Alphas wanted me just for my scent and for the fact I could take their knots and be panting with pleasure, rather than screaming it wouldn’t fit. Betas fetishised me, thinking I was some kind of sex-crazed nympho that would be gagging for their pathetic cocks the minute I went into heat. And other omegas? I didn’t see many of them. But when I did come across one, we’d be like two feral cats meeting in an alley. Lots of hissing and snarling went down, stupid instincts kicking in.

But right now all I was concerned with was one particular group of alphas.

As I waited for the kettle to boil, I scrolled through Howlr, the alpha dating app. I was a popular girl on it, because most women who joined it were betas, looking for a bit of strange. I had a ton of DMs from alphas from across the country offering me all sorts of incentives to see them, but a one way trip to the Outback to visit some pack’s farm was not appealing, neither were the offers of Netflix and chill from alphas closer to home.

At least take me out before we have a four or five person orgy, amirite?

There in my notifications was the message I was looking for. I opened it up and read the Spencer pack’s message. My heart rate picked up even as my wolf started to whine.

Looking forward to seeing you tonight, little omega. Can’t wait to smell your scent as I pull your panties down—

Panties? That word gave me the motherfucking ick. I frowned then, my thumb hovering over the message, ready to delete and block them. My wolf perked up at that idea. That was always going to happen anyway. The timer inside my head had started the moment I’d messaged them back the other day. They didn’t realise they only had a small window to show me a good time and then show me a real dirty one before I blanked them entirely. Tickety tock, my brain went, as I navigated back to the Spencer pack’s profile to remind myself why I was bothering with them.

Oh yeah, that.

All alphas loved to post photos of their ridiculously buff bodies, but that wasn’t what had drawn me to them. On other packs’ profiles there were endless shots of alphas in rural splendour, looking hot as they leaned against their utes, fields spreading out behind them or, damn, alphas that looked like the hottest damn cowboy porn imaginable, but corn-fed boys weren’t what turned me on.

The Spencers looked like bad fucking news, from the tattoos covering their broad chests, bulging biceps and even curling around their necks, but any dickhead could get tattoos. No, it was something else. That flash of devilry in their eyes that promised hot nights and heartache.

Because I was apparently my mother’s child.

Before she died in a drink driving accident with boyfriend #343678 and left me the proud owner of the family home, my mother had managed to drag a parade of the worst specimens of mankind through our door. Hot ones, but still… When I was a teenager I’d sworn I’d never do the same, that the minute a guy laid a fucking hand on me he was outta there.

Words to live by, and I had held to them.

Trouble was, if the word ‘panties’ horrified me, nice guys made my cunt drier than dust. I wanted to like them, wanted someone who’d treat me like a damn human being, not just a designation or, worse, a hole to masturbate in. But a combination of industrial strength daddy issues (never met mine) coupled with mummy issues (she was a terrible parent) meant this little black duck could only get a lady boner for the kinds of boys you didn’t want to meet in dark alleys.

Unless they wanted to fuck me in one, in which case, yes please.

So it was the gleam in the Spencer pack’s eyes that had me tapping out a message, telling them when I got off work and where to pick me up from, spelling out that I wanted to be shown a good time before I got up close and personal with their Mr Happys. I nodded once the message had gone through. The bossy approach was usually a good way to sort the goats from the sheep. If they came back hard with all that OTT alpha bullshit, I was out. Hard pass for me.

And if they didn’t?

I smiled to myself as the kettle started to whistle, poured a travel mug of black coffee and then grabbed my shit to get going.

“Woof!”

That was the only warning I got that the bloody mutt next door had caught sight of me.

“Ollie…” I said, throwing up my empty hand as a German Shepherd came bounding towards the fence that separated my place from the Kelly’s. “Ollie, no!”

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