Page 2 of Knot Alone

That’s why I’m letting a statuesque woman greet me in the waiting room and guide me up the elevator into her office. The space is a blend of therapist and doctor, not unlike the woman in her soft gray suit. The office is bland, with easily cleanable chairs, plants in the corner, and pale green on the walls. Part of me wants to ask what cleaning products they use because even I can barely scent the lingering trace of other Alphas.

“Welcome to the Downtown Omega Center, Mr. Lockridge. Please take a seat. Can I get you anything to drink before we start?”

I shake my head and settle into the sleek chair opposite her heavy desk.

“Excellent.” Based on the lack of sub-sex scent or blocker odor, my caseworker is a Beta. They tend to be good at handling belligerent Alphas. The red-headed woman sits down and places her hands flat on the desk. I wonder how many Alphas she’s dealt with who need the deliberately unaggressive stance.

“I am Iris. Today, you and I will go over all the paperwork you’ve filled out and verify you’ve completed everything. Then I’ll answer any questions you might have and get your signature. Is that acceptable?”

Not in the slightest, but I promised to make a good-faith effort, so that’s what I’m going to do. “It does.”

“Wonderful.”

Iris pulls a stack of tightly lined legalese from her desk. She recites the highlights with the perfect cadence of someone who’s done this a hundred times before. “This contract states you understand and agree that the primary purpose of the Omega Center is the care and protection of our Omega patients. Also, you understand we prioritize finding a suitable and agreeable match for the Omega patient, not finding a match for our Alpha and Beta clients. If you need such priority treatment, I can direct you to Alpha Centers that focus on ruts.”

Iris doesn’t mention the other ‘Omega’ Centers that are less about Omegas and more about Alphas paying exorbitant amounts of money to get their dicks wet. (As repugnant as I find those places, Graham knew several Omegas in college who paid tuition by spending their heats with Alphas barely worth the name.) This Center focuses on finding the right match for an Omega patient, with no promise to the Alpha client. Here, Alphas pay a monthly fee to stay on the Center’s rolls and to keep our information up to date. But that’s no guarantee we’ll have access to an Omega, and it shouldn’t be. I nod in agreement.

“Further, the contract states that you understand we require continued payment to keep you on our registry. I see here that you’ve elected an annual invoice, meaning you will remain in our registry for a year.” I bite back the urge to roll my eyes and agree again. My mother set up the appointment, so I assume the payment came from the account my parents set aside for a future second wedding to someone acceptable.

“Despite your payment, there are rules you need to follow to remain eligible for selection by an Omega. If you violate one of these rules, we will either remove you from consideration—with no refund—or put you on suspension until we decide you are eligible to return.” Iris continues to explain in legalese that some policy violations could get me banned from every kind of Omega Center.

I agree with no problem. I saw one of my law school classmates get blacklisted. Almost a decade later and the asshole’s parents still paid an arm and a leg for a professional Omega to service his ruts. The Omega came with her bonded Alpha, a man who did MMA fighting for fun. Therapy and jail time would’ve been more effective and less expensive.

“First, any Omega who selects you for their heat will provide a list of soft and hard limits. When the time comes, I will go over these limits with you. If you ignore these limits in any way that the Omega, the monitor, or I find unacceptable, we will suspend you pending review. If we determine your violation was willful, we will remove you from our rolls. Do you accept and understand these rules as I have read them to you?”

“Yes.” I nod.

Iris twists around the paper and gestures her pen to a box near the bottom. “Please initial here to verify that you have accepted and understood.”

I do. Under normal circumstances, I would read through the paperwork rather than rely on her summary. But the Center makes the contract available online for review to speed up meetings just like this one. (Still, I give a quick scan to make sure everything matches.)

“Second.” She twists the paper back around to face her, even though she hasn’t looked at it since we began. “Be aware that the medical staff must pre-approve bonding and we must assign a bonding-appropriate room. Without this medical pre-approval, we do not permit bonding within our facility.” Iris warns me that the Center will meet any unapproved bonding with a bond-inhibiting drug, possible suspension, and probably the police. I initial again.

“Finally, we require a complete medical screening within 24 hours before sharing a heat. This includes a urinalysis test to verify any narcotics in your system, hormone tests to verify you are not in the preparatory stages of a rut, and an STD panel. Our medical personnel reserve the right to perform other examinations according to their best judgment. You have the right to refuse these other examinations. However, if you refuse or fail any of the tests, we will place you on probation from the rolls and disqualify you from the pending heat. Do you accept and understand?”

“Yes.” Another initial.

“Now, Mr. Lockridge, do you understand these rules and regulations as I have read them to you?”

“I do.”

“Do you have any questions?”

“I don’t.”

“Excellent.” I give Iris a final signature. She signs the line beneath mine and pulls a notary stamp from her desk. At that, she tucks the document away and takes out a tablet. With it, she brings a new personality.

“It’s always nice to go over the paperwork with people who’ve done their research beforehand.” Iris smiles in commiseration, and everything about her softens. I elect not to tell her that I figured out years ago that people aren’t my strong suit. I make my junior associate bear the burden of explaining document intricacies. The clients don’t seem to mind since I’m excellent at the blunt negotiation parts of my job and that’s what makes them money. But still, I nod like I get it.

Iris scrolls through the information on the tablet. “I have confirmation here that you’ve already completed and verified our preferences questionnaire.”

A charmingly oblique thing to call the 10-page list of questions I’d been through. The paperwork started with my preferred pronouns and narrowed to a three-page list of kinks I had to rank on a scale from 1 to 5. (That had taken some Googling. I was so embarrassed by my ISP knowing I’d looked up ‘felching’ that I asked Graham. He’d laughed and called me a prude before he took my laptop and answered everything on my behalf.)

“Would you like any clarifications about anything on the questionnaire?”

“No.” I snap and try not to blush. Iris purses her lips to keep from smiling, which doesn’t help my mortification.

“Good.” Iris smooths her expression like the professional she is. “As I’m sure you remember from the form, once we have your final approval, we will put your results into our system and use them to suggest matches. As a reminder, we are matching you with an Omega in need. We are not matching an Omega with you.”

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