Page 67 of Broken Omega

Eventually, it’ll fade. Either that, or I’ll end up sketching it out and using the memory to recreate some of the more gruesome details into an SFX wound for fun. It’s probably not considered a typically healthy way to deal with that kind of trauma, but considering every day at the academy gets me closer to being married off to a man I don’t like, much less love, I have a right to decide if I want to express myself by creating gory effects based on real murders.

Hell, I’ll probably go insane if I don’t keep up my hobby.

It’s practically the only thing I have left that’s mine.

I watch the side entrance as the rest of the Omegas in the building are evacuated.

A couple dozen girls didn’t attend tonight’s party.

The usual suspects are in attendance, the ones who don’t go to any of the socials.

The smart girls, the creative ones.

They don’t want Alphas.

I don’t, either.

When I look over at the spot where the ambulance was parked, bitter regret washes over me. The missed opportunity hangs in the air like the last notes of my slowly fading perfume.

I could have escaped Goldcrest.

My chance came and went, and I just let it slip away.

Along with the first men I’ve been seriously attracted to in forever.

I don’t belong here. I never did.

I was never meant for an Alpha mate.

I don’t know if I’m meant for two hot Betas, either, but I’d definitely like to find out.

BROOKE

My perfume has faded away to nothing by the time the guards let everyone back into the building. I avoid the side entrance, going for the back door and letting out a sigh of relief when it opens. If I thought there was a killer running around, I might be freaked at how lax security is around here. As it is, I’m relieved I can sneak back to my room without having to pass everyone else.

Call me paranoid, but I’d rather avoid getting too close to Alphas on the night my perfume decided it was time to finally show up. It might be gone now, but who knows when it could come back? That’s not always predictable.

Slipping out of my heels, I step into the dark corridor. The carpet underfoot is thick and warm, and so much easier to walk on without the stilettos. I move quickly toward the corridor that leads into the main section of living quarters. Anyone else headed back to their rooms will be coming from the opposite direction because they came in the side door to the building.

Sneaking along the empty corridors gives me a tiny thrill that reminds me of the many minor exploits I had with Zelena in high school. Ditching class, writing on the bathroom walls, smoking in the lecture hall. Small acts of defiance that made me feel free even if I knew the opposite was true.

I can’t help the rush of adrenaline that surges through me when I make it to my suite door without crossing paths with anyone else. The hint of cherry sweetness that hits my nostrils as I take out my key is faint but unmistakable, just like it was before.

A couple of slow, measured breaths do almost nothing to calm me down. I shiver lightly and push the key into the lock with a shaky hand. My perfume stays faint, but it isn’t fading.

I hope to hell that’s not going to keep happening.

The low sound of voices headed my way pushes me to unlock the door and get inside the suite before anyone finds out about my perfume. Omegas know what it is when they smell it. We’re more sensitive than everyone else. There’s no way another Omega wouldn’t notice.

Lucky for me, my scent is faint enough not to linger on the air without my presence.

I realize that after I slip into my suite and close the door quietly.

The voices out in the hall get loud enough to hear as the Omegas walking together pass by.

“I can’t believe Frank Palmer was here,” a vaguely recognizable voice murmurs.

I can picture her face, but I can’t remember her name. She needs glasses but refuses to wear them, so she’s almost always squinting. I think she has a name that ends in an A. Jenna? Carla?

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