Page 3 of Unlikely Omega

Time to leave before they decide I am a threat to them in any way.

The way this discussion is going gives me the chills.

I really hope they won’t start rounding up everyone who is considered a Fae descendant, and if I look like one—which I don’t believe—then I’m in trouble.

A Fae omega.

Ha.

Being omega is rare enough as it is. Omegas, betas, alphas. But they are all considered human, even if they must have Fae-blood in their veins, since their Fae traits are too faint to spot. Meanwhile, other denominations are so rare as to be practically nonexistent. Deltas. Epsilons. Zetas.

So yes, occasionally an omega will awaken and an alpha would be matched to him or her and babies would ensue. Faint remnants of Fae in our blood are the cause, according to the Temple savants.

A Fae reproduction system with knots and heats and perfuming. I know about it because a description of the system can be found in the Book of Cities, the title having little to do with cities, its contents seeming to span all topics, a cross between a history of the world, an almanac and a manual for sexual practices.

I squirmed while reading about it, and I squirm now as I finish up and hurry out of the room, fighting the urge to glance over my shoulder, see if Councilor Kaidan is still gazing at me. If anyone of them is. The description of the practice in the book was quite… detailed. About how an omega starts heating up and sweating sweet perfume, specifically concocted to attract and awaken an alpha, who in his turn will perfume and hone in on the omega, then how the copulation occurs, and how the alpha’s knot is needed to trigger the omega’s fertility.

Whew.

No idea why the thought gets me so hot.

That’s not fitting for an acolyte of the Maiden.

Think pure thoughts, Ari. Think of the altar and the burning incense, think of the glaring statue of the goddess, think of how tired your limbs are after the rituals, how heavy the blades in your hands.

Holy and sacred Artume help me.

I hurry down the corridors of the fort, passing outside the grand hall and the dining hall. Note that I’m hurrying, not fleeing. The banging of my heart in my chest means nothing.

The thickening sense of dread crushing me lately either.

I don’t know what’s happening to me. I suppose… for a long while, I believed that this is my place, that I’d find my purpose, my calling, that I’d feel the goddess and everything would fall into place. I’d understand why my mother gave me to the Temple, why she thought I’d be suited to this life, why my half-remembered dreams seem to belong to someone else’s life, outside this fort, outside these walls.

Outside the Temple and its strictures.

That’s madness, Ari, and you know it. You just need to work harder on your meditation and the rituals, work the physical needs out of your system. You’ll be a priestess one day. Maybe that’s why Artume isn’t speaking to you. You’re still too grounded in the outside world.

But how do you uproot yourself completely?

And why, a little voice whispers in my head, would you want to?

I should want to uproot myself. Truth is, I don’t have any roots. My mother never visited after dropping me off here at the age of five and I have no idea who my father is. Never met any grandparents, uncles or aunts or cousins.

I’m uprooted by definition. My name was changed when I entered the Temple. I used to be called Zera, I recall, but Ariadne is one of goddess Artume’s names, and it’s common for acolytes to receive one of those.

Can you be any more reborn than this?

And can I be any more of a normal girl as an initiate, destined to serve the gods? What do my dreams matter? As long as no god is speaking through them, what use are they?

What use is any of this?

My hands are clenched into fists as I march through the fort, calm and peace be damned. If I don’t manage that much, what good am I for anything? This is the path chosen for me, and if I fall off it, then I’ll crash and burn.

I itch to dance, go through the motions of the ritual, so familiar and comforting, grip the bone handles of the sacred sickle blades in my hands, and then kneel before my goddess and ask.

For guidance.

For forgiveness.

---