Page 5 of Unlikely Omega

“Goddess,” I whisper. “You scared the shit out of me.”

He gazes impassively at me, though I think I detect a hint of distaste in the downturn of his lips. His head is covered in a black hood. A wisp of white hair escapes the hood, clinging to his neck, and I find myself staring at it, strangely fascinated.

“I said it’s late for individual prayer, acolyte. The divine circle must be prepared for the evening mass.”

That’s when I realize that his eyes are white, like his hair, though his face isn’t lined. Such a weird coloring. A thin, displeased face. Under his robes, I can make out a long, lank body. But the eyes…

“You’re blind,” I blurt out, shocked by the realization. I hadn’t noticed it before.

He goes still. Blinks. Even his lashes are white. His brows are icy dashes over his eyes. “Irrelevant. Go, acolyte before I punish you.”

“I only wanted to pray to my goddess,” I protest. “Surely, I have such a right. Before you arrived, we were allowed to do so any time of the day.”

“Rules have been lax here,” he grinds out. “Acolyte—”

“I have a name,” I snap. “I’m Ariadne. What’s yours?” I may know it, but I want him to offer it to me.

His mouth presses into a hard line. He swallows. Then he says, “You will sweep the Green Patio and the High Priestess of Losna’s apartment, then recite twenty times the Prayer of Dawn outside the Temple.”

“Oh, come on.” I gape at him. “I didn’t mean anything, I just—”

“Go before I add more to the list for insubordination and rudeness.”

Keeping a curse between my teeth, turning away before my glare sets him on fire, I march away.

Damn him. So young and yet so annoying. Maybe he’s bitter about being blind. Mentioning it wasn’t one of my finest moves. He’s so… stiff and dry, like old wood. As if he’s decades older than he looks.

“Soon your attitude will mark your body,” I mutter as I go looking for a broom, “and you’ll look the age you feel, Priest Finnen.”

I don’t even know what god or goddess he belongs to, but strangely, when I do glance back over my shoulder this time, as if compelled, I find him standing in front of the unnamed god’s statue, and a frisson skitters down my spine.

What is it about this blind, annoying priest that makes me stare? He’s not handsome. Or nice. He’s plain weird, but also condescending and… and a pain in the ass. Who does he think he is, not allowing me time to pray, dishing out punishment? Abuse of power, that’s what this is. When I become priestess, I’ll show him.

I stop in my tracks, hearing my own thoughts.

What in the world, Ari?

Then again, I’m Artume’s acolyte. She once famously killed a man for having caught a glimpse of her taking a bath naked in the woods. Not a forgiving goddess, by any measure.

So why should I be any different? And above all… why should the thought of the priest—this priest whom I don’t even find attractive—seeing me naked make me shiver for a different reason?

With another muttered curse, this time at myself and my strange waking desires, I stalk away to do my penance.

I think about the conversation in the Council room as I sweep and sweep, as the light starts to fade in the sky, the trees surrounding the fort giving off a strong blossom scent—stronger than ever and it makes me want to sneeze but I keep sweeping, determined to finish the patio before night falls and I am forced to clean the High Priestess’s apartment in trembling candlelight.

The books say that there is power in the joining of omegas and alphas, though they don’t explain how or why. They say that Fae omegas founded clans—a strange choice of words. Clans are groups of dragons, in old stories.

History hints at the extermination of the Fae, and later of any surfacing omegas, betas and alphas because they retain Fae traits, a practice that isn’t applied anymore.

Is this what got everyone up in arms? Did an omega emerge with actual Fae traits? Pointy ears, perhaps, or magic?

An empire needs control. And there’s an ever-present fear, it seems, that omegas may beget power aside from babies.

Beware the powerful Womb.

But maybe it’s the babies they are more afraid of. More Fae. New Fae. The Fae returning.

“You forgot how cruel they are. How bloodthirsty. What they did to us.”

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