Page 9 of Seraphina (Castle Omega)

“Hey, you coming with me on Friday?” she asks, pausing at the kitchen door. She’s planning to attend the inaugural gala at the castle, an event meant to facilitate interactions between omegas, gammas, and alphas without the usual awkwardness.

“Why are we even going?” I ask, sipping my mocha latte. “There are better ways to spend a Friday night, like watching the latestAlpha Pack Bachelorshow.”

Violet scrunches up her nose. “I want to see what’s out there, you know, alpha-wise.” Now that Violet knows match she can transition with the right scent, her interest in all things omega has tripled. I don’t blame her curiosity, I just wish she used more caution. Unlike her, I was born an omega and have seen firsthand how it broke my sister. I want no part of it.

“I don’t want to go alone,” she implores with puppy dog eyes.

As the doorbell jingles again, signaling another customer, I relent. “Fine, but I’m not dressing up.”

“You can wear your work clothes for all I care. I’m just happy you’ll be there,” Violet says, her smile genuine.

Despite my reluctance, the gala intrigues a small part of me. Maybe it won’t be as bad as I fear, and there’s always the chance I’ll run into Maximillian Harrington again.

Oh boy, what am I getting myself into?

CHAPTER 3

Seraphina

Most omegasin the castle sanctuary pour their hearts and creativity into meticulously planning their bonding ceremonies. Dorm room shelves are full of scrapbooks filled with fabric swatches, carefully selected color palettes, and dream dresses. Each page is a canvas of hope and aspiration, destined for the inevitable news broadcast covering our ceremonies.

Not the biting and knotting portion, just the dedication to each other that is more formal than necessary. I guess ever one wants in on the gossip because omegas make up a small portion of our society.

Some omegas take it even further, not just selecting one dress, but multiple. I don’t know why. I’ve just never been that bitch. I don’t need a different dress for every hour.

For me, the process was an entire class, an eight-year endeavor I had to endure during my time there, and I just barely managed to pass that class. Not that they would ever fail me, that would be unheard of, but the idea is that any future pack considering me would receive my neatly packed assortment of grades and that darn scrapbook.

Why, you ask? Well, it’s so my future pack could go on a shopping spree, buying all the materials listed in that scrapbook. Mine probably won’t surprise anyone who knows me—it’s full of cats.

As my keys jingle in the door to my apartment, I hear the first of my four babies, Minnow, calling for me to feed him. He’s the youngest and most vocal of them all. He also has separation anxiety, so the eight hours I’m at the bakery is a very long time for him.

As the door creaks open, his little orange head peeks through to stare up at me, and he releases the sweetest little meow just before he climbs up my leg with his devilish claws until I grab hold of him. He’s like a little baby, clawing my neck and digging in to settle in. He’ll stay like this for the rest of the night.

Kicking the door closed, I toss my keys down and snuggle into his fur as his purring soothes me.

Will I ever admit that his little purr only soothes me because it reminds me of an alpha? No, and I’ll die on that hill. Minnow doesn’t talk back, and it doesn’t count in meows. He also doesn’t bark at me and tell me what to do with my life, his loyalty to me is unending.

I flip on the lights in my studio apartment above the bakery, and another little head peeks around the corner where the pantry is. Tuna stares at me as though I’m the one intruding in her space before she lets out an indignant yowl. Tuna and Minnow are the best of friends, just like Violet and me, and their antics never fail to brighten up my day.

“I know what you’re up to, kitty, so don’t you talk back to me,” I sass as I step into the kitchen. Sure enough, the bag of treats she tried to chew open is on the floor. She sits beside the bag, licking her white and gray fur as though she doesn’t have a care in the world. Tuna has the personality of a pampered princess, and when she doesn’t get what she wants, she takes it.

Shaking my head, I set Minnow on the island, reach for the treats, and shake the bag. Only Minnow and Tuna will come out for them. Finley is a scaredy cat, and Sushi is far too pretentious to come when called. Oh no, I’ll have to bring it to her. Tossing treats to each, I shrug off my coat and throw it on my little couch.

My entire apartment is pretty much one room with a loft that overlooks the living space, which isn’t that large. The apartment used to belong to Sawyer. While I took this apartment, Vee took the one across the hall, only after Sawyer’s mates beefed up security and rebuilt the deathtrap staircase leading to the apartments.

I mounted a large television on the left wall, and my little seating area sits opposite it. There’s a bathroom to the right and a small table outside of it. Steps lead up to the loft area above, right beside the closet at the entryway. Sawyer said she rarely ever used it because the steps were too steep. I don’t mind it, not really, and honestly, I like how the entire place is set up. I almost wish I took the apartment across the hall, but that one had no scents to it, and Vee needed that more than I did.

As I take the steep steps to the loft, I see green eyes peering at me. Sushi lounges on my bed. I toss her a treat that she looks at with displeasure before she sneers at it. She won’t eat it until I turn away, but that’s fine by me because this bra needs to go.

Knowing Finley, my tuxedo kitty, will come out when it suits him, I fling the treats on the bed and plop down on the mattress.

This is my little nest. It really isn’t much, but it’s all mine—not the castle’s or one a pack made for me. Mine.

The queen-sized bed had to be lifted over the railing, but that’s just fine because Sawyer made her mates do it for me. The frame sits low to the ground, and only the mattress lies on top. The bed itself is about the same height as a couch, which is perfect for my short stature, but my favorite parts are the colors and blankets.

Behind the bed are gauzy curtains in white and gray that span the length of the small room. At the head of the bed, I have six normal pillows with cream-colored pillowcases. The sheets are the same color in a soft, silky fabric, but it isn’t silk because, well, fuck silk. I have no idea why I hate it so much, only that I do.

My favorite pieces are the dozens of white and sage green pillows scattered everywhere and matching fuzzy blankets that spill across the bed onto the floor. I’m a slut for blankets, but then again, I can’t name an omega who isn’t a slut for blankets. I even have a cream heated blanket that is quite literally the best invention I have ever experienced in the entirety of this world. No lie. It’s a gift to all of us, and I think every single person alive should have a heated blanket.

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