Page 66 of Knot Your Average Beta

She swallows thickly, then says, “I don’t know.” Swift growls. But she rushes to continue. “I don’t! There was an add posting that said I could make some quick money for just donating my kid’s blood. I was desperate. I needed some cash. And-and whatever they found in her blood, they liked. Offered me more money to keep bringing her back.”

I frown, shifting forward, knuckles white where my fingers grip the edge of the table? “You never thought to ask? To press for answers about what they were doing to me?”

She shakes her head. “You were fine! Perfectly healthy. I’m sure you don’t remember this, but after the first few sessions, I took you to a different doctor to have them check you out to make sure it wasn’t hurting you. They told me everything was normal.”

Swift tilts his head. “I’m not sure I believe you.” The knife presses into her cheek, blood wells around it as my mother wails. “You must have had some idea.”

She lets out a shuddering breath. “I don’t know. I-I suspect.”

“Suspect what?”

Her frantic eyes meet mine. “I think they were trying to turn her into an omega.”

“What makes you say that?”

My mother’s jaw clenches and Swift swipes his knife across her other cheek. “Ow, fuck! Okay. Sometimes, her scent would… waffle. Especially after she turned sixteen. But it never fully emerged.”

I frown, trying to think back. Did my scent switch back and forth between cucumber and mint and cherry pie? Why don’t I remember that? But then… I’d been so freaking depressed, wrapped up in my inability to do anything because they lied to me and told me I was sick, dying.

But… I think about the blood transfusions. Maybe they had some unsuspecting omega hooked up to a blood bag, just like they had with me. Maybe she was drained repeatedly, and they put her blood into my veins, hoping to figure out how to make omegas.

God, the thought makes me sick.

But what makes me even sicker?

If I’m supposed to be a beta, and whatever Dr. Schwab did to me turned me into an omega… does that mean this pack, the one I thought was my scent match, is actually theirs? This faceless, nameless omega that I feel a kinship with should be here. With the Falcone pack. They should have Luca’s bite on their neck and Swift’s obsessively adoring gaze on their face.

This pack isn’t mine.

And it’s fucking devastating.

“Sadie,” my mother says, drawing my attention back to her. “If you presented as an omega, you should go talk to Dr. Schwab. It means whatever he did to you, it worked! You could be the answer to the omega crisis!”

I stare at her for a moment, not entirely sure I heard her correctly. But I definitely did. I laugh, completely humorless and rusty with hurt. “Right. I should go see the man who used me like a lab rat, so you can get another payout. Am I right?”

Swift’s gold eyes narrow on my mother, just before his knife flashes again, slicing over the arch of her eyebrow. She shrieks and tries to arch away from him, but it’s too late. “I’m answering your questions!” She wails. “You said you wouldn’t hurt me if I answered them!”

Swift shrugs. “Never said that. I said I would hurt you if you didn’t answer them. That doesn’t mean I can’t hurt you just for the fuck of it.” He glances over at me. “You okay, Cherrybomb?”

I’m surprisingly okay, actually. I’d thought this would be harder, but then, I guess finding out that your mother let you be tortured by a mad scientist for fucking years for money will change a girl. It fucking hurts. And now I want her to hurt, too.

I nod. “I’m good. Can you have Ethan come down and meet us?”

Swifts by my side in an instant. The knife clatters to the table as he cups my face. “You need to call it?”

I shake my head. “No, I just think he can help us really hurt her.”

My mother lets out a sound that’s half wail, half pleading. We both ignore her. “You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

Swift stays close to me as he pulls out his phone and texts Ethan. A few minutes later, the door opens, and Ethan strolls in, looking as fine as ever in a pair of maroon joggers and a tight black tank top. He pauses just on the other side of the door and takes in the scene.

“You know,” he says casually, sauntering over to me. “I rarely help with this kind of thing, but I’m happy to make an exception for her.”

His hand slides into the hair at the base of my neck and he kisses me slowly, softly. “You okay, heartbreaker?”

My fingers curl around his wrist, keeping him close, right where I need him. “I’m okay.”

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