Page 31 of Wild Omega

“She and I aren’t the same, so don’t talk like we are,” I growl out. That wild omega just possesses me at certain times.

And what would a beta like Dr Woods with a fancy degree know about the extreme conditions of a heat? No shade on betas, but she’s never experienced her insides burning with an overwhelming need so strong it shreds her sanity, let alone being repeatedly fucked and edged by an alpha you simultaneously hate and need.

Dr Woods slides her glasses over her nose. “Do you feel like a separate part of you comes out when you experience heats? The omega nature becomes more demanding and needy during this part of the cycle; it’s nothing to be ashamed of. And if it’s something more than that, you can tell me.”

I sit up straighter. “And why do I need to tell you anything? Are you going to keep me hostage here until I do?”

She shakes her head. “You’re not a hostage, Red. We have a responsibility for your wellbeing, and we take it seriously. We’re not like the place you came from.”

A scoff vibrates through me. “So you say, but from where I’m sitting, you’re both sticking needles in me. The only difference is you folks talk a heck of a lot more. I think we’re done here.” I curl my foot onto the coffee table and shove the tablet across with my toes. “Here, I’ve finished with your little personality survey.”

Dr Woods reaches out to rescue the stylus pen before it rolls off the table. “Sure, we can finish up here today, but we’ll need to keep having these little chats so we can work through what happened with your heat and formulate a plan for the future.”

I shake my head as I stand up. “That won’t be necessary. My alphas are coming to get me.” I don’t think this omega center is for me, honestly.

She sets the pen down on top of the tablet, and her overly calm manner annoys me. “What makes you so sure of that?”

I tap the side of my head. “Because they said so.” Maybe not in words, but I know they want me, just like I want them.

That should give her something interesting to stew on. All these betas can chew the fat on why I’m talking about voices in my head while I research how to get my first paid acting role. That’s what I really want to do: immerse myself in someone else’s story instead of wallowing in the darkness of my own.

So that’s what I spend the hour doing after my therapy session finishes, starting with researching the famous omega actress, Olivia Hunston. At least this omega hive has unrestricted internet access in its favor, plus read-aloud browser extensions, which I need. According to Alphapedia, Olivia started out with her brother being her manager.

From what I can tell, most managers are freelancers who work closely with an agency the actor signs with, doing everything a personal assistant would do. My heart leaps as I learn about some of the famous relationships where the manager is as well known as the actor and becomes a fashion icon in their own right. Olivia’s brother went on to start his own clothing label.

I come across a look behind the scenes for one of the current predicted big films,Hope at Sea, which includesan article on how the main actress, Lyra Gray, prepares for scenes. My finger stops on the scroll wheel as I hit the pictures where Lyra poses with an upturned face while her manager applies makeup.

My heart tingles a little as I take in the man with platinum blond hair and a focused expression leaning over her. What’d it be like to have a partner you could shop and try out makeup with? Someone who took care of you.

A smile plays across my lips as I catch the glitter of midnight-blue eyeshadow on the outer corner of the manager’s eye. He’s got style and the way he holds himself is damn fine.

I sigh as I stretch out the kinks in my body, leaning way back in the chair. Samantha mentioned a yoga class, so I think I’ll sign up for that to gain back a bit of flexibility. Ommywood sources give high praise online for actors who can do their own stunts, and I’m game to try anything once.

Back in my room, I discover Samantha left her tablet on my side table. A disapproving hum goes off in the back of my head, but I ignore it as I pick it up and tap in a couple of number codes in the same direction I’ve seen her hand move.

Like, I wasn’t really trying to sneak a look, but she wasn’t careful. Elation pings through me as the screen unlocks, but the sensation soon disintegrates.

Stark on the screen sits my digital file, including photos, biometrics, and reports. Gory details from my rescue and notes on my refusal to give a statement. All normal things you’d expect in an omega’s file. The active chat tab, not so much. Written in cold hard blue is Dr Woods’ psychology assessment.

Omega known as Red (O-11) exhibits severe psychosis and critical heat trauma. Deemed dangerous.Not approvedfor release to a pack under current analysis.

The buzzing in my brain gets louder as I drop onto the bed. Not approved? Well, fuck them. I don’t need their approval anyway, and I certainly never asked for it. If I wasn’t sure this place suited me, now I know for sure.

My gaze shifts out my window to the sturdy walls and heightened security. Getting out might be a challenge, but not as difficult as the House of Bitches. Might be the perfect time to learn some stunt skills.

Code name Red Hawk’s ready for a challenge.

Chapter thirteen

Rickon

I skip the red-carpet entrance and slip into Laversham’s Romdine Ballroom via a side door. The press is having a field day with the movie’s big-name actors entering in a well-timed procession, and somewhere out there Lyra beams as she laps up her star status.

In a dress that didn’t come from Sorentito’s.

I should feel like a million bucks decked out in killer pearlescent emerald eyeshadow and a corset vest over a long-sleeve in layers of charcoal-on-black. Instead, I feel drained and lifeless. It’s not like Callisto will see me looking so fine, so maybe I shouldn’t have bothered coming. Especially since Hannah Sorentito might be here. But I need to catch some photos of my boss for her social media pages.

Lyra sweeps into the ballroom on the arm of Bradley, the male lead, looking great but a little plain in a sparkling black sleeveless dress with a high collar. She’s doubled down on a chunky obsidian bracelet. Stylish and safe. I press through the crowd and get my shots, going for volume over perfect positioning.

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