Page 53 of Wild Omega

Well, except one of my arms flaps like the little fluffy-headed plant underfoot with its puff dangling on a broken stem.

Chapter twenty-two

Callisto

I stare at my Jacob & Co. gold watch, but the slender hands don’t move any faster. No amount of willpower can speed this trial along. No matter what’s going on in my life, I’ve always been able to focus in the courtroom. Hell, even when Dad passed away, I was here eight hours later, chalking up my fortieth win.

But today I’m a mess, and all because the omega’s scent lingers on my collar. It even feels like her eyes still bore into me, but when I turn to examine the courtroom, I don’t recognize anyone.

“Counselor Wren?” Judge Ramandy’s voice cuts through the chaos of my thoughts and I flinch.

“Yes, Your Honor?”

His mouth twists grimly. “Your witness is ready. I assume you have questions?”

Damn, this is dangerous. I’m here to win, so I can’t let my mind wander even for a moment. I straighten my suit jacket and pick up my outline, glancing down to check for a name. “Of course.”

Another company inheritance dispute where a distant family member is suing for a portion of the company, despite never having set foot in the office. Pulling my mind into gear, I go on the offense to make the point this nobody never contributed to the business, and then work my way through layers of evidence that he didn’t have a good relationship with the deceased CEO. Nothing is left to chance to prove the applicant is unsuited, unworthy, and uninformed.

Although I majored in criminal law and did quite a few of my junior years mired in domestic violence and omega crimes cases, Harkman and Laurance Legal tend toward corporate law, sending me down a different path. It’s a little strange that they’ve accepted the deal with the OCB, but with my experience, I am the best-suited local candidate to take them on. It’s just the chance I need to prove myself.

When the judge takes a recess to deliberate, I grab a sandwich and an iced coffee from the supermarket across the road. I watch the cars crawl past, heading in the direction the omega, Red, would have taken. Should I call Rickon to check she made it to the cafe?

I pluck my phone out of my pocket as I stuff the last corner of my sandwich in my mouth, my finger hovering over the screen. What do I say? Hey, Ricky, did my scent-match omega reach you?

I groan and slump against the streetlamp pole.

One-handed, I typescent matchinginto the Alphanet and scroll to the Alphapedia entry.

Scent matching is a biological process whereby omegas recognize and react to alphas who are in some otherwise undetectable way a suitable pack partner. It is also regarded as indicating a “soulmate.”

Soulmate seems like such an ambiguous term. What does that even mean? Like, does part of our soul shear off at birth and lodge somewhere else? I snort to myself and keep reading.

Scent-matched packs have the highest levels of reported happiness, sexual compatibility, and length of relationships. According to the most recent data from AlphaNow’s ongoing 120-year survey, they also have increased life expectancy of an additional eight years for both males and females.

If only that were true for my dad. That’s the problem with statistics—some poor guy gets stuck at the graphs’ bottom end with his life cut short. To be fair, pretty sure his heart attack had nothing to do with his omega. Mom and Dad were mad about each other.

What determines a scent match is still unknown to science. However, an omega’s olfactory receptors recognize the alpha’s scent and a chemical response in the brain is triggered, resulting in dopamine and heightened sexual responses. Alphas can rarely identify a scent match by their odor; however more frequently they describe it as a ‘gut feeling’ or protective instinct, a phenomenon equally as mystical as the pack bond.

Betas do not display either facet of a scent match, although in a few rare cases betas have described the sensation of discovering an overwhelmingly attractive scent. However, ninety percent of these cases go on to switch to omega designation within the following twenty-four months.

I close the article and tap my phone against my chin. As much as I want to deny it, I did feel something when I looked up into Red’s eyes. But why does our society put so much stock in a concept even science can’t explain? Apparently scent matches are wired for each other, but how and why? The evidence isn’t concrete. Can I upend my whole life for something that might be a myth?

I’m not the type of person to regret things, but an uncomfortable pang in my stomach says I might miss out on something special. The feeling simmers down as I head back into the courtroom in time for the judge’s verdict, catching my ninety-second win.

It can’t hurt to ring Rickon and just check on him, right? I did tell the woman I’d call to confirm she found him. Probably should have gotten her phone number.

If only I weren’t so distracted.

After congratulating my client and collecting my things, I hit Ricky’s name in my favorite contacts. A strange, buzzing sensation rises in my throat as the line rings and rings, and then clicks over to voicemail. I disconnect quickly. No one’s got time to wait around for recorded messages.

He made it to the cafe, didn’t he? What if the omega got left there alone, sitting by herself?

The phone buzzes in my palm and I glance down to see Hale’s name. “Hale, how’s things?”

“I’m calling to see if you’ve finished in court? If not, I’ll push back your meeting with Lyle and Quinton.”

“No, I just finished. What time’s our meeting?”

---