Page 87 of Reckless Consequences

The scent of Aria’s omega pheromones—something like sun-warmed citrus with creamy vanilla notes that remind me of orange creamsicles—hits me differently now. The sweetness blooms across my tongue and travels down my throat, warming my chest in a way I couldn’t have noticed before.

Since the virus changed me, I perceive designation scents more intensely. Omegas carry warmth with complexity beneath, while alphas project their dominant notes first with subtler layers hidden underneath.

It’s not just recognizing scents anymore; it’s a full-body experience that makes me understand why omegas and alphas react so strongly to each other.

I used to enter every room checking exits, tracking power sources, planning escape. Now I find myself checking for coffee, for pack scent, for home.

“They’ll be here any minute,” I tell Mona, confiscating the tablet she brought todocument socialization variables.“Please try to act like a person who’s seen humans interact before.”

“I’ve observed extensive human interaction,” she says, reaching for a candy from her pocket. “Approximately twenty-seven years of detailed observation.”

“Observing isn’t the same as participating,” I mutter.

My head throbs suddenly—a sharp, electric pain that radiates from my temple down my neck, sending pins and needles through my jaw and into my fingertips. I press my fingers against the spot, noting each symptom while my body reacts differently than before—breathing shallows, pupils dilate, and I have to bite back a soft whine that rises in my throat. These episodes have been coming more frequently as my body settles into its new configuration, everything rewiring itself while I’m still using it.

I used to think strength meant standing apart. Now I think it means staying. Even when it hurts.

Even from here, I can feel them—our bond stretched thin but strong, creating sensations I’m still learning to name.

Ryker feels like a weight at the base of my spine, a mountain holding firm against any storm.

Jinx, restless and wild, feels like lightning across my skin, raising fine hairs along my arms.

Theo’s warmth wraps around me like a familiar melody, softening the edges of pain, pressing gently against my chest with each breath.

And Finn... Finn creates patterns I can almost see, an ordered hum beneath my ribs, a vibration that matches my heartbeat.

These sensations should trigger my instinct to pull away—this presence of others in my physical awareness—but instead, my changed body leans into it like a parched plant finally reaching water.

Since the formula changed him, his presence in our bond has sharpened—more vivid, more immediate, as if whatever rewrote him also amplified his connection to us.

As if summoned by thoughts of food, Willow pushes through the door with her arms full of takeout containers. “I brought those spicy empanadas you—” She freezes mid-sentence, her eyes landing on Mona.

For a long moment, no one moves. Then Mona stands, head tilted like she’s examining a particularly interesting specimen.

“Beta designation,” she announces, eyes narrowing as she studies Willow. “Excellent posture indicating probable dance training. Pupillary response suggesting?—”

“You must be Mona,” Willow interrupts, setting down her food with remarkable calm. “The omega who sabotaged Sterling Industries from the inside using advanced mathematics and candy.”

I brace for disaster, but to my surprise, a tiny smile pulls at Mona’s lips.

“Most people find that explanation reductive,” she says.

“Most people are idiots,” Willow replies, her beta directness cutting through omega social protocols.

And just like that, they’re talking encryption protocols and security systems like old friends, while I stand there wondering if I’ve slipped into an alternate dimension.

The door bursts open again and Ginger explodes into the room, trailing color and chaos like a human confetti cannon. The vibrant notes of her scent hit me immediately—honey and wildflowers with an unexpected hint of cinnamon that matches her personality perfectly. The sweetness has layers I couldn’t detect before, adding warmth to the already overwhelming room.

“Sorry I’m late!” she announces, juggling shopping bags. “The bakery had these amazing little—” She stops short, spotting Mona, and her entire face lights up. “Oh my god, you’re here!”

Before anyone can react, she drops her bags and envelops my sister in a hug. Mona goes rigid, her arms pinned to her sides, eyes wide with something between scientific fascination and abject terror.

“Physical contact initiating oxytocin release,” she mumbles, shooting me a desperate look. “Assistance requested.”

“Ginger,” I intervene, “Mona isn’t big on surprise hugs.”

“Oh!” Ginger jumps back immediately. “I’m so sorry! I get excited meeting new people.”

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