Page 3 of Into the Fire: Before

“Indisposed,” I answered, leaning on the doorframe and crossing my arms. “Who asks?”

The man bristled and his nostrils flared just barely, as though he were trying to fight it. “Caine Arceneaux. Your landlord.”

Well. Whoops. A slight flush rose to my cheeks, but I didn’t change my posture. We’d had our fair share of landlords. Usually older guys, usually betas, varying levels of hygiene, varying levels of skeeze. They’d never been six and a half feet of muscled alpha.

Affecting an air of nonchalance, I shrugged with one shoulder. “I’m Taryn, Brea’s partner.”

Caine’s nostrils flared wider this time, and his eyes snapped to my neck then, likely taking in the faint scar of a bonding bite. I fought the urge to cover it with my hand. Normally I was proud to display my bonding mark. I wanted everyone to know I’d found my alpha, had been claimed by her, that she’d chosen me and I’d chosen her. But Caine’s glower turned my stomach as he gestured to the papers in his hand and said, “There’s no mention of an omega on the application.”

Typical alpha male bullshit. I scoffed, rolling my eyes and preparing to shut the door between us, landlord or not. “And at whatever point we’re legally obligated to disclose our designation or bond status on a lease application, we’ll do so.”

He had the sense to look to his feet.

Fucking good.

The world had come a long way in the last few decades. Somewhere between my grandmother’s presenting and my mother’s, a cry for omega equality rose up from the people.Repeal the Protect Omegas in Society Act(that forbade omegas to enter public spaces without a male escort)!Abolish the Department of Omega Affairs(whose purpose was to prosecute omegas who broke oppressive laws, then sentence them to forced bonds)!Outlaw matchmakers and Omega Balls(human trafficking with a PR team)!

Craziest part? They’d actually succeeded on all fronts. Plus, they’d managed to enshrine stricter punishments for forced bonding,andfunded research for safer and more reliable supplements to manage alpha and omega biology. Heat control and rut suppressants, scent blockers, even instinct dampeners, which aimed to protect omegas from alpha barks. All in an effort to break down the strict lines between designations. Our hormones and instincts no longer held us captive.

Of course, there were still some who preferred the old way, when alphas were in charge and the rest of us had no say in the matter—or any matter.

What did Caine believe?

He chewed the inside of his cheek. “Was just surprised.”

I nodded once. “So, Mr. Arceneaux, what can I help you with?”

He didn’t meet my eye as he raised the packet of papers in his hands. “The signature on the deposit check is smudged,” he said in a gravelly voice. “Need a new one.”

We stood there another moment before he added, “May I come in?” Without a word, I opened the door all the way and gestured for him to join me in the kitchen just inside.

The open floor plan had been one of the reasons we’d fallen in love with Amethyst Commons. A bright open kitchen that bled into the living area with almost an entire wall of windows that flooded the room with morning light. Exposed brick walls and hardwood floors added warmth to counteract the stainless steel appliances and counters and exposed ductwork.

“Excuse the mess. Moving mayhem.” I pushed some of the odds and ends on the counter to the side so he could set the papers down. “Do you have the original check?”

Caine flipped through the stack of papers in his hand, pulling out Brea’s check and handing it over. I gave it a quick glance, noting that her signature had indeed been smudged. I folded it and stuck it in my pocket as I moved toward the drawer in the kitchen where I knew Brea had stashed our checkbook.

Let him think whatever antiquated thoughts he wanted. We were safe here. And, if he pulled any bullshit now that he knew we were two bonded women, or that I was an omega, we’d report his ass to the Department of Designation Services for discrimination.

I wrote out and signed another check, handing it over. “Anything else?”

He gave a sharp shake of his head.

“Awesome,” I said. “Well I have an appointment, so—”

He was already stepping through the door before I even finished kicking him out. He could read a room, at fucking least.

Thirty-two

Brea

Downtownwasgoldenwithafternoon sunlight. Idyllic, to the point it seemed almost too beautiful to exist in reality, like some combination of a Dali painting and a TV set.

I walked along the sidewalk, passing by high-end boutiques, a used book store, a few restaurants, an old theater that predated every other business in a two-mile radius. Wine bars, pubs, an arcade. Candy shop. Daiquiri shop. Bike shop.

Some of the storefronts were dark, their signs flipped toClosed,simply showing glimpses of what lay inside. Musical instruments displayed on black velvet in one, antique furniture in another. Two blocks away, there was a neighborhood market and bank. Park, post office, corner shop, gym.

Everything we needed within walking distance. Which was extra important, considering we’d sold our single rundown car to save up for the latest move. At least public transit was green and cheap.

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