Page 2 of The Rejected Omega

“What about Cassandra? You didn’t cut her off after a month like all the others.”

He’d shrugged.“Just a fling. She knows I only do casual with betas.”

A slice of headlights as a car pulls up to the clearing draws my attention, but my heart falls when I see it isn’t Connor’s SUV. Where the hell is he? The ceremony is due to start any minute.

I pull out my phone and send him a quick text.

Where are you? It’s starting.

You promised.

Do the elders confiscate everyone’s electronics before the ceremony? I hope so. All I need to finish out my senior year of high school is a clip of me huffing some alpha’s jizz boxers circulating the school or going viral.

I try and remind myself that the ceremony is precautionary, more than anything. The odds that my mate’s scent is on that table are low, but it’s a necessary ritual. It helps prevent issues like bond sickness and encourages a healthy mated population.

Once a year, all unbonded of age from Crestwood are expected to attend the mating ceremony. It is all but verboten not to. Because if your bondmate was someone you’d met, grown up with, spent time around—things accelerated quickly. The bond’s foundations were already there. It was better to introduce those kinds of bonds in a controlled environment. Having only turned eighteen a few months ago, this was my first ceremony.

The woman who’d been laying out the alphas’ scent samples approaches the omegas. She has a kind face and a long grey braid. She’s an omega herself, though long bonded, based on her muted scent.

Shit. Was that everyone already?

“It’s time. Do you have any remaining questions before we begin?”

She’s met with silence.

I chew on my lip, then blurt out, “Is everyone here?”

“What do you mean, dear?”

“Are we expecting anyone else?” My eyes dart across the clearing, hoping to see Connor’s tall shadow among the pack ofalphas. He’s still somewhat lanky, hasn’t quite filled out to his full alpha size yet, but I’d recognize him anywhere.

The woman gives me a sad smile. “Areyouexpecting someone? As you know, attendance, though strongly encouraged, is no longer mandatory… We cannot wait forever.”

I jerk my head in a nod. “Right. Of course. Sorry.”

“You’re perfectly alright. Now, who’d like to go first?”

I pace as one after another, unmated omegas approach the table and work their way down the line of fabric. Some are eager, while others sniff gingerly. One girl speeds through the articles of clothing, then sprints to the side of the recovery tent to puke.

I keep a hand over the pocket of my jeans, waiting for the vibration of a text that never comes.

Once you sign up for the ceremony, there is no pulling out. If your scents are a match, it triggers a rapid-onset heat and rut in you and your partner. The years omegas and alphas reach sexual maturity are a vulnerable, volatile time, and the mating ceremony is designed to protect us.

The line in front of me dwindles. One omega, a girl with short-cropped blond hair and frayed jean shorts, moans and falls to her knees. She clutches a piece of black cotton to her chest. A growl that makes my gut clench comes from the alpha table. Then the pair is ushered away, the alpha held back from rushing across the clearing by two brawny men.

I can smell the fruity, cloying rush of slick the girl produced as soon as she recognized her mate.

The omega elder helps the blonde up from her knees and leads her toward a tent. The pair will be given a cabin on the ceremony grounds, already stocked with water, food, and blankets for nesting, and stay there until they ride out the mating frenzy.

I don’t want to lose myself like that in front of everyone. Connor is the only one I allow myself to be vulnerable around, and that’s only thanks to years of persistence on his part.

My ears ring with the hum of stridulating crickets. Someone’s calling my name.

“Alanna, dear. It’s time.”

I glance around. I’m the last omega in line. The only one who hasn’t gone. There’s only been one match, but that isn’t unusual for a small population like ours. A few of the omegas look nauseous from the scenting, and one boy’s rubbing his temples like he has a headache.

“Right.”

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