Page 66 of The Rejected Omega

“Excuse me?”

“Your heat's soon. You looking for someone?”

I screw my face shut. I fucking hate my scent being a blinking green light to every alpha within a mile of me. No wonder suppressant abuse is so common.

"No. My alpha is on his way." It’s the first time I’ve referred to Connor as such outside a medical setting, and it feels amazing.

"Ain’t got a bite. Must not be that serious."

I push off the bar and walk away from him, and he mutters, “Hickeyed-up omega slut,” behind my back.

I leave the bar entirely to go outside and wait on the sidewalk for Connor. The cool air outside feels good on my overwarm skin.

There’s a group of people on the corner smoking cigarettes, and I shift away from them to avoid inhaling their smoke.

“Where ya goin’, pretty?” one of them shouts. He’s wearing black leather and has on motorcycle gloves.

I ignore him.

“You got something all over your little dress. Got just the thing for that, back at mine.”

His friends chuckle.

“Leave her alone, Morgan,” one of them says. “She’s scented.”

“No alpha who gave a shit would let her out this close to her heat. All slicked up without a bite in sight. Maybe he's into sharing?”

I curl my hands into fists. This is why I’ve had to work myself to the bone to stay on suppressants since the ceremony. Entitled assholes like Morgan and all those other pricks in the bar, whothink any omega who goes in public close to their heat is a walking invitation.

I walk farther away from their group, but Morgan trails after me. The crosswalk sign shifts from green to red, and cars start to turn, cutting off my escape.

Morgan herds me up against the brick wall of the bar.

“What’s wrong, baby? I’m not gonna hurt ya. I’ll make you feel real good.”

I’m flushed and dizzy. The alcohol is really catching up to me. Maybe I should have stayed inside.

He reaches for my neck, and I shove him away. His scent reeks.

A familiar black Camaro brakes hard at the curb, stopping in the middle of traffic.

Morgan glances at it. I try to slide away from him, and he grabs me by the bicep.

A car door slams.

"Get your fucking hands off her."

Alpha.

Connor’s here. He looks furious—like an avenging angel.

Morgan smirks. “Let me guess. Your alpha? You really oughta keep better track of your things, bro. Someone might want to borrow them.”

Connor snatches the alpha’s arm off me and twists his wrist backwards until there’s a sickening crack.

Morgan screams. His wrist hangs limp and unnatural.

Connor takes my hand and pulls me toward his car as Morgan’s friends rush to help him. My omega purrs in pleasure at Connor’s display of violence on my behalf.

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