Page 106 of Your Wild Omega

You can do this, Red.

The groom pops a mounting block down next to her and lengthens the stirrups. The mare stands still, maybe as worn out as I am after all the excitement today.

“Hey, is Chuckles okay?” I ask, remembering the way my other horse panicked. “He didn’t hurt himself, did he?”

“He’s fine,” the groom reassures. “They’re giving him some calm-down time.”

I nod and size up the horse in front of me once more.

“Just get on and do a few laps around the warm-up yard,” the head trainer encourages.

I climb the two steps and gather the reins in my left hand over the horse’s withers. After inserting my boot tip into the stirrup, I bounce lightly and then swing up and over. She dances one step, making me sway, but the younger groom croons and holds her head steady. I slip my right boot into the other stirrup and settle in.

My gaze drops, and for a moment the ground writhes, suddenly far away like a chasm. But as soon as I look up, the sensation stops. Right. I’ve done weeks of lessons and filming, and this is the first time I’ve fallen. It won’t happen often.

The head groom touches my knee lightly. “Feeling okay?”

I nod and gather the reins. “Yeah, it’s not so bad. I can do this.”

My body aches with the movements, but even that fades as we do a few laps of the round yard. I suck in breaths as deep as my bruised ribs will allow, finding my zen. And feeling proud of myself. This fall is kind of like my life, but I managed to haul myself off the ground and keep going. It will be something to tell my crazy therapist about at our next meeting.

And with every rhythmic pace of the horse beneath me, I feel the contented warmth of my alphas in my chest, fainter now that I’m far away from them, but ever-present.

Plus the indistinct murmur under my scalp of one alpha who isn’t mine. I wonder if that will always be with me. At momentslike this, it’s hard to decide if I love this last thread that ties Callisto and me together, or loathe the constant reminder of what should have been. Regret and longing walk a fine, often tangled line. If forced to choose, I’d say I’m relieved Zack decided for me. He could sense that while my omega nature desires Callisto, I don’t want a relationship based on obligations. I’m too much of a free spirit for that.

After another five minutes of circling on horseback, the ground doesn’t feel so far away, and I can ride without the groom leading my horse. I can steer my own direction now, on a horse and in life.

Once the chief animal officer’s satisfied, we get right back into filming, working fast to make up for lost time. I don’t have energy to think about my alphas or my bruises, as I recite line after line. At five p.m. Director Yun calls a close to shooting. He claims the lighting is too low, but I think it’s because of me. I don’t want him to regret choosing me as his lead actress, but it’s a relief because I’m struggling to walk properly on my bruised leg. A hot bath is looking real attractive right around now.

I thank the assistant who kept an eye on me all day and say goodbye to Callie, who orders me to pass her love along tomy Rick-en. Bless her.

I arrive at the gateway before I remember I don’t have a ride home, but it’s too late. Paparazzi gather around the racing track’s big metal gates, along with curious pedestrians who try to catch glimpses of the celebrity cast. Bradley Jacks is a household name, and so is Sebastien Cho, for that matter.

And me? Well, I’m the shocking actress who stripped at the Spring Film Festival and leads her alpha around on a leash. Everyone wants to know more about me.

“Ready to leave, Ms Jones?” the security guard asks, hand hovering over the gate button on his remote control.

I hesitate, and as I do, a gust of wind brings me a noseful of a dark, oversweet scent. Licorice.

A shudder runs through me. Mentally I know one of the crew has a similar scent, but my body locks down, turning icy. Fuck. One whiff and it’s like I’m strapped down on the bed with that bastard towering over me.

I stagger backward.

Hands close around my upper arms. “Red?”

I squeal and thrash out of the person’s grip, spinning, but it’s only Brad.

He looks concerned. “Are you okay?” he asks.

I press a hand to my chest and pivot to face the crowd, searching each face. A tall alpha like Ray would stand out clearly, wouldn’t he? But so many cameras and phones wave over the crowd that I can’t be sure.

Brad cradles my elbow in his hand. “You look really pale, Red. Let me take you home.”

Never in a million years would I accept an offer from Brad . . . if it weren’t for that licorice scent burning in my nostrils. No way can I walk myself out into that crowd now. I nod mutely.

Brad rests a hand behind my back and guides me toward the parking lot. I feel like laughing as he stops by a red Lamborghini and opens the door for me. It’s such a classic Brad car, screaming money and power. But the internal humor at least thaws some of the choking terror clinging to my throat.

“Does she have a name?” I ask as I climb in, grasping for a safe topic.

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