Page 134 of Your Wild Omega

The burn in my heart far outweighs the sting on my arm as the needles drill in and out. “He’s her scent match, too. Only, he accepted her right away.” I chuckle darkly. “Well, he always was smarter than I was.”

Juan gives a surprised little noise. “Really? He never showed it.”

I nod. “Yeah.”

Ricky never showed off, since he wasn’t motivated to excel like me. And he was happier living in the shadows. If people paid attention to him, then they dug up his painful home-life story, and he hated that even more than being called anal-mega.

“Everyone assumed you two would pack up after high school,” Juan mutters.

“I—” A chill squeezes my throat as I hesitate. Why didn’t I ever suggest moving in together with Rickon?

My mind flashes back to the time I walked in on Zack fucking him, and before that when we curled up together on the mattress during Red’s heat. Realization quivers down my spine.

“I’m such an idiot,” I mutter into my wrist.

I never asked him because Rickon was already pack in my mind. The line between pack of origin and future pack got blurred along the way somewhere through adolescence, and I was so caught up in my studies and career after that, I took him for granted.

Rickon used to send me text messages almost every day; even if they were memes or a funny sign he saw, those little snippets of attention proved he was thinking of me. Now someone else lives rent-free in his thoughts . . . and they have his body, too.

And damn, that body of his is fine. Another thing I always took for granted. He fits so well tucked into my side under my arm. Touching him was as natural as breathing because we’ve always been around each other. But thinking of his innocent face now,lips lustfully parted and pale body strained, makes blood rush to my cock. My breath catches.

If Juan notices, he’s gentleman enough not to mention it.

It wasn’t only my future with Red I haphazardly tore apart that day in front of the courthouse. How many times have I decided things for others without knowing how they really feel?

When we take a short break so Juan can stretch out his wrists, I shoot Rickon a message. Just a silly legal joke one of my clients randomly told me. The thing is, it’s not that I never think about Ricky. No, my thoughts often turn his way; I simply believed I never had the time to act on them.

A man sued an airline company after it mislaid his luggage. Sadly, he lost his case.

While I stare at the screen, a tiny laughing emoticon reaction pops up from the man in question. A thrill flashes through me. I keep watching to see if he replies, but no dots flash up and I re-pocket my phone in disappointment. Is this how Rickon felt for years, waiting for my time, waiting for my attention? Or am I being egotistical to think he wanted that from me?

“Turns out, time is worth more than money,” I mutter as I settle back into the chair.

“It sure is,” Juan agrees. “It’s the one thing you can’t get more of.” He chuckles good-naturedly. “Better to figure that out now than at the end of your life, hey?”

I nod in agreement. “Truth.”

The end of my life, huh? Will I drop dead of a heart attack, like my father? Perhaps in the courtroom, or the lonely, silent confines of my office late at night. It’s a grim vision. I’ve been fighting so hard for my win streak and the firm partnership, but the once-clear goal now feels blurry. Like Hale said, I’d forgotten about it.

But the pack I missed out on? I can’t stop thinking about them. Even that barbaric feral occupies my mind. A strange need tohave a conversation with Zack burns in my instincts—not one with words, but an exchange of alpha presence. He threw me out, but he didn’t crush my spirit. It’s a feeling that can’t be put into words.

The hours blur as Juan finishes his artwork, stamping more than just ink onto me. The repeated pain buzzes through my arm, focusing me. Stripping my soul bare allows me to rethink my future with eerie clarity. As much as I love the legal world, sometimes it feels hollow. And so fucking commercial.

But if I weren’t working for Harkman and Laurance, what would I do with my time?

“All done,” Juan says, startling me free from my daze. He wipes the excess ink off and beams down at his work. “One more timeless beauty.”

I snort at his joke, and he winks at me before fetching the mirror. I study the pair of clocks for a long moment, poignant reminders to never forget the true value of time. A bitter lesson I’ll remember.

I nod in satisfaction.

Juan applies the gauze and wrapping but I don’t hear his chatter.

As I pull out my Alphescas Honor Platinum card to pay for the tattoo, another realization hits me. I never have to check my balance to know if I can afford something. I don’t even need to justify the value of my time via an hourly rate.

When Juan’s clerk hands me the credit card terminal, I add another zero on the number pad before quickly swiping my card.

She goes to hand me the receipt and gasps as she spots the number. “Oh, I’m so sorry, sir! I must have typed the number in wrong. Um, what do we do about this?” She flutters nervously around the desk, probably looking for a manual.

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