Page 137 of Your Wild Omega

Wrong place and time? My heart sinks as the lawyer retakes his seat. Everything I’m about to say will be shot down.

The judge speaks. “We’ll now examine the evidence and expert testimony brought by both parties. Please call your first witness, counsel for the prosecution.”

I stand again. The battle’s not over yet, and I’ll fight with everything I have. “The prosecution calls on Mr Finley Byron, lead forensic scientist with the Omega Crimes Bureau.”

Piece by piece, I’ll lay out the evidence starting with the haze vials. That’s my job.

And when I fail, my insurance policy will kick in automatically.

Chapter fifty-one

Red

I sit on the bed, my legs crossed as I stare out the window at a band of shredded clouds in the gray sky. Torn, like I am. I have a court case to attend, but every time I try to stand, my body refuses to obey my command.

Hale told me that in cases like mine, the victim never usually appears in the same room as the defendant. We’d video link in on a screen and I’d only see the judge. But to set that up, Hale would have brought attention to the fact I plan to testify, a fact which he’s somehow buried in the witness list to fool the defending lawyer. And if Hale hadn’t hidden it, they would have had time to bring me in for a deposition, and I just know deep in my heart that I’ll only be able to face Ray and his lawyers once.

If I get in my head about this, I’ll lose my sanity again. Which is precisely why I’m sitting here, watching cloud wisps. I talked things over with my therapist, Leanne, and honestly it helped. She didn’t have any expectations, just let me talk as I used jumbo crayons on rough canvas, the bumpy fabric as therapeutic as thewords flowing out. She laughed when I admitted I keep hearing her fucked-up voice in my head telling me I’m doing great, and for the first time, testifying didn’t feel like some unconquerable monster.

But therapy a week ago and getting my ass out of the house today are two different things.

The bed bounces as someone sits down beside me. “There must be a strong wind up there to slice them up so much,” Rickon muses, staring at the clouds.

I drop my head onto his shoulder, breathing in his gentle vanilla aroma. “Will they ever get put back together?” I ask softly.

Rickon tilts his head until it touches mine, comfortingly solid. “That’s the thing about clouds. Doesn’t matter what happens to their shape, they’re still clouds. Even if they completely vanish, they find their way back.”

A smile plays across my lips. “Is the same true for omegas?”

He wraps an arm around my shoulders and snuggles me close. “When they’ve got a pack and a home to return to, yes.”

My eyes slide shut. No more hesitating. I’m going, even if someone has to carry me out of here. “Then let’s go,” I say.

Rickon kisses my hair, a comforting move I adore. “I made you some armor. Want to see it?”

I twitch and rise to study his handsome face. “You what?”

Rickon nods and draws me off the bed, excitement shining in his green eyes. “Come. Take a look.”

He’s set up his mannequin In Callisto’s vacant bedroom, and a gorgeous corset in peppermint green with delicate bows, boning, and silver-embroidered edges wraps around the bust.

I clap my hands over my mouth. “Shit, Rickon. This is for me?” I’d seen the foundation when he first brought me home, but I’d forgotten all about it in the chaos that’s followed.

Plus, it was barely a few strips of fabric then. Now it’s a masterpiece.

He fiddles with the long sleeves of a white satin blouse underneath the corset. “I’ve been working on it here and there, but I really wanted to finish it for today. I won’t be able to hold you during the entire court case, but this way, maybe you’ll feel wrapped up in me.”

Squealing with joy, I throw my arms around him. “It’s exactly what I need, Rickon!” With this, I won’t feel alone, even on the stand.

“Quick, help me put it on,” I beg, stripping my sweatpants.

He chuckles. “Slow down. Corsets aren’t something you throw on in a hurry.” He’s right, of course, but I jiggle with excitement while he gets it on me and adjusts the lacing.

“Damn, it really feels like a hug,” I murmur in wonder as I examine my reflection in the mirror.

The undershirt Rickon chose covers my skin demurely, softening any kind of sexualization the fitted clothing might otherwise suggest. I feel like an aristocratic woman from a fantasy world who knows her way around both a sword and a ballroom. Someone powerful enough to face the coming war.

In that spirit, I pair the ensemble with fitted pants and tall boots, and add my spinning silver earrings. It’s armor for sure. Even Red Hawk the spy never looked so fabulous.

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