Page 143 of Your Wild Omega

Zack rumbles with warning. “For sex?”

“No.” Heat races into my cheeks. “He’s got, um . . . art on his arm we want to look at.”

Zack gives a brisk nod, gaze narrowing on the standing alpha.

I wait eagerly as Callisto peels his layers off, easing the shirt sleeve over his expensive watch before handing it to Rickon. He’s beautifully shaped, large across the shoulders, tapering slightly. Skin smooth with good health. The thirsty omega in me wouldn’t mind running her hands all over those ridges and down the dark snail trail that disappears under his belt.

Callisto hesitates as he reaches for the white bandage. “Okay, don’t feel pressured or anything. It’s just for my own reminder.” He groans under his breath and his voice drops until it’s barely audible. “Shit, I hope you don’t think it’s weird.”

The ever-composed Callisto Wren flushes pink before unwinding the bandage and removing a gauze pad. The top part of the tattoo looks normal, the ink dark, but the bottom half looks like it might still be healing. Despite the reddened discoloration in the skin, the design is elegant, the two antique-looking pocket watches nestled on a branch of blossoms.

“Nuts? And honey?” Rickon murmurs, leaning closer.

Then I see it. A delicate scroll unfurls beneath each clock face. The top one readsDadbut the second one, the freshly made one, saysRed. That’s my name on his arm.

“But that’s, I mean, your dad’s . . .” Rickon’s eyes go big, his tongue tripping him up. He’s clearly as astonished as I am.

“They’re significant moments in my life,” Callisto says, sounding shy. “Stuff I want to remember.” He gets a bottle out of his bag and smears something on the reddened tat beforecovering it over with the gauze pad. “Could you help me re-wrap it?” he asks Rickon, voice quivering ever so slightly.

I stare at the alpha, but he avoids my gaze. Callisto Wren, the most well-reasoned, put-together man I’ve ever met, is not the sort of person to tattoo an omega’s name on his arm. Is he?

And the time. Eleven o’clock. Is it because my designation was O-11? He said he wanted to remember a significant moment in his life. It was after midnight when Zack threw him out, so it can’t be that. Did we have another interaction that was memorable? When I called him on the phone the other night? Or—?

On the day I ran into him outside the courthouse, the sun wasn’t quite directly overhead. I remember because of the shadows on the grass and the feel of the warmth on my back as I climbed my first ever scent match. The garbage truck came to the Omega Center near dawn in the morning, and I walked around the city and had an adventure in the hotel before I ran into him.

“The day we met?” I mutter to myself.

Callisto finally looks at me, and I read the truth in the dark, tortured depths of his eyes. He regrets it. He regrets walking away from his omega with every fiber in his body. And each day he’s living in hell because that vacant part of his soul designed for me sits empty.

Heat and chills race through me in equal measure, and it hits me square in the chest that his and my story isn’t over yet. Zack tightens his arms around me as if he feels it too, but he doesn’t growl.

“Callisto—” I begin.

A knock on the door interrupts me, and his law associate pokes his head in. “The jury’s back.”

“Already?” Callisto says, eyes widening. He checks his watch. “It’s only been two hours, which means they’re sure about theiranswer.” The smile he flashes makes my heart race. “That’s a good sign, Red.”

He slips his shirt and vest back on, and Rickon adjusts his tie for him before holding out the gray suit jacket. I nod to myself as I get up and offer Zack my hand. It’s okay. We’ll have time to talk after the verdict. To work out if Zack and Callisto can call a truce. To see if a future with all four of us together exists.

Rickon bumps my side, searching for my hand as we find our seats back in the courtroom, and I lock his fingers in a death grip as the jury spokesperson stands.

The room swims as we hang for a moment, weighted like a pendulum that could swing in either direction. My heart pounds.

“We, the jury, find the defendant, Ray Fibbistachi, guilty on all charges.”

A tiny noise slips through my throat, relief and grief mingling together to choke me.

The judge nods. “Ray Fibbistachi, stand for sentencing. You are hereby convicted of captivity of an omega, aiding and abetting omega trafficking, and rape, as well as unlawful extraction of haze from an omega and possession of unregistered haze.” He reads out several more crimes, which my testimony has sealed.

The judge looks up. “I sentence you to life in prison. Take him into custody.” His gavel bangs down, the thumping ringing out as a bell toll of finality.

Life. The word echoes in my head. A life for the life Ray stole from me.

I can’t feel happy. Happiness and Ray can’t exist in the same sentence. Strangely, I just feel like me, perhaps a little emptier and quieter. But maybe that’s the process of stripping away some of the sludge before being refilled. Filled by my alphas, and my career, and all the new opportunities about to come my way.

Guards lock Ray into handcuffs, but before they can lead him away, he turns toward me.

And smirks.

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