Page 47 of Your Wild Omega

Once I move to take one of the aprons, the woman turns to the guys. “Would you strapping lads give us some girl time? Iput playing cards and orange juice in the conference room.” The paint brush handle wobbles again like a magic wand, indicating a dogleg turn down a corridor.

Rickon squeezes my hand in silent question, and I nod. What’s the worst that can happen? Forced to listen to color wheel theory for an hour? Zack’s far more reluctant, holding me close and snuffling in my hair for a long time before Rickon coaxes him away.

Once we’re alone, the crazy lady turns back to her painting. “Call me Leanne.”

I drift over, curious to see what she’s working on, and the closer proximity compels me to offer something in response. “Red Jones.”

“Thrilled to meet you, Red.”

Her paintbrush flicks across the canvas, leaving a series of olive-green strokes. Honestly, it just looks like a mess to me, but if nothing else, the colors carry a calming, melancholic mood.

Leanne pauses long enough to point to a nearby table. “Hope you don’t mind, but I went ahead and put out some coloring stuff for you. Pencils, markers, chalk. Pick your tool.”

For a moment, I worry she might want me to use paint like her and risk staining my hands blue, but she’s quick to reassure me, as if she notices my dilemma.

“No paint today. Not sure what might catch your fancy, so you can choose between mandalas or van Gogh.”

“You’ve thought of everything, haven’t you?” I muse as I take a seat, the chair angled just right so we can see each other. I pick up a fine-point marker and roll it between my fingers, not really interested in coloring.

Leanne chuckles. “Well, I do find that my thoughts can run wild while I paint. How about you? Ever done any art?”

“Meh. Not unless the ones with my own blood counts.” Like scratches on the doors at the House of Bitches.

She nods, unfazed. “I don’t recommend it. The medium has to be watered down, and it dries weird.” Her wooden paint brush does a little figure eight dance in the air. “A few artists have used it, usually for shock value.” Her eyes find mine, an intelligent humor in them. “Which is what I assume you were going for.”

She knows full well I’m being pissy but she doesn’t seem annoyed. I lean back in my seat. “Did they make any money off the blood paintings?”

“Yeah, some, but only after their deaths.” Leanne shrugs. “That’s the way for most artists.”

I can’t believe this shrink is conversing about blood and death. Apparently her madness lives in more than her bird’s-nest hair. Nearly tricks me into believing this is actually a safe place.

“I don’t like psychologists,” I inform her, crossing my arms over my chest.

“Ugh.” She shudders and rubs her elbows, leaving spots of paint on her sleeves. “Me neither. Shrinks, counselors, psychs. Total bastards, the whole lot of them.”

Her frank expression surprises a chuckle out of me.

She smiles and changes the subject. “Want to tell me about those fine-as-sin alphas down the hallway?”

“The OCB agent isn’t mine,” I tell her immediately. “But the other two are Rickon and Zack.”

On the table sits an outline of a famous painting of sunflowers, with tiny numbers and a corresponding color chart. I lean in for a closer look.

“And which one gave you that bond mark?”

“Zack,” I answer, before I think about it. Then I jolt and cover the bite scar with one hand. Technically the Omega Center doesn’t know I have a bond yet, so will Leanne tell them?

She cocks her head. “What are you thinking?”

“Will you be reporting on our sessions to the Omega Center?” I ask stiffly.

“Nah, not on the contents.” She waves at the air. “Only whether or not you attended. What we say in here stays confidential . . . unless you’re contemplating self-harm or a crime.”

I snort. “Like breaking an alpha out of prison?” It’s safe enough to talk about because it’s public record and Callisto’s already dealing with the fallout.

“Yes, well, that would be a serious crime." Leanne chuckles. "Wanna tell me about it?”

I shrug and fill her in on my adventure, and while I talk, I touch a yellow marker to the page where the little number three indicates yellow. Before I know it, I’ve filled in all the yellow sections, so I switch to a brown pen. As my story spills out, I add snippets about meeting up with Rose, and how Rickon and I met, and how much Callisto’s rejection burned.

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