Page 52 of Your Wild Omega

We do takes over and over until I want to scream, and we grab food between scenes like we’re living on the run from the authorities. If not for Rickon, I wouldn’t survive, but every time I think I can’t do another thing, he gives me an encouraging smile or an energy drink and urges me on as the days slide from one to another in a blur of lights and cameras.

The acting itself isn't difficult. No, that part’s every bit as fun as I imagined. Once Rickon helped me reduce the scent overload issue to a manageable level, I could get on with what I’m good at.

I load Ashana’s character with all the persistence and energy I can muster, painting her as a determined woman fighting tooth and nail for her place in a male-dominated industry.

Director Yun wants to film the switch scene much later, once I’m more confident in the saddle, and it’s fascinating imagining myself with a designation other than omega for the first time.

Chatting with the betas swarming around the set helped me realize that so many things I take for granted about myself don’t exist for non-omegas. Like my ability to rebound from intense sex, for one, and my enhanced sense of smell, for two. And my obsession with my pack also doesn’t seem to be on everyone’s minds in quite the same way. I can’t tell if that’s because I was alone for so long, or because I have scent matches, or if it’s simply because I’m an omega.

There are plenty of independent beta women pursuing careers, and since I broke out of the Omega Center thinking I would do all this on my own, it reminds me I have lots to be grateful for.

“Look, Biscuit. You’re famous.” Rickon slides a glossy magazine across the bed sheets. A small black silhouette that looks suspiciously like me resides on the front cover of this week’sEntertainment OKedition and a subheading asks:Who is Valencio Yun’s new omega?

I snort and Rickon throws me a lopsided grin. “Total bait headlines, I know.”

I thumb through to the listed page number and find a full spread announcing the filming forThe Omega’s Race, which includes profiles of the main cast members. “There I am,” I say triumphantly, tapping a portrait photo of myself taken on the set. I look good, in form fitting pants and a white polo shirt.

Zack, not fully awake yet, laces his arms around my waist with a faint grumble. I stroke his hair as I read the article.

Leading lady, Red Jones, cast in the pivotal role of Ashana Blackwood, remains a mystery. By all accounts, this appears to be her debut role, which has all of Ommywood asking how she managed to meet Director Yun’s famed rigid standards.

I giggle and lean my head on Rickon’s shoulder. “How exactly did I manage to meet his standards, alpha?”

Rickon grins. “Hmm, I seem to remember something about making him go hard.”

“Rigid standards, all right.” I chuckle, then slide a sultry look at my alpha as I reach between his legs. “Do I have that effect on you too?”

His breath catches. “Every fucking moment of the day and night.” And to prove his words, his cock hardens under my palm, pushing against his satin pajama bottoms. “But—” He lifts my hand to his lips and presses a lingering kiss to my skin. “Let’s not wake the beast today, yeah?” He tips his head toward the alpha sprawled in my lap. Zack’s not a morning person, and this might be the first sleep-in we’ve had in weeks.

And that’s because the Spring Film Festival kicks off today, and we have seventy-two glorious hours of no filming.

“And I don’t want my princess sore at all today,” Rickon adds, beaming at me.

“Sounds like you’re going to torture me with treatments and makeup instead,” I shoot back, unable to hide my excitement.

He tosses me a look so sultry it should be illegal. “The worst kind of torture. Ready to put the thumb screws in?”

I glance down at the rather heavy head in my lap, Zack’s chest pulsing against my crossed legs with each deep breath. “Mm-hmm,” I murmur, stroking hair off Zack’s forehead. “But you’ll have to help me shift the beast.”

“A dangerous enterprise,” Rickon says solemnly, lifting Zack’s upper body so I can scoot out.

Zack stirs and opens one eye.

“Keep sleeping, love,” Rickon whispers, kissing his cheek. “We’ll be downstairs.”

A pulse of pure joy shoots through me, and Zack smiles as he senses it too. He nuzzles into the pillow and goes back to sleep.

Such a difference from the early days when I brought him home, and he was uneasy about even lying down in a bed. In just a few weeks, he’s blossomed, finding his confidence and asserting his preferences, even if he only knows a handful of words.

He usually only tolerates having me out of sight in public if he can still hear my voice, but at home he’s settled enough for us to be on different floors of the apartment. Still, his obsession soothes the part of me that’s equally desperate to keep my alphas in sight.

Let’s hope he’s just as calm for the film gala.

Like everything else, Rickon has today’s schedule planned down to the minute. Across the city, most of the big names in film will be out at salons and day spas, but my alpha’s brought what he needs into our home.

After feeding me a bowl of berries, superfood powder, and granola with yogurt, Rickon sets my hair into curlers and wraps the whole bulging lot in a satin scarf. Then he gives me a pedicure using a little portable foot spa.

While Rickon paints my toenails shiny silver, I say, “I’m surprised there’s no mention of Zack in the articles.”

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