Page 38 of Omega's Fire

My stomach drops. The founders themselves. This isn’t just a courtesy interview. They’re genuinely interested.

“Mr. Torres.” Brennan gestures to the empty chair. “We’ve been following your recent experiences with the Bureau with great interest.”

“As well as your advocacy work,” Wallace adds, her tone warmer. “Not many law students would have the courage to challenge a prime match assignment so publicly.”

I take the offered seat, swallowing against the intensifying nausea. “There’s no point to a system that doesn’t work.”

Wallace nods approvingly. “A position our firm has long supported. In fact, we’ve been developing a class action case against the Bureau’s forced registration practices. Your experience could be valuable.”

The room suddenly feels too warm, too small. I tug at my collar, trying to focus on her words. A class action case. That would be amazing.

“I’d be very interested in contributing to that effort,” I manage, though my voice sounds distant to my own ears.

Ms. Sharpe smiles. “That’s why we invited you. You’d be great for our internship program.”

They’re offering me the position. It’s every I’ve worked for, fought for, sacrificed for.

“I—thank you,” I begin, then stop as a wave of dizziness washes over me. The nausea intensifies sharply, bile rising in my throat. “I’m sorry, could you excuse me for just a moment?”

I don’t wait for an answer, bolting from the room with as much dignity as I can muster. The restroom is just down the hall, thankfully empty as I crash into a stall and vomit violently into the toilet.

Wave after wave of nausea claims me, leaving me tremblingand sweating as I cling to the porcelain. When it finally subsides, I rest my forehead on my hands trying to gather my scattered thoughts.

This isn’t stress. This isn’t a stomach bug. This isn’t normal.

I’ve known what this is. I’ve just not wanted to face it.

With shaking hands, I remove my phone from my pocket, opening the calendar app I use to track my heat cycles. I stare at the screen, counting backward, my heart hammering against my ribs.

Six weeks since I left the cottage. Six weeks since my heat with Nash. And now, the resulting nausea, exhaustion, and strange sensitivity to smells.

Six weeks. No sign of my next heat cycle, which should have started last week.

“No,” I whisper, the word inadequate against the reality crashing down around me. “No fucking way.”

I’ve known all along really. I’ve just not wanted to admit it to myself. I know I’m a stubborn bastard. I guess I lie to myself as much as anyone else. I’m also an idiot.

I press a trembling hand against my still-flat abdomen. I’m pregnant with Nash Thorndike’s child.

It’s not fair. Either way, I find myself laughing.

“Mr. Torres?” A concerned voice filters through. “Are you alright?”

I close my eyes, leaning my head back against the partition. The internship. The class action case. My future as an omega rights attorney. All of it is going to disappear because of this. I’m not going to let that happen. No one can know about this.

“I’ll be right out,” I call, my voice steadier than I feel. “Just give me a minute.”

I pull myself to my feet, moving to the sink to rinse my mouth and splash cold water on my face. Then I go back out there and finish the interview.

Nash

I log into the Bureau portal every day in case something has changed. My brain knows it won’t have but I’m not ready to give up yet even though it’s been more than two months since Leo walked away from me at the North Lake cottage.

Status: Match Rejected.

Prime Match: Torres, Leo J.

I have a number of options on the screen. I can still ‘Schedule bonding ceremony,’ despite Leo’s rejection. That didn’t work out so well for me last time.

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