Page 42 of Omega's Fire

But I can’t put it off much longer. There’s a huge car crash coming in my future and I can see it coming even as I can’t stop it. All I can do is cushion myself as much as possible and brace for impact.

Nash Thorndike doesn’t know he is about to be a father but he is about to.

The bus starts moving again. I check my watch. There’s still an hour before the courthouse closes. I have time, but not much. The motion has to be filed today.

I give in and read through the paperwork once more. My arguments are solid, everything backed up precedent. The problem is that an alpha has the automatic right to claim full custody of their child. It’s an archaic law, exercised more times than it should be. I’ve studied this particular law, debated it with my friends, but even so it never once occurred to me that I would fall foul of it but then I never intended to get pregnant. I didn’t intend a lot of things.

Knowing Nash Thorndike and knowing the Bureau, I can’t take any chances. This pre-emptive injunction is my only protection against him taking my baby away if—when—he finds out.

My hand drifts to my belly. I’m doing this for you,I think. To keep you safe.

The memory of Nash surfaces unbidden. I can’t forget the intensity in his dark eyes as he moved above me, putting this baby inside me.

I squeeze my eyes shut, willing away the flash of heat that accompanies the thought. It was just chemistry. Just my stupidomega body responding to a compatible alpha pheromone signature.

It meant nothing.

The bus slows again and this time, it’s my stop. I gather my things and stand carefully, pausing to find my balance as a wave of dizziness passes over me. I make my way off the bus carefully, holding the folder tight.

The courthouse isn’t far, but there are a lot of steps inside.

I climb them slowly, one hand on the railing. My footsteps echo on the marble floor as I make my way to the clerk’s office.

The woman at the desk barely looks up as I approach. “Filing?”

I slide the papers across the counter. “Pre-emptive injunction.”

She glances at the top sheet, then at me, her expression changing slightly. “Family court?”

“Yes.”

“Custody case?”

I nod, not trusting my voice.

Her eyes catch mine. “First child?”

“Is it that obvious?” I ask before I can stop myself.

A small smile softens her face. “You have that look. Scared but determined.” She stamps the forms and makes a notation in her computer. “The judge will review this by Friday. You’ll be notified of his decision.”

“Thank you.” I swallow hard. “If it’s denied—”

“You can appeal or modify your motion and refile,” she says, already turning to the next person in line. “Next.”

I step away from the counter, suddenly unsure what to do. The papers are filed. The motion is in process. Now all I can do is wait and hope.

The courthouse steps seem steeper going down. My legs feel shaky, and I clutch the railing tightly. What am I doing? How amI going to handle a baby when I don’t even have proper housing?

The thoughts have been racing round and round my head for months.

The office squat is no place for a child and my internship at Brennan & Wallace barely covers my own expenses, let alone a baby’s needs.

For the first time since learning about the pregnancy, I let myself consider the unthinkable: maybe I should contact my mother. She could make all this go away. She has the connections, the influence, the money. I’d never have considered it while my father was alive, but maybe now it’s not so bad.

All it would cost is my pride and independence. And probably my child’s autonomy too.

No. I shake my head sharply. I won’t crawl back now, not even for my child’s sake. Especially not for my child’s sake.

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