Page 3 of Follow the Rhythm
If he was ever going to kiss me, it had to be now, this last perfect moment before he left and everything changed.
His lips met my temple, and I tried not to crumple. “We need to get back inside for curfew,” he whispered into my hair. I suppressed a shiver.
“Yeah,” I agreed flatly and leaned away from him. Sister Georgie would kill me if I wasn’t in my room for lights out.
We stood up awkwardly, and then Ellis wrapped me in a hug. “I’ll come find you tomorrow before I leave,” he said. He released me, gave me a little wave, and then bounded across the roof to his dorm.
I pressed my nose to my sweater, breathing in his scent. I vowed not to wash it for as long as possible.
Chapter 1 - Jess
Steffi was crying, which I’d expected, but the fact that Andreas was even tearing up a bit was wild. We didn’t really get along. I’d spent most of my time at the Omega Center making it very clear to both of them I wanted to be anywhere else.
“Why are you upset? I thought you’d be thrilled to finally get rid of your hardest case,” I said.
“Oh, chicken, we’re just so proud of you,” Steffi wailed. She was the director of the Center, an older Omega with a calming scent, who sounded a little like Mrs. Doubtfire. “You’ve come so far since you arrived.”
She lunged for a hug, wrapping her arms around the outside of my arms to pin them to my sides. She knew from experience this was the only way I’d accept her many attempts at physical affection.
“Okay, yes, thank you,” I said. My friend and ally at the Center, Austin, appeared in the hallway over her shoulder, and I raised my eyebrows at them meaningfully.Please help me, I mouthed.
Austin came to intercept Steffi. They led her around the corner, leaving Andreas and me alone. The assistant directorof the Center was also an Omega, but his aura was not calm. He was, for lack of a better word, hot, with dreads and the cheekbones of a model.
“She’s right, you know,” Andreas said in his smooth voice. “You’ve made a lot of progress.”
“Well, it’s all thanks to the National Omega Network,” I said sarcastically.
Andreas’s smile didn’t falter. “No. It was you. You worked hard, Jess.”
“Alright, enough, I have to pack,” I said and retreated to my room.
I’d gotten the email confirmation that morning that my application to The Orinth, a secure Omega-friendly building in a semi-safe neighborhood, had been accepted. I had scraped together enough for the down payment thanks to a couple of sales of my paintings last month, along with prepayment on a logo design job for a mobile pet groomer.
There was usually only one way out of an Omega Center: finding a pack of drooling Alphas that would allow you houseroom if you promised to be a good little Omega. But I’d bypassed all of Steffi’s scheming to match me with a pack and found my escape: into the loving arms of an apartment building with enough deterrents to keep most degenerate Alphas away.
There were less secure options with way cheaper rent, but I didn’t want to be another Omega statistic.
I was also very motivated to get moved into my new place before my next heat, which was due in just a few days. I was getting the uterus twinges that always occurred in the week leading up to the main event. I couldn’t wait to have my own space, rather than suffering through another heat in one of the Center’s impersonal nest rooms.
Austin reappeared, and I assumed they’d finally dropped Steffi back at her office.
“Thanks for the rescue,” I said. “She just attacks me like that, and I have no idea what I’m supposed to do.”
“You could, I don’t know, and this is a crazy idea, hug her back,” Austin said. “She cares about you.”
I rolled my eyes. I thought Steffi did care about the Omegas in the Center, but in an abstract kind of way. I had certainly never given her a compelling reason to like me.
“So, are you still going to help me move? Please?” I asked, clasping my hands together and whining in a way that I knew would annoy them.
“I’ve said yes about fifteen times now. I will move all your crap in my truck, which I am now realizing is probably the only reason we’re friends,” they said dryly.
“You’re also a really good cook,” I said helpfully. Austin was the chef at the Omega Center, a red-haired Beta with a scent like fresh-baked bread, and one of the few people I actually liked.
We spent an hour building the boxes they’d picked up at U-Haul for me and packing away my few worldly possessions, which mostly consisted of the clothes and shoes I loved but never wore anywhere. At the end of it, we filled about six boxes in total.
“Jesus, that’s depressing,” I said, looking at the meager stack.
“No, it’s fine. It’s minimal.” Their voice was unconvincing.
