Page 40 of Mating the Omega
“Me?”
He frowned at me, but it wasn’t a scary alpha frown, more of a ‘behave yourself’ type of frown. Still kind of alpha, but it left some wiggle room.
Orvin’s voice had that strangled sound to it, as if he was only now realizing the kind of details he was going to be asked about. “That’s… not something you talk about in public!”
“Then, not being a shifter myself, I’ll do my best to explain. Your Honor,” Laine turned toward Wilson. “When omega males are born, they have a wide, thin patch of skin that runs from hip to hip, called an omega line. Omega males are born with the ability to carry pups, and that line is where the flesh separates to allow the passage of the infant.”
“Fascinating. Is there some evolutionary explanation for this?”
Laine shook his head. “There hasn’t been enough research done, and most of shifter history is oral, so it’s hard to tell when and why this all started. But what does come through loud and clear in all shifter history is that there has been systematic discrimination against omegas of both sexes, simply because of their increased fertility.”
“Has there now? But what about non-omega girls? Surely they can have children?”
Orvin sputtered and Laine raised one elegantly shaped eyebrow. “Yes, indeed, Alpha. Are non-omega girls treated the same way as omegas?”
The Montana Border Alpha looked to his lawyer and, to my great delight, got a subtle shake of the head in return. He had to answer. Reluctantly, and with an expression of hatred that should have melted Laine on the spot, he said, “No.”
“No? So, what I’m understanding—and please correct me if I’m wrong—that all shifter teenagers go out and get into trouble, but only the omegas are ever subject to peer pressure? And that is why they have to be locked up all the time, just in case. Alpha, what exactly is the legal status of an omega in shifter society?”
Orvin gaped at him for a moment, then sputtered, “I don’t know what you mean.”
“I mean, at what age do omega’s gain certain rights due to adults. When can they drive a car? When are they allowed to get a job, sign a contract, marry? Without the permission of someone else in the pack?”
I’d told him all this, and I squirmed with excitement. Mac tightened his hold on me, pinching my shoulder to settle me down. I laid my head on his shoulder and sighed contentedly as I watched Orvin look to his lawyer for help.
“Your Honor,” the lawyer said, rising to his feet. “If I might have a moment to confer with my client?”
“I don’t see why,” grumbled the judge. “It’s a perfectly valid question. If the pack alpha questions the validity of a marriage—sorry, mating—that the young man entered into on his own, then obviously I need to know more about the specifics of the rules surrounding these marriages.”
Orvin looked at his lawyer again. I missed what the lawyer did, or said, but I didn’t miss the glare Orvin shot in my direction, and if I hadn’t had Mac there, I might have cowered. Definitely, if he got me in his power again, I’d be in for it.
Laine leaned on the barrier separating the box Orvin sat in from what Laine called ‘the well’, where the lawyers were. “Alpha Montana Border? Can you please explain it to us?”
Orvin grunted. “They don’t.”
Laine looked surprised. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand. You’re saying they don’t have any legal standing? As in, they can’t get a job, they can’t drive a car, they can’t marry unless someone gives them permission?” At Orvin’s furious nod, Laine stepped back, his hands spread wide. “I admit, I didn’t quite believe it when I was told this story. But since you have stated that it is true, I suppose I must.” He turned to face the judge. “I’m sorry, Your Honor. I’m suffering from a bit of whiplash, having just been dragged back to the nineteenth century. I’d thought that all sentient beings had moved past the concept that possession of a womb meant the bearer was not much better than a child.”
“I does seem rather antiquated.” Wilson gave Orvin a hard look and I barely suppressed a squeal of delight. Oh, I hoped he’d kick us all out and let me go home with my family. My real family.
Laine was on a roll. “And this continues even after the omega has turned eighteen?” Orvin nodded. “What about the other young shifters? The alphas, the betas, the gammas? Do they require permission?”
“No.” The word sounded like it had been dragged out of him through his teeth.
“No, they don’t. So you specifically discriminate against a subset of your kind over the possession of a set of reproductive organs.” He turned to the judge. “Your honor, can we truly allow this young man to be treated as a possession, to be bought and sold and bargained over, in a way that sets society back by a hundred years?”
I thought we’d won, really thought we’d won. Laine finished his argument and sat down beside Abel. He didn’t appear to gloat, but the smell of satisfaction came off him strongly.
Until Montana Border’s lawyer stood up and said, “You Honor, may I redirect?” And from then on, it all started going downhill.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
I was nearly in tears by the end of the day, and my head spun so I didn’t know what to think. They called Dad up to the stand, then Abel, then Mac, and made them all look like money-grubbing thieves, or power mongers, thwarting the Alpha of Montana Border pack’s efforts to see me suitably settled. Orvin’s side brought forth alphas who claimed they had been approached with an offer of betrothal, and paperwork was produced, saying that I would stay in Montana Border until my eighteenth birthday, and then be delivered to whoever it was decided would be the best mate for me. They had emails, and a paper trail, and though we’d known about them, the way they wove their story made it all hang together, and even my father saying he’d never been told about any of this was discounted—it was the alpha, looking after one of his pack members, and when he had decided on two or three good candidates, he would present them to us to decide.
That was a lie. He’d told me himself that he meant to have me, and have me soon, because he wouldn’t risk someone else catching me in heat. He had been ecstatic over my spring heats, for reasons I still didn’t understand. And I also remembered with utter clarity the night he pushed me up against the fence, clawing at my jeans because I’d snuck out of the house—I’d been too young yet to really understand that I had to stay inside until all signs of heat were done. I still had a scar on the back of my hip where a bent nail had dug a furrow through the flesh, and he still had one where I had partially shifted and tried to claw his eyes out.
And then, two days later, we’d been moved from our tidy little house, with all the work that Dad had done to it, into a shack that might as well have been held together with bubble gum as nails. And Orvin, his left eye covered in medical gauze, had promised more of the same until I surrendered to him.
We’d fled the next day. Just packed everything we could into the rusty old junk truck my cousin drove on his rounds collecting human castoffs, and left.
