Page 14 of Omega's Forbidden Heat
He shakes his head and comes back to himself, greeted by the sight of his aunt studying his face carefully.
“Everything all right, Jack?”
“Yeah, fine.” He wishes people would stop asking him that.
She takes a deep inhale, hesitating as if she is wondering whether to say more. He thinks she’s going to berate him about Amy, but when she speaks it takes him by surprise. “I found some things in your mum’s bedroom. Well actually to be more precise, some letters and other files.” She swallows. “They’re from your dad, Jack.”
He stares at her in disbelief. “My dad?”
“I never knew who he was,” she says, almost to herself. “She would never tell me, she would never tell anyone. Did she … Did she tell you?”
The room is bare. His aunt’s removed all the paintings and photos that used to hang on the bedroom walls and the wardrobe doors stand open, revealing an empty cavity. There’s only one photo remaining. Sitting on her dressing table. A silver-plated frame with a picture of him and her just hours after he was born. She’s peering over her shoulder at the camera, a wide grin spread across her face, her arms cradling a tiny baby to her chest. She’s so young, he sees that now. Younger when she had him, than he is now.
It must have been hard. He’s never really appreciated that before. She was always there whenever he needed her, making things work and he never saw the effort it took but it must have. Because he struggles every day just to climb out of bed and force himself to eat. Yet there she was, looking after someone who depended on her— and without the help of his father.
She never revealed who he was to anyone, even her own parents. They’d taken them in and they lived with them for the first couple of years but despite his grandfather’s ranting and raving she’d remained staunchly silent on the matter of his father’s identity. Perhaps it was because she knew, as an Alpha, her father, his grandfather, would have hunted the man down and ripped out his throat for getting his Omega daughter pregnant and then abandoning her. That is not what an Alpha is expected to do. An Alpha is a provider and protector, devoted to his mate and offspring. It’s in their blood, in their DNA, in their soul.
Then again, maybe his father wasn’t an Alpha. He has no idea who or what he was.
“I don’t care who he is,” he says, “Never wanted to know. Still don’t.” He stalks towards his bedroom. “You can burn them for all I care.”
“But Jack—”
“I said, burn them.”
He marches into his own room and slams the door. His skin reeks of the Omega, her scent all over him. He lifts his fingers to his nose and inhales, and his body reacts, lighting up, his blood heating and his nerves ringing. Shit! Why did he do that? Is he trying to torture himself? Isn’t he miserable enough already without some little temptress causing him trouble? A hot shower and strong soap would wash her scent away, sending it rushing down the plughole where it belongs. But he can’t bring himself to do it. The sensation in his body is too pleasing, like a drug, like a high, and he’s not strong enough to fight it. Instead, he lies drowning in it, struggling for oxygen, his brain a scramble of flitting images — Amy, his mum, the letters unread across the bed, the handwriting firm and written in black ink.
* * *
Five years ago
He is late home. He stayed behind after school to kick around a football with Finn and his other mates and now as he cycles down the country lanes the sky darkens rapidly. He needs to get home before it’s too dark because he has no lights.
Will his mum be home yet, he wonders. Usually it is him home first and she doesn’t arrive back from work for some time afterwards. But tonight it’s late and he fears he’s in for a bollocking. His legs work the pedals faster as he speeds along, skidding around tall hedgerows. The grey is racing across the landscape, chasing him home, and his thighs and calves burn deliciously as he forces them to work.
At the house, he comes to an abrupt stop, brakes squealing, tyres scraping, and jumps off his bike, swinging open the garage door and parking up his ride. At the front door, he kicks off his trainers and his hand is on the banister when he hears his mum from the kitchen. Inwardly, he groans.
“Jack? Is that you?”
“Yeah,” he answers, his foot on the bottom stair.
“Jack, could you come in here? Just for a minute,” his mum calls from the kitchen.
She’s sitting at the table, a cold half-drunk cup of tea in front of her, hands rubbing together. It’s going to be another lecture. He knew it was coming. It’s one reason he’d been happy to stay after school. He is always getting lectures from some adult or another these days, has had several already today — it’s probably what she wants to talk to him about.
“What?!” He leans back against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest.
His mum rings her hands together on the tabletop in front of her and chews her bottom lip, and for the first time he feels a sense of dread.
“I had another call from the school today,” she says. Jack shrugs his shoulders. She stares at him for a moment and then continues, “you are a bright boy, Jack. You know that, I know that, all the teachers do too. Why are you trying to throw it away? Why do you keep getting into these unnecessary fights with the teachers? Just keep your head down, can’t you.” Her hands pause their motion and she shakes her head.
“They’re all a bunch of tossers,” he tells her. “They’re not interested in teaching us anything useful. They’re not interested in having discussions or debates. It’s only ‘yes sir, no sir’ with them.” He can feel the irritation growing in the pit of his stomach just thinking about it, and he grits his teeth together.
“I know, I know, Jack. God, you’re just too bloody bright for your own good sometimes.” She half smiles at him, affection and pride flickering across her face. “You have all the time in the world to express yourself and do things your way, but right now you just gotta get through these last few months of school, which means playing by their rules.”
She’s on a roll now, and it fires him up, needing to get the frustration of it all off his chest. “Mr Stephens is the worst,” he rolls his eyes. “He’s always picking on me, seems to have an issue with me, won’t leave me alone. It is not fair!” He knows the last words are petulant and childish, but he feels it in his bones, in his core, that man has it in for him. From the day he stepped foot inside that school, and more so since his designation as an Alpha became clear.
As long as he is at that school, he’ll always be in trouble for one thing or another, simply because Mr Stevens is the man in charge.
