Page 1 of Knot for Me
ChapterOne
REAGAN
There are moments in life when you’re at the mercy of the world and, no matter how much you want to scream and fight, you can’t change what’s about to happen. Tonight is one of those moments.
I look at myself in the mirror, frowning at the heavy eyeliner around my blue eyes, lipstick, and contouring. Big, soft curls in my brunette hair. Normally, I love getting dressed up, but not today. The dressing room is filled to the brim with this month’s batch of omegas. We’re all wearing the exact same white dress—as required—and it makes my stomach turn. All of this is for the alphas.
“Ten minutes until curtain!” A woman with a headset scans the lot of us before glancing at her clipboard and rushing away.
She sure is in a hurry for someone who does this on a monthly basis. Each month brings a new batch of omegas who are turning twenty-one. You’d think she’d be used to things by now.
The woman next to me wrings her hands. “I’m so nervous. Are you?” She glances at me in the mirror while she adjusts her false eyelashes. “I hope I get a good assignment.”
My frown deepens. “Yeah,” I say, glaring at myself in the mirror.
“My birthday is in two weeks. I’m already feeling grumpy.” The big smile she gives me doesn’t seem grumpy at all.
“Mine is in three,” I say, trying and failing to stop scowling. An omega’s twenty-first birthday marks their first heat. We’re all here to be assigned to packs before that happens.
“Maybe I’ll get placed with a royal family. Can you imagine? All that money. My kids would be so fortunate.” She clutches her chest and gazes off, lost in her fantasy.
Fuck. That.
Despite what the Omega Council wants us all to think, being an omega isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.
Sure, omegas have it good. Most are treated like princesses. They’re treasured, cherished, and held in the highest regard by their pack. Most omegas dream of finding a home within a pack where they can make a nest, get fucked stupid, and have babies. That maternal instinct is a big part of being an omega.
Then there’s me. I don’t know what the fates were thinking when they made me an omega, but being a breeder is completely out of the question. I don’t even like kids; they smell and cry and throw up. The simple fact is I don’t want to be a mom. I don’t want to birth dozens of babies like most packs expect. I don’t want to be a good omega.
At the end of the day, once you strip away all those fancy cars, pretty clothes, and diamonds, an omega is only a glorified cum dumpster.
Okay, a bit crude. But still true. We get mated, knotted up, and filled with seed. Omegas aren’t people so much as machines. Knot-taking-baby-making machines.
“Any minute now,” another omega whispers, primping her hair. “I can smell them out there.” Her eyes widen with excitement, and the other omegas release squeals.
A bunch of freaking Stepford omegas. Programmed to beep-boop-sex-boop-here’s your baby-boop. The alpha pheromones are so strong tonight that my throat constricts. The alphas are excited to claim their omega. These women are excited for their first heats.
I clench the side of my chair and grind my jaw. I have to get out of here. Today is a day I’ve dreaded since I hit puberty and the first whiff of omega pheromone was noticed by my mom. Not two days later, I was registered with the Omega Council, tracked, and monitored until I was ready to be assigned at the Compatibility Ceremony.
“I can’t wait to be knotted for the first time,” I hear an omega say, voice breathy and exhilarated.
I’m even more out of place with these women when I don’t join in the chorus of agreement she receives. Omega desire fills the room, and I swallow a few times, breathing through my teeth to keep from sucking in too much of their scents.
My pheromones have yet to hit their full intensity since I haven’t gone through my first heat, but it’s coming. It’s only three weeks away. Every night that passes, I feel a quiver in my stomach, a lusting that’s hard to deny. About a month ago, the Omega Council sent me a pretty little envelope requesting—read as demanding—I log on to their website and take my compatibility test.
A lame set of ninety questions meant to determine which pack I’m best fit for.
In about five minutes, I’ll be paraded out on stage and they’ll put on a show for the alpha-filled audience. My matched pack will be named, and I’ll be mated. My entire body revolts at the thought. I jump out of my chair, startling the woman next to me.
Icancontrol what happens. I don’t have to go through with this.
“Are you okay?” she asks, face lining with worry.
No. No I’m not fine, and you should be freaking out too! They’re going to give you to a pack, and you have no say. What if you hate them?I don’t say any of that, though. I learned a long time ago that other omegas won’t listen to reason. They’ve been brainwashed to think this is the dream. This is normal. This is the only way.
I’m the crazy one for questioning things.
“I’m fine,” I say instead before turning and making a run for it.
