9. Aria

9

ARIA

"Yahtzee!" I jump up from my spot on the couch, the triumph in my voice masking the gnawing fear that settled in with the night hours ago. The guys disappeared after I ignored them when I had to rip off my skin-colored duct tape, but after hours of searching, I finally uncovered what I need. "No appointment needed." I breathe a sigh of relief as I jot the address down and jump up far too fast.

Dizziness washes through me as I fall back to the couch and breathe slowly, the room spinning around me like a carousel gone mad.

When the first teens transitioned to alphas and omegas, the world had no idea what was going on. To be honest, they still have no idea. In the years since, the only thing those of us with hyperactive scent glands could do was stock up on hunter's wash—the stuff hunters use so they can sneak around in the forest and hunt Bambi.

It took a lot of trolling the internet—and I admit maybe a little bit of the dark web—to uncover the little Puritan City gem that I did. I could have called Cayenne and asked her, but what else was I doing? Besides, I needed to find ways to feel productive and not think about them.

Especially Dash's abs. Why were they so oily? I swear he oiled them the moment he got in that van.

Anyway, there's a little apothecary about twelve miles away, and someone in an obscure thread said they picked up scent blockers there.

I am totally taking a chance. It could be absolutely nothing, but either way, I'm feeling desperate.

Standing once again, I head into the kitchen and pull out an onion.

A red onion, or purple, depending on where you are from.

"Don't fail me now," I whisper to the vegetable, tossing it in the air and catching it. I slam the red onion on the counter and grab my knife. Red onions smell like body odor if they are left out too long. Ever smell someone and think, damn, I could really go for a hoagie? That's red onion.

I slice thin strips, and because I'm a demoness, I don't cry. It's a superpower. Grabbing my flesh-colored duct tape, I portion out two for my neck, two for my wrists, and two for my bits.

I lay a little sliver of onion in the center of my strip before applying them to my scent glands. My thighs are hella chafed from doing this every single day, and my wrists look like I have other extracurricular activities that would send me on a grippy sock vacay.

Honestly, that sounds amazing right now. That's one way to lose an alpha.

Putting that nugget in the back of my mind, I grab my coat, scarf, and gloves because of the duct tape. With my keys in hand, I swing my door open with an explosion of nerves.

I'm not sure what I expected, but emptiness wasn't it. Stepping into the open hall, I take two steps to the railing and glance down. I'm on the second floor, since Cayenne thought it was safest. The streetlights cast an eerie glow, reminding me it's fall and the sun goes down far too early, but I don't see anything suspicious, like an alpha making sure I feel safe or another making sure I'm not alone.

Bullshit.

Spinning around, I march down the steps with purpose. It's been a combination of luck, Cayenne's meticulous planning, and my own paranoid caution that not a single person has scented me as an omega. Between the industrial-strength, scent masking soaps Cayenne procures, my obsessive avoidance of crowded areas, and the unconventional onion trick, I've managed to fly under the radar. But it's getting harder every day, and I know my luck won't hold forever.

I can say it hasn't failed me yet. That, and the beauty salon. I also keep to myself, avoiding all major gatherings, news outlets, and even traffic cams. When I first moved here, Cayenne gave me a crash course in avoiding detection. Traffic cams, facial recognition software, even those creepy drones that buzz around the city - she's got a workaround for everything. So far, I've managed to stay off the grid

I'll have to dodge a few today, but it is what it is.

It's nearly six, and the place closes at eight, giving me two hours to get to the store. I could take a cab, since Cayenne really did transfer two hundred bucks into my account from Quinn and his pack.

Chewing my cheek, I pivot and head south. I don't plan to walk the whole way, but I should be able to hop on a bus and head in that direction.

Just as I turn a corner, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I already know it's Cayenne, so I pop in an earbud and an orange candy and answer.

"Hello, my spicy sausage," I greet.

"Really, that's what you call me? A fucking sausage?"

"Yep." I swallow a giggle. "Because you love the spice, and you love the?—"

She cuts me off. "No. Where the fuck are you going?"

"Well, since I knew you were going to call, I decided to fill you in en route to a black-market scent blocker dealer." I give her the elaborated truth, because I'm dramatic like that.

"What the fuck are you thinking?" she hisses. "Scent blockers, heat suppressants, and the like are freaking illegal, Aria. If you get caught with those, there is no telling what trouble you'd be in, not to mention what it will do to your body."

"Oh, me?" I plop on the bus bench and take a deep breath after ensuring I'm alone. "Well, you sent your little friend that you play games with?—"

" Call of Duty ."

"That, to pick me up from work and take me home, only his brother needed to be picked up as well, and let me tell you, that was interesting to say the least."

"Tell me more." Cayenne presses.

I am not about to tell her about how absolutely drool worthy Dash is, so I naturally change the subject. "I woke up with motivation today."

"Oh." She audibly winces. "You hate motivation."

"Never ends well for me, and you will discover why." I clear my throat. "I decided to do laundry, but the laundromat's dryers were out."

"All of them?" She sounds surprised.

"Yeah, all of them. I know, it caught me off guard too." I snort. "And then I had to drag my wet laundry two blocks in the opposite direction to the next laundromat."

"You are going to be so sore tomorrow."

"Luckily, it's my day off, so I can rot in peace," I tell her. "Anyway, there they were, across the street at some bullshit something going on."

"Did you stay out of sight?" She goes on alert.

I roll my eyes, which she can't see, just as the bus rolls around the corner. "No idea. I was dragging a wet laundry basket."

"On it," she replies, likely checking security footage.

"Thank you," I mumble as I pull out my transportation card and stand to wait for the bus. I kick a stone and watch it tumble into the street. "There they were, playing knight in shining armor. Malachi, Quinn, and Dash."

Malachi, with his towering presence and eyes that seemed to see right through me. Quinn, all boyish charm and barely concealed strength. And Dash, infuriatingly attractive with those oiled abs. They appeared out of nowhere, offering to help with my laundry, their attention both thrilling and terrifying. I barely managed to stammer out a refusal before fleeing, my heart pounding in my chest.

"Oh, love the name. How dark is he?" Cayenne asks eagerly.

I sigh. "You're obsessed. It's a problem."

"I don't think it is," she scoffs. "You know how I like them big and?—"

"Don't you dare finish that sentence," I snap out and smile at the driver who is probably wondering if I'm having a stroke. I hop on the bus, swipe my card, and take a seat near the emergency door. "Three of them followed me home."

Her laughter hurts my ears.

"Oh, that's rich!" she squeals. "Did they scent you?"

Why isn't she acting like this is serious?

"No." I shift in my seat. There is only one other person on the bus besides me, and he's asleep in the front. "However, I used the onion trick."

"Oh, Aria." She laughs harder.

"They made me slick," I whine.

More laughter. "You like them," she accuses.

"I like cucumber, but that doesn't mean I want to impale myself on it," I snarl at her.

Cayenne's laughter intensifies. When she finally catches her breath, she says, "Okay, okay. So they didn't scent you. That's good, right?"

I sigh, staring out the window at the city rolling by. "I had to walk home with my thighs pressed together and then take a shower, scrubbing myself clean." I sound so put out. "I almost needed a bleach bath, hence the onions."

"Oh, Aria," Cayenne says, her tone softening. "All right, I'll track you, but tell me something. What do you hope to gain by getting black-market scent blockers?"

I sigh and stare out the window at the city rolling by. It's a question I asked myself all damn day, and I still don't know how to answer it. "I don't know."

"Do you think you could open up to them?" she says very carefully.

She barely has the words out, and my body violently reacts with a shiver. "I don't." I swallow thickly. "Noah… Have you found him?"

"No." She doesn't hesitate to tell me the truth, and by her tone, I know she is pissed off about that fact. "If he pops up anywhere, you are the first person I'll call."

"My stop is coming up." I can't hide the defeat in my voice. Noah took off when Cayenne showed up at the house that night, and no one has seen him since.

"Aria." Cayenne uses her no-nonsense voice on me.

"I know," I whisper and hang onto the bar as I stand up. "It's just, It's been six months since I escaped Noah, after enduring years of hell with him. I don't know..." I can't even get the words out, so I focus on putting one foot in front of the other.

"I know, but, Aria, you are finally healthy again, and you need to think about your next heat." Again, she says this as carefully as possible.

I ignore her words because they incite emotions, and I'm not in the mood to feel those. "You have my location?"

"Got it." She sighs, knowing I'm ending this conversation.

"Perf," I chirp, pretending that I'm not afraid. "Love you. Gotta see a stranger about some drugs."

"Damn you, Aria. I swear to all the gods in the universe, if you get murdered, I'm going to?—"

Click.

She'll forgive me.

The biting night air follows me as I push through the blacked out door of Nightshade Remedies. The overwhelming scent of sandalwood and patchouli incense assaults my senses, momentarily distracting me from the icy fear lodged in my chest. Dim, flickering candles cast eerie shadows on shelves crammed with dusty jars and ancient-looking tomes. The air feels thick and heavy, as if the very atmosphere is saturated with secrets. Every single corner of the store is full of something, whether it be knickknacks, tea, or herbs. It's full.

As the door closes behind me, a woman about my age steps out of the back with a smile on her face. Her dark hair is braided with little charms, and her eyes sparkle with curiosity and warmth.

"Welcome to Nightshade Remedies! Can I help you find something?" she asks, her voice melodic and soothing.

I swallow hard, trying to muster up my usual bravado. "Uh, yeah. I'm looking for something…specific."

Her smile widens. "Well, you've come to the right place. We specialize in the specific." She gestures to the crowded shelves. "What do you need?"

I glance around, feeling suddenly out of place and exposed. "Do you have any, uh, scent blockers?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Scent blockers?" She arches an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "That's a rather unusual request."

I shift on my feet, my cheeks heating. "Yeah, well, I'm a rather unusual person."

She chuckles softly, leaning against the counter. "I can see that. What kind of scent blockers are we talking about?"

I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. "The kind that can mask…everything, and, um, heat suppressants too."

Her expression turns serious, and she studies me for a moment. "You do realize those are illegal, right?" the shopkeeper asks, her voice low. "Ever since the Omega Protection Act passed, the government's been cracking down hard on these. They claim it's for our safety, but we both know it's about control. Alphas in power don't like the idea of omegas being able to hide. Get caught with these, and you're looking at more than just a fine. We're talking potential imprisonment, maybe even forced bonding as ‘rehabilitation.'"

I nod, my throat suddenly dry. "Yeah, I know, but I desperately need them."

She tilts her head, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Why? What are you hiding from?"

I blink, taken aback by the directness of her question. "That's…none of your business."

She crosses her arms, her gaze unwavering. "Actually, it is, because what you're asking for isn't just a simple trade. It comes with risks."

"Risks?" I repeat, my heart sinking. "What kind of risks?"

"The kind that could change you permanently," she says, her voice low and serious. "Long-term use of scent blockers and heat suppressants can do strange things to an omega."

I swallow hard, the weight of her words sinking in. "I don't have a choice," I say, my voice cracking. "You don't get it," I snap, my voice shaking. "Every day's a tightrope walk. One wrong move and it's game over—everything I am, gone. I've seen what happens to omegas who are discovered. I've lived it, and I can't—I won't go through that again. Even if these blockers change me, at least it'll be on my terms."

"There's always a choice," she replies softly, "but it's rarely an easy one."

I release a frustrated sigh, running a hand through my hair. "Look, I don't have time for this. I need those blockers and suppressants. What's it going to cost me?"

She studies me for a moment longer before finally nodding. "All right, but this isn't something I can just sell you over the counter. It requires a bit more…effort."

"Effort?" I raise an eyebrow. "What kind of effort?"

She smiles, but it doesn't reach her eyes. "You'll see. Follow me."

I hesitate for a moment before following her into the back of the store. The room is dimly lit and filled with shelves of strange, glowing bottles and jars. She stops in front of a large wooden cabinet and opens it, revealing a collection of small vials.

"These," she whispers, pulling out a small, inconspicuous vial from a hidden compartment, "are the scent blockers. And these," she adds, retrieving another vial with trembling hands, "are the heat suppressants. Getting these nearly cost me everything. Use them wisely." She reaches back and grabs two small booklets. "Directions."

I take the vials, feeling a strange sense of relief wash over me. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet," she says, her tone serious. "There's still the matter of payment."

I frown, pulling out my wallet. "How much?" I am a broke ass bitch.

She shakes her head. "It's not about money. These items require something else."

"What else?" I ask warily.

She steps closer, her eyes locking onto mine. "A favor, a binding one. Someday, I'll need something from you, and you'll have to deliver. No questions asked."

I blink, taken aback by the demand. "A favor? That's…vague."

"It's the price," she states. "Take it or leave it."

I bite my lip, weighing my options. The idea of owing a favor to someone I barely know is unsettling, but I don't have much of a choice. "Fine," I agree. "I'll do it."

She nods, satisfied. "Good. Just remember, this isn't something to take lightly. The suppressants will change you over time. You need to be sure this is what you want."

"I'm sure," I say firmly. "I need this."

She hands me the vials, her expression softening slightly. "Be careful, Aria. These things have a way of coming back to haunt you."

I nod, clutching the vials tightly to my chest, feeling more relief than I have in a year. "I will. Thank you."

As I turn to leave, she calls out, "And, Aria? Remember, when the time comes, you owe me. Don't forget that."

I shiver, the weight of her words settling over me like a dark cloud. "I won't forget."

Stepping out of the store, I take a deep breath, the cool night air filling my lungs. The vials feel heavy in my pocket—a constant reminder of the price I just paid. For now, at least, I have what I need.

A shiver runs down my spine as I slump on the bus bench, realization hitting me like a punch. I never gave her my name.

How did she know?