30. Aria

30

ARIA

Friday starts like any other day, if your definition of any other day includes waking up in a nest meant for another omega, surrounded by the scent of four alphas you're lying to. So yeah, totally normal.

Birds chirp in their little nests, and seagulls chatter away with each other, probably plotting whom they can attack for some breadcrumbs.

And I wake in a pool of slick.

Listen, as an omega, I love slick. Honestly, I could lie in a bathtub and let that shit pour out of me, bottle it up, and sell it.

Some omegas do just that for extra cash.

Not me, of course. Okay, maybe once. Otherwise, how the fuck would I even know about it? Sheesh.

The slick is a serious fucking problem. For a long while, I just lie here, blinking at the window that overlooks the bay, and pretend that I'm in a nest.

My own nest.

I'm surrounded by blankets, my favorite kind, as I pretend I am eating grapes from Zane's hand. I will do anything to make that man my bitch, all while getting knotted.

Unfortunately, none of that is occurring right now. No, I'm just in here, making a little puddle on a bed that isn't even mine.

It's akin to peeing in a hotel room bed.

Not that I've ever done that either.

Noah did once, and he blamed me.

He gave me a black eye for it too, but I digress.

I don't know what to do.

Ever so slowly, I sit up. It's my own damn fault for sleeping naked, but the sheets are silky and soft but not silk, and I wanted to smother myself in the fabric last night, so I slept naked.

Peering down at the spot between my legs, I curse under my breath. One week until my heat. I need to think about how I'm going to handle it.

I have to revisit that shop. The heat suppressant should have put it off for a while, but honestly, I have no idea.

Even worse is the scent of Creamsicle in the room.

"I'm so fucked." I groan, tossing the blankets off. Because of course, the universe has a wicked sense of humor, and right on cue, there's a knock at the door. "Timing, thy name is irony," I mutter, scrambling for cover.

"Yes?" I ask, panicked as I jump from the bed and stare at the offending door.

"Aria?" Quinn calls to me.

"Yes?" I repeat as I grab a T-shirt from my bag and tug it over my head.

For a moment, I think he's going to demand to come in, but then he surprises me. "We have to head out this morning for security detail. I know you work, so I left you the keys to my car on the island."

My shoulders sag in relief. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," he whispers before I hear his footsteps pad down the hall.

They are leaving me alone. This is good—better than good. I can strip the sheets, wash them, and then head to the little witchy shop and figure out what the hell I'm supposed to do.

Easy-peasy lemon squeezy.

Then why do I stand in the bedroom, frozen and afraid to move?

Omega panic.

I take a deep breath and try to calm my racing heart. This is fine. Everything is fine. Everything is under control. I just need to focus on the task at hand and not let my omega instincts take over.

Heh, sure, easier said than done.

Focus, Aria.

Panties, T-shirt, and laundry, in that order. There's no need to run around naked.

With shaky hands, I strip the sheets from the bed, bundling them up and carrying them to the laundry room on the first floor. There is a little laundry room off the kitchen, with one very large laundry basket. Of course there is clothing in the washer that I have to turn over, but that's fine. I toss the sheets in the washing machine, add a generous amount of detergent, and start the cycle. The rhythmic hum of the machine helps to soothe my frayed nerves.

Next, I head to the bathroom and turn on the shower, letting steam fill the room as I step under the hot spray. The water cascades over my body, washing away the remnants of slick and calming my jittery muscles. I take my time, lathering up with the vanilla-scented body wash someone stocked in the bathroom, and enjoy the momentary peace.

Once I'm clean and dry, I dress in a pair of leggings and an oversized sweater that I'd hastily stuffed into my work bag yesterday, thanking my past self for always being prepared for a spontaneous sleepover. I grab the bag and head downstairs, snagging the keys to Quinn's car from the island. That is where I pause. If I go out, I'll end up smelling like a delicious snack to any and all alphas I come across.

I've spent a lot of time finding ways to destroy my scent. Nothing works as good as onions, but I think I might find spray somewhere.

Feeling like a naughty omega, I toss everything back on the counter and return to the second floor. There are five doors—one for each of the guys and the nest they gave me, which I still have thoughts about that I have yet to speak out loud. Who am I kidding? I haven't even allowed myself to think about it either.

"Fuck it." I open the first door and peek inside. I immediately know this room belongs to Dash. Between the bright orange accents, leftover pizza boxes, and the laundry on the floor, I should be able to put two and two together. More than that, though, it smells like him, and I have to stop myself from swiping up some slick and tossing it everywhere like a five-finger spray bottle.

An open door leads to the bathroom, which I rush toward because I have very little impulse control and I might flush this room with pheromones.

As I enter the bathroom, I notice it's a Jack and Jill style with doors on either side, connecting to two separate bedrooms. To my left is a sleek, modern toilet adorned with decorative tiles that resemble leaves. On the right is a large glass shower with chrome fixtures. Next to it is a tall sink with a marble countertop, complete with a standing cabinet for storage. The walls are painted a calming seafoam green, giving the room an airy and inviting feel.

Rifling through Dash's bathroom cabinets, I search for anything to mask my scent—deodorant, cologne, even mouthwash. I'm desperate. The longer I linger, the more his citrusy aroma engulfs me, making my head spin with desire.

Focus, Aria, focus.

Finally, I spot a half empty can of scent neutralizer spray. Jackpot. I douse myself liberally, coughing as the chemicals tickle my nose. It's not perfect, but it'll have to do. I can't risk drawing unwanted attention, not when my heat is so close.

Feeling nosy, I push the other door open and immediately know it's Quinn's room. A desk sits in the corner, with three screens and two keyboards. Directly to my right is his bed, which is barely made, but at least his clothing found the laundry basket.

I could totally fling slick in his room too.

Walk away, Aria, just walk away.

Biting my lip, I turn around and walk out, stealing the spray.

I hurry out of Dash's room, guilt nipping at my heels for invading his space, but desperate times call for desperate measures, right? I make my way downstairs, keys in hand, ready to face the world…or the lady from the witchy shop.

As I slide into Quinn's car, the leather seats cool against my feverish skin, I take a deep breath. The witchy shop. That's my next stop. I need answers, a solution, anything to help me navigate this impending heat without losing myself completely or giving myself away.

I'm well aware that all of my issues could be solved if I just said something, but the problem is the trauma.

Logic and trauma don't mix. Never have, never will. In my head, I know what I'm supposed to do—call a Clarke pack meeting, let my hormones and pheromones flood the room, and get them alpha drunk on that good smelly shit.

I did that once, though, and almost died from it. I need them to want me for me, and I don't think it's too much to ask that they fall in love with me and not my scent. Call me crazy.

The engine purrs to life, and I pull out of the driveway.

The streets are quiet as I drive, only a few early risers out and about. The sun has barely risen, casting a soft glow over the town. The drive to the witchy shop is a blur, my mind consumed by thoughts of my impending heat and the complications it brings. I try to focus on the road, but my omega instincts are screaming at me to turn around and seek out the safety and comfort of the nest.

Of the alphas.

I shake my head, willing the thoughts away. I can't give in, not now. I need to find a way to maintain control over my body and desires. The witchy shop is my last hope.

I find a spot on the street to park and take a moment to compose myself. I check my reflection in the rearview mirror, ensuring the scent neutralizer spray is still doing its job. Satisfied, I step out of the car and make my way toward the shop, the bell above the door jingling as I enter.

Nightshade Remedies. That was the name.

The shop materializes around me like a fever dream—shadows dancing on dimly lit walls, shelves groaning under the weight of arcane knowledge. Herbs hang from the ceiling, their pungent aromas mixing with the acrid scent of burning incense, creating an atmosphere thick with mystery and unspoken truths. The air is thick and cloying, heavy with the heady scent of sandalwood and sage. An unseen energy hums around me, making the hair on my arms stand on end. The walls seem to pulse with an otherworldly rhythm, as if the very shop is breathing. It's unsettling, because magic doesn't exist. Right?

"Just because you don't believe in magic, doesn't mean magic doesn't believe in you," comes a haunting voice as the owner steps out of the back, beaded curtains jangling with her movement.

"Wait, what?" How the fuck did she know what I was thinking?

Black-rimmed glasses are perched on her nose as she stares at me with curiosity. "Did you run out of the suppressants already?"

"We're glossing over the mind-reading shit?" Okay then. "Yeah, I took them both," I admit and follow her as she walks behind the counter, and I step in front of it.

"You took them both?" Her eyebrows rise to her hairline. Okay, I knew I should have read the directions.

"I take it I wasn't supposed to?" Desperation leads to stupid actions. I'm in my find out era.

"No," she says, her voice dropping to a grave whisper. A chill runs down my spine as she adds, "You've upset the balance, Aria. The universe doesn't take kindly to that, and neither does your body." Shaking her head, she focuses on me. "Why do you hide, Aria?"

"Well, since you are so damn good at mind reading, why don't you tell me why?" All right, that was totally uncalled for, but I'm making bad decisions here. "I'm sorry, I'm not trying?—"

She cuts me off. "I understand. Aria, you are caught in a whirlwind of fear and uncertainty, running from the shadows of your past while trying to build a future that feels just out of reach. The trauma from your abusive ex still haunts you, creating barriers that prevent you from fully trusting those around you, even the ones who genuinely care. You're surrounded by strong protectors, yet you struggle with letting them in, fearing vulnerability might lead to more pain. Your heart craves peace and stability, but your mind is constantly in survival mode, making it difficult to embrace the love and safety you deserve. Your path is tangled with challenges, but remember, your resilience is your greatest strength. Embrace your instincts, trust in those who have proven their loyalty, and allow yourself the freedom to heal and thrive."

Well, it's far too early in the day to be called out like that.

"Furthermore," she continues, not allowing me to talk, "Aria, if you continue on this path of fear and suppression, the consequences will be dire. The suppressants you rely on to keep your omega nature at bay come with a heavy cost. They might change you fundamentally, dulling your true essence and instincts. The universe has a way of balancing itself, and if you keep denying who you are, it will demand retribution. You could lose the very parts of yourself that make you unique and strong. The protectors around you may not be able to shield you from the internal turmoil and cosmic backlash. It's crucial that you embrace your true nature and trust in the bonds you've formed. Only by facing your fears and accepting your identity can you find the peace and stability you seek."

"Ah…" Words fail me as I struggle to grasp her statement. "How the fuck do you know my name?"

Oh, that's the hill we are dying on today? Okay.

"Magic." She raises a brow, daring me to challenge her.

I don't. "The backlash, I thought you meant physical."

"Some, yes," she states. "Your heat will be long and painful without alphas, but more than that, think about what you are putting out in the world. It's going to come back to you if you don't change the course."

"I can't." I swallow past the lump in my throat.

"Why?" she challenges me.

"I need to know if they can love me." This time, I don't let her speak. I need to get the words out. "Noah loved me as an omega. He never loved me, Aria the woman—the one who can eat tacos for every meal." Tears burn my vision.

"Would you believe your auntie?" As the words leave her mouth, my whole body freezes.

My chest constricts, each breath becoming a struggle. The room spins, colors blurring together as my vision tunnels. My hand flies to my throat, fingers clawing at skin as if I could physically pry the panic from my body. "What," I gasp out, the word barely audible, "did you say?"

"Shut the fuck up." I stumble backward, crashing into a carousel display. Trinkets and charms rain down around me, their tinkling a stark contrast to the roaring in my ears.

"It isn't your fault she died," she says slowly. "She wants you to open up to them. To Dash, Za?—"

"Just stop…please," I choke out, my voice barely above a whisper. Without another word, I bolt for the door, desperate to escape the suffocating truth.

"Aria." The shopkeeper's voice cuts through the air like a knife, each word a stab to my heart. "Pretending her death didn't happen doesn't mean it's any less real. Her body is still waiting for you to claim it." The room seems to close in around me, the walls pulsing with the weight of her words.

With a distressed snarl, I run out of the shop and dive into Quinn's car, tears burning my eyes as they drip down my face.

She has no fucking idea what she's talking about.

Aunt Sara is fine.

She's fine.

She's fine.

I repeat it until I pull into the salon's parking lot.

Logically, I know I keep saying the words, pretending they are real, while at the same time, I know they aren't.