8. Aria

8

ARIA

I step out of Willow’s office, and my brain feels like it’s been through a blender set to mate bonds and omega rights.

Caught between a rock and a hard place? More like trapped in a maze where every turn leads to another dead end labeled “Scent Synergy . ” I’m trying not to panic, but let’s be real, I’m about two seconds away from a full-blown freak-out.

Omega Guardians HQ is like a balm for my frazzled nerves. All sleek lines and cozy vibes, it’s designed to make omegas feel safe. The air’s thick with calming pheromones and subtle scent neutralizers. It’s like being wrapped in a security blanket, if security blankets came with a side of you’re not going to die today, promise.

As I round the corner into the lobby, my world tilts sideways faster than a drunk sailor on a roller coaster. A scent hits me like a freight train of alpha masculinity—cedar and amber with a dash of I’m the boss, deal with it. Standing at the reception desk, commanding attention like he owns the place, is freaking Malachi.

My heart does a gymnastics routine in my chest, and breathing suddenly seems like an advanced skill I never mastered. Fear and anger duke it out in my gut, creating a blend of panic that’s becoming way too familiar. This is supposed to be my fortress of solitude, my alpha-free zone, and yet here’s Malachi, like the world’s most persistent pop-up ad.

For a hot second, I’m back in that nightmare when Pack Clarke discovered my secret. Zane’s glare, Quinn’s puppy dog eyes of betrayal, and Malachi’s disappointment all come rushing back, along with a metric ton of guilt and fear.

I dive behind a potted plant like it’s a shield against alpha pheromones. My hands grip the pot so hard I’m half expecting to leave dents. Part of me wants to curl up in a ball and pray for invisibility, but another part, the part that’s sick of feeling like a mouse in a house full of cats, is itching to march over there and demand answers.

And then maybe roll over and present my belly like a good little omega. Ugh, stupid biology.

As I’m having my internal debate, snippets of Malachi’s conversation float over. His deep voice sends shivers down my spine.

“…meeting with an omega… collaboration… support…”

My blood turns to a slushie, and fear tastes like pennies on my tongue. Is he here for me? Has he somehow sweet-talked Omega Guardians into gift wrapping me for him?

Before my brain can veto the terrible idea, I step out from behind my leafy fortress. My scent spikes with a cocktail of anger and anxiety strong enough to make a skunk jealous. “Malachi,” I call out, my voice sharp enough to cut diamonds. “What are you doing here?”

Great job, Aria. Accuse first, ask questions never. Real mature.

He turns, surprise written all over his annoyingly handsome face. For a split second, I catch something softer in his eyes—relief, maybe even concern—but it’s quickly hidden behind his usual mask. His scent shifts, washing over me with calming pheromones. It’s textbook alpha behavior, and it only fans the flames of my anger.

“Aria,” he rumbles, his voice doing things to my insides that I’m not ready to deal with. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Clearly,” I snap, crossing my arms like I’m trying to hold myself together. My nails dig into my skin, the pain grounding me in reality. “Were you hoping for a sneak attack? Get Omega Guardians to deliver me to you, wrapped in a pretty bow?”

Malachi’s eyebrows do a little dance of confusion, and his scent sours, like milk left out too long. “Aria, wait. This isn’t what you think. I’m here to—” He pauses, his voice dropping to a low, earnest timbre. “I’m trying to make things right. Not just for you, but for all omegas.”

I can’t stop. It’s like someone hit play on my inner monologue of grievances.

“I heard you talking about meeting with an omega. Was that supposed to be me? Did you think you could manipulate me through the one place where I finally feel safe? Oh, I’m sorry. Did I interrupt your little plan to save the poor, helpless omega? Newsflash, Malachi, I don’t need saving, especially not from you.” My omega pheromones are going crazy, filling the air with anger and hurt.

“Aria, please…” Malachi steps toward me, his expression doing a pretty good impression of a kicked puppy, but I back away like he’s on fire. Pain flashes across his face, there and gone in an instant. His alpha scent spikes with frustration and something that smells suspiciously like regret. “You have this all wrong. I’m not here to—Aria, I give you my word as an alpha and as a man that I’m here to help, not to harm. If you’ll just let me explain?—”

“Save it,” I cut him off, even as a tiny voice in the back of my mind notes the distress in his scent and the sincerity in his eyes. My omega instincts are whining, upset at causing an alpha pain, but I shove that feeling into a mental box to deal with later . “I don’t want to hear your excuses. Just… stay away from me, Malachi, and stay away from Omega Guardians.”

Before he can respond, I spin on my heel and bolt, nearly knocking over some poor omega who picked the wrong moment to walk in. The cool air outside hits me like a wake-up slap, and it’s only then that I realize I’m shaking like a leaf in a hurricane. The city assaults my nose with its usual symphony of scents, and it’s almost too much after the controlled environment of Omega Guardians.

What just happened? I feel a surge of pride, but it’s quickly followed by a nagging doubt that I might have jumped to conclusions faster than a frog on a hot plate. Malachi looked genuinely shocked, like he’d been ambushed by my presence as much as I had been by his. His scent had been so… sincere.

Had I read this whole situation as wrong as a you’re in place of your ?

Even worse, I realize I have to circle back because I just stormed out of the building I freaking live in. Smooth move, Aria.

Halfway back, my phone buzzes with a text.

Willow : Aria, I know you’re upset, but there’s more to this. Malachi’s intentions seem genuine. When you’re ready, let’s talk it through. I’m your personal omega bodyguard, armed with snark and ready for action.

Willow : Also, he wants to collab and work for omegas and not the government anymore. We’ve been working through contracts all day.

I stop dead in my tracks, staring at the message like it’s written in ancient Greek. A support program for omegas? Collaboration with Omega Guardians? It’s so far from what I was expecting, I almost think I’m hallucinating.

Embarrassment floods me, and my cheeks burn hotter than a jalape?o on the sun. It’s quickly followed by confusion, my omega instincts doing the mental equivalent of a five-year-old’s tantrum.

My mind races faster than a hamster on an energy drink. One second, I’m convinced Malachi’s the Big Bad Wolf, and the next, I’m wondering if he might actually be Red Riding Hood in disguise. My omega instincts and my rational mind are duking it out, making me feel like I just got off a tilt-a-whirl.

Stupid omega biology. Why can’t you just let me hate him in peace?

I was so sure that Malachi’s presence was a threat, an invasion, but if Willow’s right, and he’s genuinely trying to help?

I shake my head, trying to clear the jumble of thoughts. This changes nothing. One good intention doesn’t erase the past and magically fix all the hurt or undo the damage. It’s not a get out of jail free card for all the crap that happened.

Still, my finger hovers over Malachi’s contact in my phone like it’s a big red button labeled “Do Not Press . ” His scent lingers in my memory, making my inner omega want to roll over and beg for belly rubs. Should I call him and apologize for going off like a bottle rocket? Or should I stick to my guns, keep my distance, and focus on not getting my heart trampled on again?

As I stand on the sidewalk, indecision gnawing at me like a teething puppy, I can’t help but wonder what else might I have misjudged when it comes to Pack Clarke. What if everything I thought I knew about them—about him—is more complicated than a Rubik’s cube in a hall of mirrors?

I find myself thinking about each member of Pack Clarke. Zane, with his brooding intensity and unexpected vulnerability, like a grumpy cat that secretly loves belly rubs. Quinn, whose playful wit masks a mind sharper than a surgeon’s scalpel and a heart bigger than Texas. Dash, who is always ready with a joke, but with depths I’ve barely paddled in. Malachi, the steady center, whose leadership I’ve both resented and, if I’m being honest, kind of admired.

The questions linger, unsettling and unresolved, as I finally tuck my phone back into my pocket. For now, I need space to think. I need to figure out what’s real and what’s just the ghosts of past fears doing the cha-cha in my head.

And maybe, just maybe, I need to find out if there’s more to Malachi—and to this whole mess—than I’ve been willing to admit. As much as I hate to acknowledge it, the pull I feel toward him and all of Pack Clarke isn’t going away. If anything, it’s getting stronger, like a rubber band stretched to its limit.

I take a deep breath, letting the city air fill my lungs. It’s time to face the truth, no matter how uncomfortable it might be, because one thing’s for certain—I’m done playing hide-and-seek with my destiny. It’s time to put on my big omega pants and face this mess head-on. I’m more than just an omega and a potential mate. I’m Aria, and I’m done letting fear call the shots.

A chill runs down my spine like an ice cube on a hot day. Something tells me this isn’t the last surprise Pack Clarke has in store for me, and next time, I might not be so quick to run.

As I stride home, my resolve strengthens with each step, but a nagging thought tugs at the corners of my mind, like a persistent cat pawing for attention. What if fighting isn’t the answer this time? What if the real challenge isn’t standing against Pack Clarke, but finding the courage to let them in?