Chapter 1 There You Are, Little Mouse

“ Do not embarrass me today, Haven. ” My father’s alpha command ripples over me, locking down any inclination I might have had to cause a ruckus. Not that there was much. I don’t know why he’s constantly suspicious of my devious nature.

It doesn’t exist.

Literally, I’ve done nothing to step out of line. Ever. Not that he knows about.

But then he’s never given me a chance to.

For all intents and purposes, I am a good girl. An obedient daughter. An excellent omega.

A better beta.

I presented when I was sixteen and graduated summa cum laude from the American Omega Academy. I never speak out of turn, am the definition of seen and not heard, and yet… he still feels the need to bark me into submission before every event he drags me to.

I frown out the window. He doesn’t expect or want a reply.

He appreciates my silence best.

Sometimes I go for days without uttering a single word. Not one noise vibrates from my chest, and that is exactly how he likes it.

I’ve turned it into a game. How long can I stay silent? How long can I be without a voice? So far, the longest I’ve gone is six days, four hours and twenty-seven minutes. Then I hit my funny bone on the sharp edge of a door and I’d practically screamed a slew of curses.

“ You may speak when spoken to ,” my father continues his commands. “ But keep your replies concise and polite. You will not engage in any omega behavior with any of the alphas present. You will maintain a respectful demeanor at all times. ”

I keep my back straight and even though I want to curl under the weight of his commands. Too many to actually maintain, to actually hold. But then I know the one he most wants to keep intact is the one he repeats at the end. “ Do not embarrass me. ”

The words are hissed at me just as the car slides to a stop outside the empty lot. Well, not totally empty. There’s a group of people with cameras milling around and a sign that reads ‘Future site of the Bell Medical Clinic’. At the back of the lot is a group of construction workers, along with various equipment, ready to get to the actual work once my father’s display is over.

To the side are a series of party tents with chairs and tables, food and drinks. Not only is this a groundbreaking for the clinic, it’s also a re-election rally, a chance for my father to rub elbows with his constituents and prove what a man of the people he is.

Something splatters against the side of the car—a chocolate milkshake, I think—making me flinch away from the window.

Oh, yes, there is also a crowd of angry people on the street, protesting the construction of a high rise on their waterfront. Not only that, but on a lot that once was quite a lovely park with a view of the bay. The clinic my father is funding will be on the bottom three floors, while the remaining ten floors will be luxury apartments and penthouses.

Nerves grip me as my father’s guards push back the protestors, getting them away from the car, before the driver, Williams, opens my father’s door. He doesn’t look at me as he stands from the car and then holds one imperious hand out to me.

It won’t matter if I say I don’t want to do this, that I’m afraid of the protestors, of how much this city seems to hate him and me by extension. If I don’t slide out of the car right now, he’ll just command me to. The result will be the same, and only one option will result in a punishment.

No matter how scared I am of other people, my father is a million times worse.

My fingers don’t shake as they slide into his, allowing him to pull me from the car. His gaze scans over me, taking in the knee-length skirt, the button-up shirt, the cardigan and the suit jacket over top. It’s one of his approved outfits, about as far from my omega nature as it can get, all hard lines and stiff fabrics, itchy and too warm for the early autumn weather, but that’s never been a concern of his.

No, it doesn’t matter how I feel, only how I look. And he wants to make sure I look nothing like an omega. Or at least nothing like how the world envisions omegas. Soft, curvy, sweet. Not completely fair, but it’s the truth.

He nods once and I have to fight the flush that small amount of approval gives me.

God, I’m pathetic.

The protestors shout things at us, pushing against my father’s alpha guards, trying to get close to him, to me.

I keep my gaze down and forward, concentrating on keeping my feet under me on the uneven ground as my father leads the way into the lot, to the crowd of reporters waiting to witness what I know Frederick Bell will announce as a historic moment.

It’s definitely not that. Just another unwanted development. Another cash cow for him to make money, another step up the ladder to where he wants to go… which is—I suppress a shudder—the White House as the president. That is his ultimate goal. And this here? It’s the newest step of many on his quest for power.

In a year, he’ll announce his bid to run for president. And I’ll be expected to smile and play the dutiful daughter for… years. The rest of my life. Agreeing with his conservative bullshit ideas, spouting the words that he’s commanded me to say, unable to do anything different.

We come to a stop in the middle of the field, and I take up position behind him, falling into the stance he’s hammered into me from the time I was a child. Hands folded demurely in front of me, a polite smile on my lips, eyes pointed at the ground.

It’s one of his rules for times like this: I can either look at him and pretend to beam with pride, or I can look at the ground. Never at anyone else. He didn’t bother to use the command on me in the car, hasn’t for years. It’s so ingrained in me now that he doesn’t need to.

Only…

As my father begins his speech, going on and on about how this building will be good for the area for business, for the housing crisis, for lower-income families to visit the clinic, there’s an itching on my forehead. Right over where my third eye would be if I believed in that like my best friend, Florence, does. It’s not really an itch, more like a tickle of sensation, the feeling of eyes on me.

I pull my gaze from the back of my father’s head and focus on the crowd. Like me, everyone has their eyes on Frederick Bell as he proselytizes about the new clinic and the good it will do in helping alphas and omegas not be slaves to their instincts. The camera crews from local and national news stay pointed at him. Everyone is hanging on his every word.

It’s almost like he has some kind of power, some kind of magical sway over the people who attend these things. He’s an excellent public speaker, that’s for sure. Charismatic, engaging, charming. People love him. It’s a shame he uses all that charm to spew absolute garbage about the designations. Well, about two of the designations, not all three of them. Betas he has no quarrel with.

If he had his way, he’d rip out the alpha and omega designations all together and we’d all be left as mild betas, who aren’t driven by instincts. Funny, considering he’s an alpha and I am an omega, and these two things allow him to exert his iron fisted control over me.

My lips stay curled into the polite smile that my father seems to prefer as I scan the crowd, searching for where that feeling is coming from.

My heart skips a beat as my grey eyes collide with a pair of light brown eyes, the color of the fancy bourbon that my father likes to drink, warm and caramelly and inviting. Something deep inside me clenches under his regard, and I have the distinct urge to go to him, to stand in front of him and breathe him in… only my father’s commands keep me in place. If he hadn’t bothered to use an alpha bark on me, I have a feeling I would have wandered right off the stage.

The gold eyes that have me captured crinkle at the corners, and I blink, realizing I’ve been staring too hard at those honey pools, and I haven’t even noticed the rest of him.

My smile dims as my mouth parts and I have to blink again. He’s older than me by maybe ten years, late twenties to early thirties. Tan skin, black curly hair, clean shaven cheeks. There’s a scar in one of his straight brows that I can see from here, and a twinkle in those gold eyes. He’s wearing a three-piece suit, with a crisp white shirt and a tie.

The brow with a scar in it arches as he leans over and says something to the person standing next to him.

My gaze follows the movement to another man, around the same age, with bright emerald green eyes and sandy blond hair. There’s a sheen of golden stubble on his cheeks, intentionally I’m sure. His mouth is full and smiling, grinning, beaming as he makes eye contact with me. He’s wearing a soft looking deep purple sweater over a pair of dark jeans.

They both look as though they’d fit in exceedingly well with my father’s closest circle. And I can’t help the stab of disappointment that they’re here, at what amounts to a political rally for my father’s campaign, and not in a working capacity like a reporter or a photographer. No, they’re here because they choose to be.

Which likely means they share his views on the designations, that they treat omegas that same way he does. As a tool to be wielded, a pet to be kept under control.

It’s harder than I’d like to admit to pull my gaze away from them, to lower it to the stage in front of me, to pull that polite smile back to my face. I can still feel them staring at me, feel their confusion, when I disregard them. They’re so handsome I’m sure they’re used to girls falling all over themselves for just a glimpse of them. If they’re expecting that from me, they’ll be sorely disappointed.

I ignore it, push that tingle of awareness away and focus on breathing, on being the perfect omega daughter to my father, on putting on the show that everyone expects to see. It’s infuriating beyond belief that my life is only this. A prop to make my father look better, to help him reach his goals.

Sometimes I think of what it would be like if I wasn’t an omega, if I’d been born as a beta. Would he like me more? Treat me with more respect? As someone capable of making my own decisions and monitoring my own actions? Or would it be the same? Would he still bully me with his alpha bark, command me to follow his every whim?

On nights when I’m particularly despondent, I imagine what life would have been like had my mother taken me with her when she left. Maybe we’d be living in a small apartment in a city far from here. I wouldn’t have been able to attend the American Omega Academy, but that is a small price to pay for living a happy life.

There’s a small stab of guilt, as I have the thought. If I didn’t attend AOA, I wouldn’t have met Florence Karlin, also an omega, and my best friend in the entire world. My only friend in the entire world.

We were roommates, sharing what amounted to a small apartment with separate bedrooms but a shared living space. Where I was quiet and studious, Ren was a little bit wild, a little bit loud. You’d think we wouldn’t get along, but as soon as we met, we just clicked. I dragged her to the top of class with me, and she helped me embrace my wilder side… Not that there is much of a wild side in me, but what little there is, she brings out.

I blink back to myself as the crowd erupts into applause. My hands are already moving of their own accord before I realize my father has finished with his speech. My palms slap together as I beam at the crowd, knowing that to everyone out there it looks genuine, like I support his disturbing claims, his beliefs.

I keep clapping as my father smiles and waves at the crowd. His aide, Brian Coogan, strolls across the stage to his side and murmurs something in my father’s ear. He nods, waves again and then heads toward the stairs at the side of the stage, walking right past me as if I mean nothing. Brian comes to my side, and ushers me off the stage with a hand at the base of my spine, like a real gentleman, but he leans over and says through gritted teeth, “if you don’t smile, I will give you something to be upset about.”

Not the most creative threat, too open-ended, but he means it. Beyond that, Brian is an alpha who can, and has, bark at me to get my compliance. My father gave him permission to do so two years ago when I came home from the academy. Anything to keep me in the role of dutiful daughter.

I pull my lips into a beaming smile as he guides me down the stairs like I can’t possibly manage it myself, and then keeps his loathsome hand on me as we follow my father around the crowd. Glad handing and smiling, literally kissing babies, having his picture taken with people who worship the ground he walks on, who follow his beliefs of suppressing our instincts. No packs. No heats. No scents. No scent marking. Nothing that makes us closer to animals than humans.

My father is a one man, one woman kind of guy. He hates the idea of a pack. Hates the idea of omegas, of losing control because of instincts. He’s not shy about admitting it. He’s a firm believer that it’s not something that we need to do, and he props me up as an example. Look at my omega daughter who behaves like a beta. Look at how she stays quiet and in control when faced with alphas. Look at how she hasn’t begged for a pack. Look at how she has little to no scent to tempt alphas.

All of that is true, but it’s only because he’s had me on suppressants and scent blockers since I graduated from the AOA and returned home. When I’d resisted, he’d barked at me to comply, and he’s been doing it every day since.

I suffer through the crowd, shaking hands and smiling, but remaining silent. My father’s commands before this were clear. Do not speak unless spoken to, and no one here cares what I have to say. No one here wants to speak to me, and so I remain silent.

Eventually, my father catches my eye and gives me a nod. His silent assertion that I have done my duty for the day and I can disappear until it’s time for us to go. It’s all the permission I need to step away from Brian and his too familiar touch and wind my way through the crowd. Normally, I’d head to the car and the reading tablet I’ve stashed there.

It only has Frederick Bell approved reading on it, but it’s better than nothing, something to occupy my time while I wait.

But today I feel itchy… like I wouldn’t be able to sit still, to focus. The idea of spending the next hour in a car alone chafes. I guess technically I wouldn’t be alone. I’d be with the driver who doubles as a bodyguard, but it’s not as though any of them talk to me. No, they’re just as silent as I am unless they’re responding to one of my father’s orders or giving me an order themselves.

I breathe a little easier when I reach the edge of the crowd. A few of the spectators eye me. There’s a reporter who looks like she might want to approach, but I avoid eye contact and hurry away, heading toward the buildings that flank the empty lot. I’ll duck out of sight and take a few deep breaths, maybe call Florence, though she’s probably in rehearsal at the moment. I can still text to check in with her.

My shoulders slump as I round the corner, free of the eyes of the crowd. With a weary sigh, I lean against the brick of the building and dip my chin to my chest, taking deep, even breaths. I need moments like this in my life, moments where I don’t have eyes on me, where I can’t feel the weight of my father’s disappointed stare, the heaviness that started the moment I perfumed as an omega. Not that it was all sunshine and roses before I presented. No, my father has always been a difficult man to live with. Overbearing and controlling, but it wasn’t like this.

He’d allowed me some freedom. I went to school and had friends, dated a boy or two. I was a normal teenager until I turned sixteen. And then it was like a switch flipped in his head.

The thing that drives him now is making sure I don’t act like an animal, on base instinct.

“There you are, little mouse.”

I look up sharply, already hating that anyone would call me that. I may be quiet, but that doesn’t mean I’m a timid little beast that scurries away when it’s startled. If I was, I would have gone into hiding a long time ago.

The glare fades from my eyes when I see who it is that found me, though. Handsome. Really handsome. Dark brown hair burnished with auburn. Icy blue eyes. Pale skin that rivals my own. Thick black lashes. High cheekbones. Full mouth. Tall. Broad shouldered. Tapered waist. Thighs as thick as my waist. Unmistakably an alpha.

Unmistakably an alpha that my omega wants to climb like a tree to get at the patch of skin under his ear where his scent is strongest, right where the black ink that looks like a tentacle curls. Surprising, since I haven’t really felt my omega in two years.

A low pleased purr sounds from him, not a full alpha purr, but one that tells me he likes my attention on him. My eyes fly to meet his, realizing I’d been focused on his neck, staring at it like I want to bite him, mark him. Crap. Does this qualify as embarrassing my father? Drooling over an alpha I haven’t been properly introduced to?

There’s a twinge of panic, the slightest squeeze. But then I rationalize with the part of myself under my father’s command that he’s not here to witness it. So unless this man strides back to the rally and loudly proclaims I was a needy little omega in front of him, I should be fine.

I haven’t violated any of the demands he made of me.

“What are you doing over here, omega? It isn’t safe,” the alpha says, shifting just slightly closer. I move back, keeping what my father has deemed the appropriate amount of space between our bodies. Anything less and I’d be in danger of defying him.

“I needed some air,” I say in response, my voice slightly husky from disuse. Goodbye four days, twelve hours and eleven minutes of silence.

His brows arch in surprise, like he hadn’t expected my voice. Most people don’t. It’s low and raspy for an omega. Smoky , one alpha told me, and then he sneered that it matched my smoked chili and pineapple scent. Most people don’t expect that spicy bite in an omega scent. Most don’t want it.

No omegas are all dessert scented—fudge and pie and cake—or florals. I’ve never come across another omega with such a sharp bite in their scent as I have. Which is why I don’t mind so much that my father has commanded me to use scent blockers.

No one likes my spicy, acidic scent anyway.

Except for maybe Florence. But she’s the other half of my soul, so that’s to be expected.

The alpha glances around, pointing out wordlessly that the entire rally is very much outside.

“Metaphorically,” I add, before he can make a comment about it.

He hums and holds out his hand. “Hale Calloway.”

My fingers tingle with the urge to touch him, to feel the warmth of his skin against mine, but that urge is more than just the normal polite greeting… It feels dangerously like an omega response to an alpha, and so I ignore his hand and tip my head. “Haven Bell.”

He grins all teeth. It feels like a threat and, at the same time, not . “Oh, I know. I’ve been wanting to meet you for a while, but you always scurry off to hide at these events.”

“Hence the ‘little mouse’ comment.” I clasp my hands together in front of me to avoid fidgeting. My father hates fidgeting.

“Well, that and you’re quiet as a mouse most of the time. It’s a shame, because a voice like yours is what filthy dreams are made of.” Another flash of those dangerous teeth. “What I wouldn’t give to have that husky voice whisper dirty things in my ear.”

My fingers squeeze tighter together while an internal battle rages. This is definitely not appropriate behavior, not on his part at least. I haven’t done anything wrong, haven’t said anything out of turn, and yet, it feels like this is stepping over every boundary my father has ever put in place for me.

“You’ve been watching me?”

His grin turns wolfish. “Pretty girl like you? Hell yeah, I watch you. We all do.”

We all do. I think he means it as a compliment. Most people probably like to be looked at, admired by the opposite sex (or the same sex), but my brain does some mental gymnastics to make it seem like I’m drawing attention to myself, making a spectacle. Which is decidedly against the commands my father has laid out for me.

I feel my face go pale and there’s no hiding the tremble of my fingers as I try to figure out a way to undo this, to take back whatever I’ve done to go against my commands. Only there is nothing. I’ve done exactly as my father told me to do. Smiled demurely, only spoke when spoken to, maintain a beta like existence. Nothing omega about me.

I didn’t even shake his hand, for goodness’ sake.

His icy blue eyes drop to my twisting fingers, the slight hitch in my chest as I try to convince myself that I have done nothing to go against my father’s wishes. That wolfish, charming smile of his falls away.

“Hey, I didn’t mean anything by it.” He reaches out like he might touch me, brush his fingers over my skin to soothe me. I know it’s part of an alpha’s instincts if they’re around an omega in distress. It’s in their blood to want to help.

And it’s in my blood to want to let them. But standing here and letting an alpha touch me for comfort? That goes against the leash my father has put on me.

I swallow a whine as I step back from him, keeping him from making contact. His hand, covered in tattoos, I realize, hangs there in between us for a moment, before he tucks it into the pocket of his slacks and shifts back on his heels, leaning away from me. I don’t know if he can sense I need the additional space or if he’s just reassessing how to approach me, but either way… it gives me the distance I need to slip around him.

He’s dangerous to me, to the commands my father has put in place. If I spend any more time with him, one second longer in his company, I have a feeling that my omega, even as deeply buried as she is under suppressants, will claw her way to the surface and push against those commands to take what she wants.

It’ll hurt. Be painful. I’ll end up with a migraine the size of a planet and have to spend the next twenty-four hours in bed.

It happened before. And I have no urge to suffer through it again.

I dip my chin at him. “It was nice to meet you, Mr. Calloway.” Polite, demure. Nothing untoward in that statement, even if it’s a lie.

“Little mouse, wait,” he says, but there isn’t a bark in the command, so I ignore it, hurrying away from him. I’ll make my way back through the rally and return to the car and my silent bodyguard. Better to do that than risk running into him again, or one of the other alphas in the crowd that drew my attention.