Two Years Later

Mari

“ Y ou have one minute remaining ,” the automated voice cuts through the phone call, interrupting Everly. The beta lets out a little groan of disappointment.

“How is thirty minutes already over?” she whines. It thrills me that she’s sad to hang up. I’ve been courted and rejected by too many packs to start this damn process over again.

“I wish I could meet you all in person,” I say in my sweetest voice. “I want to see your faces. I want to know if my fantasies are close.” I let out a breathy hum, pleased when one of the twins makes a rumbling noise of approval. Dassy and Hutch sound identical on the phone…not that Hutch says much.

“It won’t be long, omega,” Izan says. The pack alpha’s deep voice holds an impressive amount of confidence. It’s almost as if he knows something I don’t. It gives me hope that they’ve already decided to move on to the next step and request to claim me.

“Promise?” I ask, batting my eyelashes. I know they can’t see me, but if I do get to meet them in person, I’ll have to flirt, and I’ve never been good at acting coy. I need the practice.

“Promise,” Izan says, then the phone beeps and the line goes dead.

I hang up the receiver and the tension in my gut unfurls. Exhausted, I rest my elbows on the counter, hanging my head. It’s so draining, acting sweet and bubbly when all I want to do is demand they claim me. I want to get the hell out of this god-forsaken nut house.

“Time for your medication,” Traven says in his overly friendly voice.

I turn to the orderly, glaring at the tiny paper cup as he hands it over. In one jerk of my head, I down my antidepressants without any water. I’m convinced they don’t do shit, but there’s no arguing with the doctors in this place.

“Some of the omegas are in the sewing room,” Traven says, pointing down the hall. “The fall festival is around the corner and they’re making decorations. Maybe you could go and help.”

Traven’s not a bad guy, but he sometimes talks to the omegas around here like we’re a bunch of frightened toddlers. It’s very annoying.

“I’m good,” I say flatly, crushing the paper cup in my fist. “Thanks.”

“You don’t want to help plan the menu?” He pushes his hands into his pockets. His scrubs are bright blue with crisp lines down the sleeves and the front of his pants. Clearly brand new. “They’re making a list of desserts, and you could?—”

“I said I’m good.” My voice comes out much harsher than I intended, so I smile, trying to soften my reaction. “But, thanks,” I shrug, “for mentioning it.” I hate how stiff I sound.

I’m not good with easy banter or small talk. Stefan was the sociable one out of the two of us. Even as a child, he loved to meet new people and could talk to them so effortlessly, but I can’t even manage a convincing smile half the time.

Dr. Ambrose says my reluctance to interact with others is probably a result of my repressed memories. He says it’s my subconscious trying to protect me from getting hurt.

I say it’s all bullshit.

The fact is I don’t have a single repressed memory. I remember everything: My family’s death, living on the run, falling off that cliff. Losing Stefan . I live with every painful memory. But being in a nut house is like being under a microscope. The doctors demand you talk about it, pick your past apart, then force meds down your throat to make you seem “normal ”. But there’s nothing normal about this place. We’re all sad and pathetic, and talking about it doesn’t fix shit.

Hell, there have even been a few omegas at Havenfield that I’ve recognized from my old life. At one time, there was a redhead here that I know my brother was friends with, but thankfully, she never seemed to recognize me. If I remember correctly, she was young when she came here. And once I arrived she was too wrapped up in her own trauma to realize who I was.

I was thankful when she left.

My biggest fear was that she wanted to know what happened to my brother, and I’d be forced to admit how deeply I failed him.

No. It’s easier to pretend to forget everything.

“It wouldn’t hurt you to make a few friends,” Traven says as he nods at a pair of passing nurses. They both smile at me, and I push away from the counter.

“I don’t need friends.” I walk off, making my way to the cafeteria. I’ve got twenty minutes until they stop serving dinner, and I’m starving. I skipped lunch, not wanting to risk missing my phone call with Izan’s pack. We only get to talk once a week, and I can’t waste a single opportunity to make them want me.

“Everyone needs friends.” Traven follows, and I pick up my pace.

“You sound like a preschool teacher.” I round the corner, almost smacking into a small, fairly new, male omega. He startles, then shrinks away as I pass. “I don’t plan on being here much longer anyway.” I toss the crushed cup into a nearby trash bin. “There’s no point in making friends now.”

“Yeah?” Traven says with an excited lift in his voice. “Are things going well with the Silva pack? Do you think they’re the one? Or the four ?” He laughs at his little joke.

“I guess.” I pull to a stop right outside the cafeteria. “Don’t you have work to do?” I ask, cutting a quick look back down the hall. “Or are you going to follow me around all day?” I instantly hear my sharp tone and wish I hadn’t said that.

Half the time, my words tumble out of my mouth, and I don't realize how they sound until it’s too late. But I don’t know how to apologize for the way I talk, so I usually just shut up and wait for the offended party to walk off.

Thankfully, Traven doesn’t look angry. In fact, the corners of his smile fall, shifting his expression from friendly to something that resembles sadness. “You know,” he sighs as if struggling with some kind of emotion. “I'm gonna miss you when you’re gone, omega.” There’s a shocking amount of sincerity in his voice. It instantly makes me uncomfortable. “You make things around here very interesting.”

I have no idea what to say to that.

Traven is a nice guy. He’s usually the first to offer condolences when a pack rejects me, and he’s always trying to make me laugh with the worst jokes. He’s decent enough. But I’m shit when it comes to heartfelt emotions, so I do what I always do when someone is too nice to me: I snip at him.

“Whatever,” I say flatly. Then I walk off, leaving the beta in the hallway. This time he doesn’t follow me.

The cafeteria workers smile, trying to make conversation as I order my food. I keep my answers short, too hungry to chat. The long rectangular tables are dotted with other omegas, all wearing the same powder blue dress as me, finishing up their meals. I take my tray and walk straight to an empty table in the back.

No one ever sits with me, and I like it that way. I prefer peace and quiet while I eat. It allows me to focus on what’s important. Getting out of here so I can find Stefan.

All I have is the name of the asshole that took my brother— Cardis —and the memory of a shitty pack tattoo. But it should be enough to find them… assuming I can get my hands on a computer.

I slowly eat my food, thinking about the next steps in my plan: the sexy things I should say, and the way I should act during my next phone call with the Silva pack. They seem pretty enthralled with me. I’ve only had one other pack court me for as long as the Silva’s have, and I’m hopeful they’ll move forward and claim me soon, so I can get the fuck out of here.

“Good evening, omega,” Dr. Ambrose strolls up with a huge smile on his face, and panic slams into me. The only time I see the beta outside of our scheduled therapy appointments is when he comes to tell me I’m being rejected… again .

I guess I shouldn’t be shocked that the Silva pack doesn't want me.

It doesn't matter how hard I try, they all eventually back out. And it’s devastating.

That’s what I get for getting my hopes up.

“How are you today, Marigold?” Ambrose asks. I instantly frown when he uses my proper name, and he winces. “Sorry about that. Mari .” He exaggerates my name as he corrects himself. “It’s been a while since I made that mistake.” He chuckles and I turn my attention back to my food.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, trying to keep my emotions in check. After all, there’s a slim chance I’m not being rejected. It’s not likely, but I have to hope.

“I want to check on my favorite omega.” Ambrose moves across from me. His bald head throws off a high sheen as he sits. “I also heard they had chocolate cake today.” He leans in as if telling a secret. “Maybe we can convince one of the cooks to let us have an extra big piece.” He winks, and it takes everything in me not to roll my eyes.

I hate the games everyone here plays. No one ever comes out and says anything directly to our faces. Instead, the doctors and nurses slowly ease into every difficult conversation, it’s like being dipped into bubbling hot lava one inch at a time. I’d rather be tossed in.

“What happened?” I demand to know, dropping my fork. “Don’t dance around it. Just tell me.”

Ambrose’s blue eyes go wide, clearly surprised by my tone. I don’t know why. He’s been my primary therapist for two years. He should be used to me by now.

“Okay,” he nods, dropping the overly-sweet act. “How do you feel about the Silva pack?”

I’m a little surprised by his question and it takes me a minute before I can answer. “I like them.” My fingers tremble as I dance between scared and hopeful. I push my hands under my legs, hiding them. “I like them a lot. Why?”

“Are you sure you like them?” Ambrose’s eyes narrow, scanning the full length of my face. “Do you feel there’s a real connection?”

“Yes,” I say firmly. “I adore them. Izan, Dassy, Hutch, and Everly. They’re perfect for me.”

Ambrose’s mouth pulls into a tight line, and I can tell he’s working up the courage to say something. “I worry about you, Mari.” He places his hand on the table in front of me. I stare at it, not interested in being touched. “Most omegas are picky about the alphas they pursue. You just seem…”

My expression grows pinched as I wait for him to insult me—call me desperate or maybe even a whore. I’ve been called worse. “I seem what ?” I ask, daring him to finish his sentence.

“Eager,” Ambrose nods as if happy with his choice of words. “You have never once rejected a pack, even those that are clearly a poor match for you.” He drops his voice as a handful of giggling omegas sit at the table next to us. “It’s clear you want out of here,” he whispers, “and I don’t want you to settle.”

I sit a little taller, looking the beta right in the eyes. “I want to be claimed by a pack.” I let that fact hang in the air for a moment. “Isn’t the whole point of me being here to place me with a pack?”

Ambrose’s throat works as he swallows, and then he lets out a slow breath. “It is.” He clasps his hands, resting them on the table. “But the important thing is to place you with the right pack. Not just any group of alphas will do.” He pauses, looking deep into my eyes. “Do you want the Silva pack?”

“Yes,” I say in a loud, clear voice as I cross my arms. “I want them.” My pulse picks up, and I lean in. “Are they moving forward with claiming me? Do they want me?”

Ambrose lets out a sigh, then he presses his palms to the table as he stands. “Assuming all their paperwork is in order, they’ll be here to claim you tomorrow.”

My eyes go wide as shock and excitement erupt inside me. “ Tomorrow ?”

“Yes.” Ambrose nods. “I’m going to miss you, Mari. You are a guarded omega, but there’s a sweet girl inside those walls you’ve built up. I hope you can let Izan and his pack in. I hope you…” My mind drifts as Ambrose drones on. His voice is filled with melancholy, probably saying something sentimental, but I can’t hear a word he’s saying.

I’m getting out of here.