The Havenfield Claiming Offices

Izan

T his has to be the smallest office I’ve ever seen. The furniture is too big and the ceiling is too low. I can practically feel the bookshelf behind me pushing at my back, and the cluttered desk in front of me almost touches my knees. It’s tight. Almost claustrophobic.

“You were right,” Dassy says, shoving his hands into his pockets. The forceful movement makes the front of his navy blue slacks jerk at his waist. “They’re making us wait a long time.”

I lean back in my chair, stretching my back the best I can. “This is all a test,” I remind the tense alpha. “They want to see if we’re patient enough to handle an omega’s needs.” I glance at his brother.

Hutch stands next to the only window, looking cool and relaxed. He and Dassy are dressed identically today. Same crisp white dress shirt, cuffed at the elbows, and matching slacks. The twins don’t normally dress the same, but it’s kind of funny when they do. It clearly sets people on edge to see two massive, identical alphas.

“I hate this.” Dassy fidgets with his sleeves, pushing them up a little higher. “This was much easier in the Morder.”

I jerk at his mention of the black market, shooting him an angry glare. “Sit down,” I order in a harsh whisper.

The big blond alpha silently nods, then takes his seat next to me. The chair groans and creaks from his size.

“Good afternoon.” The office door swings open, and a dark-haired woman carrying a coffee cup steps inside. She’s tall with broad shoulders and a firm voice. It takes me a full minute to clock that she’s not an alpha.

“Good morning,” I say, not bothering to stand up. I don’t show respect to people that waste my time.

“I’m Mari’s caseworker, Vanessa Tacken.” She sits, setting her cup on a wooden coaster. There are a pair of black-rimmed glasses sitting on top of her head. “We’ve spoken on the phone a few times.”

I nod, resting my hands on my lap. I want to pull at my tie, but I don't want to look like I’m nervous. I hope Mari likes red. It’s the only silk tie I own, but at the time I thought the fabric choice was more important than the color.

“Did anyone offer you a drink?” Tacken asks. “Coffee? Water?”

“We’re good,” I answer for all three of us in a commanding tone. “We’re eager to meet our omega. Is everything in order with our paperwork? Can we meet her now?”

“We have a few more things to cover before you can meet Mari.” The beta’s mouth pulls into a tense smile. It’s obvious she’s used to handling irritated alphas. “The biggest thing I want to discuss before moving forward with any paperwork, is that her body isn’t used to being tended to.”

My brows pull together in confusion. “I thought places like this allowed the omegas to tend to one another during their heats.”

“We do.” Tacken pulls a thick file off the stack in front of her. “But Mari doesn’t like aides during her heat. She suffers alone, refusing?—”

“Alone?” Dassy cuts in, as shocked as I am.

“Yes.” Tacken lets out a frustrated sigh. “She doesn’t seek help from the other omegas, and even refuses the use of devices that mimic an alpha’s knot.”

“Damn,” Dassy says, clearly struggling to believe it. Hell, I am too.

“Mari’s body will need time to get used to constant physical affection.” Tacken’s dark eyes move to each one of us, landing on me last. “She might be sore, swollen, and could experience pain after prolonged sexual activity. She’ll need some time to get used to you.”

I shift in my chair, not caring for this detail. My kind like to take our time with our lovers. We like to rut and fuck and thrust all night long. “How long will it take her body to acclimate?” I ask.

“Not long,” Tacken says. “Maybe a few weeks. She should be okay by the time the heat-suppressors wear off, but you’ll need to be very cautious at first.”

Hutch shifts outside of my periphery, and I look up at the alpha. He doesn't look happy, and I have to agree. While we weren’t exactly planning on fucking Mari’s brains out the second we walked in the door, I did expect to be able to let instinct drive us when it came to physical affection. Now it appears that we’ll have to take things much slower.

“Shall we begin?” Tacken opens the folder in front of her, reading the top line. “Marigold Doe.”

“Doe?” Dassy leans forward in his chair, and I realize for the first time that we don’t know her last name. We admittedly don’t know much about the omega, but she doesn’t like to talk about her life at Havenfield. She always says it’s too boring then she begs us to tell her stories about our family and home.

I guess we should have asked her more questions.

“I know you’ve been speaking with Mari for a few months now.” Tacken opens the file, and my heart pounds at the picture clipped inside. It’s at a weird angle and upside down, but I can clearly see that Mari has long blonde hair and a pale complexion. And those eyes. They look dark and mysterious. “Has she not mentioned her medical issues?”

“She hasn’t,” I answer politely, not pointing out that she knows exactly what we discuss with Mari. They monitor everything in this damn place, including the phone calls.

Tacken takes the glasses off of her head, sliding them on. The lenses magnify her blue eyes, making them look unusually wet. “Mari has amnesia caused by trauma she endured prior to coming here.”

“Trauma?” I lean forward, fighting the urge to snatch the chart out of the beta’s hand. Today is filled with all kinds of surprises.

“What kind of trauma?” Dassy asks as Hutch moves behind him. Both have the exact same expression: Angry with a cut of worry between their matching brows.

“We don’t know exactly.” Tacken looks up at me. “Mari was found at the base of a high cliff in the middle of the woods. She had a head injury and several broken bones. We have reason to believe she might have been thrown.”

My muscles tense and my fists curl around the arms of my chair. “Who hurt her?” I ask, wanting to destroy the piece of shit that touched my omega.

“We don’t know,” Tacken says with an annoying amount of restraint. “Mari has blocked all of those memories.”

“Why wasn’t she in an omega academy?” Dassy asks. “Did she run away from one or was she kidnapped?”

They’re both excellent questions, and I stare at Tacken, waiting for her to answer.

“We can’t find any paperwork on Mari being enrolled at the other academies, but we aren’t completely sure. She was only able to remember a few basic things about herself, like her age, but she couldn’t remember anything else before her injury. Not even her last name,” she says the fact like it’s simple.

“Omegas have to be enrolled in an academy by the age of sixteen,” I say, struggling to understand how Mari ended up in the wild. “If she was eighteen when you found her, that would mean she was lost in the woods for at least two years if not longer. How is that possible?”

“I don’t know.” Tacken lets out a sad sigh. “But it’s safe to say she survived for a long time out there all by herself.”

Hutch makes a noise as if impressed, and Dassy nods, agreeing with his twin. I have to admit, it’s wild to think of a lone omega living off the grid all by herself. How she managed for so long without being snatched or mated against her will is shocking.

“So you don’t know anything about her past life?” I ask.

“When she was brought in, one of the orderlies said that she was screaming for someone.” Tacken looks down at paperwork in front of her. “Steven or Griffin.” She squints at the scribbled handwriting, before shaking her head. “We’re not sure. And the second Mari came around, she claimed she had no idea who they were either.”

“Maybe she ran away with someone?” Dassy guesses. “Omegas mourn pretty intensely and for quite a while. Maybe she lost her lover and was devastated to admit it.”

“It’s possible.” Tacken shrugs.

“Or,” Hutch speaks up, “she was snatched up by someone who abused her.”

“And she doesn’t want to talk about it,” Dassy finishes his twin’s thought. Hutch’s dark suggestion makes me tense. They’re not wrong.

“That’s also possible,” Tacken says through a tight jaw. It’s clear she doesn’t want to agree. “But it’s also possible that Mari was hallucinating that someone was with her after she fell. She had been laying there for at least a few days, she was severely dehydrated, and had a very severe head injury.” Tacken turns the page on Mari’s chart, hiding the list of her injuries. “We simply don’t know.”

“What can we do to help her?” I ask. “Ongoing therapy? Medication? Tell me what she needs.”

Tacken’s brows raise as if surprised by my question. “A lot of packs resist allowing their new mates to undergo therapy after they move in with them.”

“Our beta was a counselor,” Dassy says. The sense of pride he has for Everly is very clear in his tone. “She worked with abandoned and abused preteen alphas. She’s big on working through past trauma.”

“Everly Carrel?” Tacken reads her name from what looks like our application. “Is that why you chose to get an omega from Havenfield?” Tacken narrows her eyes as if trying to figure something out. “Because you could easily get one from a more accredited academy.”

I clasp my hands in my lap, ready for this question. “Everly believes that all omegas deserve love. She wanted to take in someone that needs that extra amount of love and care. She’s a wonderful beta with a big heart.”

“That’s admirable,” Tacken says, and I’m shocked at the level of sincerity in her tone. “With your financial background, your pack could easily get an omega from almost anywhere.”

I smile, not offering any more information. The fact is, standard academies with “healthy” omegas pick your life and business apart. I don’t need the headache. Plus, Everly gets her pet project, while we get our omega. So Havenfield is a good match for us.

“Alright,” Tacken says, pulling a large contract from a desk drawer. “Let’s go over your paperwork so you can meet your omega.”