5. Juno

JUNO

THREE YEARS LATER.

“I have a present for you!”

Juno was walking across the quad of the Omega Village, enjoying the crisp morning air.

“Biiiiiiiitch! Did you hear me? I said—”

The voice sounded closer now. And stilted, like the owner was running.

Juno whipped her head around and doubled over laughing at the sight of her best friend Hazel Wu. The other omega was chasing after her, holding her ample bosom with both hands so they wouldn’t bounce everywhere. It was a dilemma she was wholly unfamiliar with as she jogged over, helping close the distance between them.

“Shit, Haze, sorry about that,” she laughed once she caught up. Hazel waved a nonchalant hand, not even a little bit out of breath.

Hazel and Juno were opposites in almost every way. Natural black to Juno’s dyed blonde, Hazel’s lush omega curves made Juno feel like a bridge troll beside her. To be fair, Hazel forged her body daily at the gym and Juno was deathly allergic to anything that elevated her heart rate. Juno would douse herself everyday in scent-neutralising products to minimise catching an alpha’s (really anyone’s) attention and saw it as a personal victory when she passed as a beta. Whereas Hazel made bank with her nudes as a top earner on OmegaFans and sold her used slick-stained panties as a side hustle.

And yet, upon leaving their first group therapy session in the bond dissolution trials almost three years ago, Hazel eyed her warily for a second before throwing her a lifeline. “Wanna get hotpot?” Sisterhood was born that day over spicy Sichuan broth and never being good enough for their Asian parents.

“I got you a present!” Hazel thrust a crumpled piece of paper into her hands. Juno smoothed out the print-out, eyes widening.

“You got me a ticket to the Van Gogh exhibit at the Lume?”

“Hell yeah I did! I’ve seen you sneaking looks at the site before shutting it again.”

Juno was elated and guilty all at once. Hazel had way more disposable income than she did — part-time barista did not earn as much as an OmegaFans creator, who knew — but she was always determined to pay her way around her friend.

“Don’t give me that look, Junie. It’s the three year anniversary of your freedom day!”

“My…what?”

Hazel cleared her throat, held a hand to her chest solemnly and began reciting. “On this blessed day, three years ago…NOC officers came to your aid, breaking into that doctor’s office and beating the Zhaos into a bloody pulp…”

“Detained only briefly before they had to release them for lack of evidence,” Juno corrected.

“The big alpha lawyer was there too. Looking delicious in his suit. He smelled like…justice.”

“Lawyer was a she, and that was days later and more for getting the protection order in place. But yes, I suppose she was an alpha so you got that right.”

“They all whisked you away to the nearest room. ‘Are you ok, Juno?’ they growled. ‘Why don’t you find out?’ you replied, as you grabbed the ties of your hospital gown and—”

“You really need to watch less porn, Hazel.”

“Sorry, I fell down the rabbit hole of OnlyA’s, you know — the alpha version of OmegaFans? It was…an experience.” Hazel’s eyes grew distant for a moment before she shook herself out of her daydream. “Yeah I’m definitely close to my heat. Gotta book in with heat services soon.”

“You don’t say,” Juno said, dryly.

Had it really been three years already? Her life with Pack Zhao didn’t feel real. A ghost haunting her memory, bearing her name and face but somehow wasn’t her. There was a pang of sadness as she remembered the one bright spot in that time — Julian. She had tried to find him online numerous times since then but was unsuccessful.

Hazel tilted her head towards the building Juno just came out of. “How was therapy?”

“Bonds are still very much broken, just like my capacity for physical and emotional intimacy.” Juno gave her a winning smile with a thumbs-up and Hazel clicked her tongue disapprovingly.

The bond dissolution trials were still ongoing, and Juno and Hazel’s cycle of participants were in the final phase — long term monitoring. It turned out everything Juno had been doing to dampen the bond between herself and the Zhao brothers — visualisation, meditative techniques — was actually part of the dissolution process. It was used alongside a two-pronged pharmaceutical approach with newly developed drugs. Juno would not miss the regular injections into the site of her bondmarks or the comically large bond-suppressant pills.

Despite needing to break the bonds of two alphas, Juno was one of the first of her cycle to be successful. Eric’s severed first after three months, like a rope being pulled in two directions until the final strand snapped. Andrew lasted another six weeks after that, shredding from her mind during a particularly gruelling visualisation session.

Though the injections and pills were long gone, she still maintained regular therapy sessions to ensure the success of the bond dissolution.

And to try and deal with the mire of issues being sold unwillingly to a pack by her own family left her with.

“Lunch tomorrow?”

“Can’t, I’m getting a tattoo.” Juno tapped a small bare patch on the side of her neck.

Since her emancipation from Pack Zhao, Juno had dyed her hair blonde and covered her neck, shoulders and collarbones with ink. Starting with a big fuck-off spider in the middle of her throat over Andrew’s bondmark. Was it smart to spend a decent chunk of her limited income from the trials on tattoos? Probably not, but she imagined her Mama clucking in disappointment and would develop the urge to get another. Plus, the thought of her heat videos surfacing still haunted her — no idea if or when that particular grenade would be detonating — so distancing herself from that girl on film partly drove her physical metamorphosis.

On the upside, it also felt fucking good to do what she wanted with her own body. To like who she saw in the mirror. To completely cover the area of her body where an omega traditionally received bondmarks with beauty and pain of her own choosing.

She never wanted anyone to bond her again.

“Managed to get a flash day slot with an artist I’ve been dying to book with. Wanna come and pop your ink cherry?”

“Fuck no.” Hazel blew her a kiss. “Gotta run, I’ll text you later.” She left in a cloud of tropical, fruity sweetness. Juno didn’t get to yell “thank you again for the Van Gogh ticket” in time and swore under her breath.

* * *

Hazel had booked her a morning weekday session, knowing that Juno really only ventured out in public when she was likely to be around the least amount of people. She stepped into the vast gallery space, awestruck by how the light projections coupled with synchronised music immediately transported her. It was Arles, 1888. Flowers blossomed and grew up the towering walls and across the floor. There was a young family, parents and their toddler pointing excitedly. A couple of little old ladies seated together. A handful of other individuals were dispersed through the space, but it was mostly empty like she had hoped. Juno relaxed, and let herself focus on the exhibition instead of the possibilities of any alphas around.

She drifted deeper into the room, before deciding to sit on one of the benches in the middle. An asylum in Saint-Remy de Provence. Starry night. Luminous and turbulent.

Juno was unsure of how long she sat there before the scent of coffee curled around her, warm and inviting.

This was nothing like the coffee she smelled day in and day out on her cafe shifts. It was daybreak, greeting the morning sun as it peeked over the horizon. Rich with potential, promises and optimism. There was a bold undercurrent of macadamias, cosy and mellowed. A hug from a lover, a murmured good morning kissed into the neck and a mug slipped into the palm.

It made her heart hurt.

He was an alpha, her whole body knew he was an alpha. Juno ducked her head, surreptitiously looking over. Messy dark curls, a gorgeous smattering of freckles and a rounded pair of glasses she wanted to see fog up during heated kisses. Oh fuck.

She could sense her own scent blooming, unable to resist the siren call of this alpha seated on the next bench. He turned and their eyes met. Juno held her breath, completely torn.

Wanting him. Afraid of what it meant to want him.

He smiled and a dimple appeared on his cheek. How fucking dare he. Was the scent, his face, those shoulders arms legs hands not enough?

“I think this has ruined me for normal galleries,” he chuckled.

Juno was pretty sure he’d ruined a lot of things for her.

“Really? So you’re saying the moment you step into the Louvre, you’ll…”

“Wonder why there’s only one tiny Mona Lisa instead of fifteen projected on the walls and floor around me.”

“You should tell them that, I’ve heard the French are very open to constructive criticism.”

He shook his head frantically. “No, I would never!” he protested. “I like being alive,” he added after a beat.

Juno couldn’t help but laugh, his expression was so earnest and open. She looked over at him again and found him watching her, slightly awestruck. He gestured at the space next to her. “May I?”

She hesitated, her heartbeat thunderous in her ears, before nodding. They sat in companionable silence, watching old art become new again.

“I…have a mountain of work to do at home,” the alpha spoke, his voice quiet. “I have a meeting in two hours that I am totally unprepared for. But I can’t seem to leave.”

“It’s a beautiful exhibition.”

He turned to face her, his dark eyes ablaze. “It’s not the art keeping me here.”

Brown sugar swirled with caffeine. Juno felt like she was floating, untethered to earth. Having him closer was the best and worst thing. His lashes were so very long and his freckles resembled constellations. She needed him to not look at her with such intensity but would also die if he stopped. It would be so easy for him to lean forward and press his cheek against hers, leaving his scent on her skin. She craved it, wanted to carry the reminder of him with her all day and couldn’t for the life of her recall why she shouldn’t.

“What’s your name?”

Juno froze. What was she doing? She didn’t know this alpha at all, only that he smelled good and looked beautiful. He had almost scent marked her. How could she be so careless to drop her guard like this?

Van Gogh’s final works at Auvers-sur-Oise before tragedy surrounded them. Fitting, as she found herself standing.

“Wait I—”

She ran, both of them nameless, haunted by whispers of coffee and macadamias.