Chapter Two

CHAPTER TWO

NOW PLAYING: DISTRACTION - Sleep Token

Thinking of my group of mystery mates, I decide to do something I have avidly avoided for the past year: reach out to them. What better way to sate my anxiety-driven insomnia than writing a message to mates I don’t deserve? Grabbing an easy clean marker I press the ink to my skin and write.

‘In the depths of joy, do you often find the darkest thoughts?’

Not having felt their energies or sent any messages in so long, it takes single-minded focus to get the message to send. The telltale warmth of my success brings both trepidation and excitement coursing through my limbs. What if they answer? What if they don’t?

Which option would weigh the heaviest on my soul?

It’s only moments before my skin turns scratchy with a response.

‘When you aren’t used to good things in life, they become harder to accept than the bad. -W’

The impact a Fated connection has on one’s instincts is a widely researched topic ever since they were first discovered nearly seventy years ago. Despite the extensive research, there is no conclusive decision regarding what allows the connections to be formed.

Feeling my instincts magically settle, the restlessness keeping me awake loses its sharper edges. I’m inclined to agree with those who believe the connections are inspired by some mystical being.

‘Over time it gets easier. The more good you have in your life, the easier it is to change your way of thinking. You go from constantly worrying when those around you will leave, to planning your life with them by your side. -W’

My heart breaks knowing at least one of my mates has felt abandoned by those around them often enough to feel the same sense of impending catastrophe I do. From their message though, they’ve overcome those fears.

‘I can only hope to be so brave one day.’

‘Have faith in yourself, Omega, and know one day you will have us to help guide you. Fate wouldn’t have connected us if we couldn’t bring the balance you need in life. -W’

Fear strikes deeply in my heart at the thought of meeting these mates. The threats I still face from my past are a large factor in my decision to wait, but I’m also afraid they will break me as thoroughly as my birth family once did. If we get to know one another and they choose to reject me…

The distance between us is best for now.

Allowing fantasies of the love-filled future ‘W’ spoke of to fill my head, my eyes finally drift closed and sleep beckons me to a dreamland where the darkness of this world cannot touch me.

The dorm is quiet as I blink awake. The muffled sound of Bea’s soft snores the soundtrack to my Sunday morning. Climbing from my bed, I wander into our kitchen and turn our electric kettle on. The clock on our stove tells me I slept in much later than I usually would. It’s almost one in the afternoon.

Shaking my head, I cross the room and crack Bea’s door open. Her coconut lime scent fills the space, making my nose twitch as I fight back a sneeze. I toss one of the plush bears from the chair she keeps by the door, giggling when it bounces off her face. “Bea, it’s afternoon. Time to rise and shine. The apartment won’t pack itself.”

“Wha–?” She jerks upright, cursing when her arm slips and she almost falls to the floor. Standing in her silk sleep pants and tank top, she glares at me. “You’re a pain in my ass.”

“You love me anyway,” I call over my shoulder as I walk back to the kitchen.

The shower turns on a few moments later, so I throw her favorite bagels in the toaster and start a pot of coffee for her. She won’t stop acting grumpy until she’s had her first caffeine fix. Or her sixth. It varies day to day.

Fixing my cup of tea, I snack on leftover French toast. My mind zips from one task to the next as I start a mental to-do list. Today’s biggest goal is to pack more and clean our dorm to get ready to move out on Saturday.

“I’m so tired,” Bea groans, collapsing into one of the seats at our dining table. Her head rests on the cool wood.

I frown as I slide her bagel and coffee over. She was already passed out in the car by the time we got back at midnight last night, so it’s unusual for her to be so visibly exhausted. I glance at the calendar hanging by the door and sigh.

“Your heat is coming up,” I remind her, earning an exasperated growl.

“Heats are the worst.”

I nod in response. Riding out a heat alone or with suppressors is awful. Even with medical support, by the time it’s over, you are so exhausted you need to sleep for several days to recover. The only saving grace we have as omegas is our heats usually only occur once every three or four months.

“Hopefully it holds off until after we move.” She finally sits up and downs half of her coffee. I stifle a grin as I finish off my breakfast and wash my dishes before turning to the stack of empty totes sitting by our door. Time to get to work.

I startle as my phone starts ringing loudly from where it sits on the coffee table. Picking it up, I check the screen but don’t recognize the number. Another photography gig maybe.

“Omen Powell speaking,” I answer politely.

“Good afternoon, Miss Powell,” a gruff masculine voice answers. “My name is Brady Moore. I was calling to inquire about a professional contract for your services.” Brady sounds older and his voice carries the distinct pressure of an alpha.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Moore. What services were you looking for in particular?” Bea stares with wide eyes, wordlessly relaying her excitement. Finding friends who will cheer on your every endeavor is the key to a happy, self-employed life.

“I manage a band for Soulbound Echo Studios. When one of our bands goes on tour, we hire a photographer to join us for the duration to capture promotional shots. We are looking to hire someone to replace our previous photographer.” Brady explains.

My jaw drops as I stare at Bea. There is no way this is happening. My literal dream job just dropped into my lap the day after I graduated.

Grabbing the stack of colorful sticky notes Bea keeps in the coffee table drawer, I write down his name and where he works. Bea gasps loudly beside me, dancing excitedly where she hovers over my shoulder.

What are the chances we both wind up working at the same label?

Maybe even with the same band!

“Now this is short notice. The tour starts June 1st and runs for almost eight weeks, with stops along both coasts. You would only have a little over two weeks to get things sorted on your end.” Brady pauses for a moment before continuing. “What I need to know right now is if you’re interested. If you are, I'd prefer we meet in person to discuss the rest of the details.”

I take a deep breath to settle my nerves before replying. I don’t want him to realize how excited I am for this opportunity in case their offer isn’t worth losing what I would make outside of the tour. “I greatly appreciate the opportunity, Mr. Moore.”

“Just Brady, please. Mr. Moore makes me feel like an old timer.”

“I would love to meet with you to discuss things further, Brady,” I reply with a smile. “Though I won’t agree to anything without seeing the proposed contract first.”

Brady lets out a short, deep laugh. From his voice and the ease of the sound, he seems to be the type of guy who laughs often. A great tell for good people, or so Bea’s mom always says. “Smart girl,” he laughs. “Based on your profile, I notice you mostly work here in the Northeast. Our East Coast office is located in Starburgh. Does that location work for you?”

I already have plans to drive up to the city tomorrow to get the keys to our new apartment and give the place an omega-worthy deep clean, so it works out since I will be in town anyway.

“Your location works great. I am available tomorrow after ten if you have time free to meet then. Any day this week excluding Friday and Saturday also works.”

Brady hums thoughtfully, the sound muffled like he’s moved away from the phone. He returns a few seconds later. “Okay, Miss Powell, does tomorrow at 11 am sound good?”

“11 am sounds perfect, Brady.”

“Great. You’ll be able to meet the band we are asking you to work with tomorrow also, to make sure there aren’t any initial biological conflicts. I’ll send you an email with my contact information as well as the address and directions for how to get to our office. Please call me if you have any issues.”

He ends the call and I flop back on the couch, my phone falling to the empty cushion beside me.

Bea stares down at me. Her eyes are wide and I can tell she’s on the verge of jumping me for more information. Crazy, impatient omega.

“Soulbound Echo Studios would like to contract me to be the official photographer for one of their band’s upcoming summer tours.”

Bea squeals, throwing her arms around me and squeezing me tight. “Oms! That’s incredible! Both our dream careers are within our grasp now! And at the same company! Fate is smiling upon us!”

I can’t help but get swept up in her excitement. This could be an incredible opportunity for me. For us both. A step toward the future we’ve been chasing over the past few years and a solution to my fears regarding Bea going on tour while I’m left alone in our apartment.

Maybe Fate actually is working in my favor for once.

The sun is barely peeking over the skyline as I place my blue-gray colored contact lenses in to hide my light green eyes. I watch myself in the mirror trying for the millionth time to find some semblance of the girl I was growing up.

Not because I want to be her. I don’t. I only want to minimize the risk of being recognized.

My hair has been dyed from its natural medium brown to an ombre effect with black at my roots and slowly fading to light lavender tips. Even my eyebrows are dyed black.

All precautions I take seriously. The DAU doesn’t know for sure if my birth family is still looking for me, but in my heart, I know my birth father will never give up until I’m back in his clutches and punished for presenting as an omega.

I shake the desolate thoughts from my mind and hurry to finish getting ready so I can pack some of my things into the car.

The drive to Starburgh is uneventful but beautiful. A two-hour drive with highway views. The town is far enough outside of New York City to keep the idyllic upper state cuteness with a population under a hundred thousand. It has an adorable shopping district filled with unique shops in little brick buildings. Affordable, safe housing for unbonded omegas is also a big plus.

After meeting with the sweet elderly beta woman who owns the townhouse we are renting, I head to the building where Soulbound Echo’s office is located. The red brick building isn’t anything fancy, but luckily has its own parking garage.

Security greets me at the entrance, checking my ID and directing me to a bank of elevators. I wipe my hands on my pants nervously as I wait to reach the third floor.The Soulbound Echo logo is painted on the door to my left just outside of the elevator, so I quickly step through and let their secretary know who I am.

A few moments later, a gruff alpha walks down the hallway toward me. This must be the man I spoke with yesterday. “You must be Omen. Please, come in. I’m Brady Moore. It’s nice to meet you.”

Brady is in his fifties with short, graying hair, a closely trimmed beard, and a strong jaw. It’s easy to tell he’s an alpha with a single look even before you catch his black currant scent.

He leads me back down the hallway to a closed door and pauses before knocking twice then waiting for a response from whoever is inside. When he gets an answer, he swings the door open and guides me inside.

I’m grateful I decided to take a dose of scent suppressors before the meeting today when I step into a room filled with a medley of scents that have drool pooling in my mouth.

Brady’s black currant scent lingers in the room, but it's like my senses can’t even register he’s here anymore. I’m lost in the delicious scents of the four men before me.

The warmth of a sunset in the mountains.

A worn leather coat wrapped around naked skin.

A shot of sweet bourbon in an old-school bar.

A patch of wildflowers in the middle of the forest.

Blended together, they smell like fun and adventure and the comfort of home.

I don’t know if I’ll be able to resist these scents trapped on a tour bus with all four of them for eight weeks. In a voice sounding entirely too much like Bea, my brain reminds me hot musician knots are just what we signed up for when we decided to work in the music industry.

My foot has barely crossed the threshold when I see them. Their masks firmly fixed in place. Primordial Covenant. The band I’ve become obsessed with ever since I saw them open at a concert a year ago.

“Thanks,” I whisper as he steps into the room and introduces me. He motions for me to take a seat at the large table with the band. I have to force my legs to work as I close the distance and sit down.

So close, it’s easier to see all the small details I missed from the crowd at their show. The intricate details of their masks that aren’t as obvious from afar.

Before I can get lost in studying them, Brady slides a small stack of papers across the table. “First things first, Miss Powell, we have a non-disclosure agreement. This isn’t part of the contract itself. It’s only to help protect the identities of the members of Primordial Covenant. I requested they be here so we can make sure there aren’t any immediate biological concerns with the five of you working together. Incompatible scents in a small space aren’t ideal. If you sign here, they’ll remove the masks and we can continue.”

I read through the papers, recognizing there isn’t anything out of the ordinary in the fine print. Glancing back at the band, I hesitate. Signing this agreement, watching those masks fall away, will change everything.

Is this contract worth losing the fantasy I’ve built around them in my head over the past year? What if I go on this tour and get to know them only to realize they’re nothing like the men I’ve imagined?

More importantly, how awkward will it be working face to face with the band who have starred in every heat-induced dream I’ve had over the past year?

Blowing out a breath I quickly sign the paper and hand it back to Brady. This gig is a great opportunity for my career. I won’t bypass it for silly fears or embarrassment. It’s not like these delectable smelling men can ever be mine anyway.

“Omen, allow me to introduce Pack Graves. Nexus, Nebula, Callisto, and Titan. I will leave it up to them to tell you their birth names when you are more comfortable around each other.”

I school my features as I watch their faces reveal. The drummer, Titan, his mask falls away first. Two small clasps holding it in place. He sits several inches taller than his pack mates. Though I already knew he was a giant from seeing him sit at his drum kit on stage.

Long, raven hair falling to the middle of his back, eyes so dark they almost seem black, a wide nose and prominent brows. He’s handsome and slightly intimidating.

Callisto, their guitarist, is next. He fumbles with the clasps along the edge of his mask before sliding it onto the table, revealing an oval-shaped face with a straight nose and thin lips. His light brown hair, pulled back in a small bun, highlights the golden undertones to his tawny skin.

His eyes are his most striking feature, drawing me in with their unique intensity. One is a dark shade of mossy green, the other a denim blue with a line of the same green on the left side. He offers me a sweet smile and I nearly swoon on the spot.

Next is the bassist, Nebula, who pulls his horned mask up off of head with ease. I’ve always wondered how well-ventilated his mask is. I imagine during their shows it gets very warm inside the glass-like material. His broad shoulders and thick arms make him look daunting as he crosses his arms over his chest. He could easily crush an egg between his pecs.

Glittering blue eyes, a strong jaw, and a prominent cupid’s bow. He’s the most classically handsome of the group. He’s also the leader of their pack, something I realize as my instincts urge me to stop meeting his eyes.

The band’s lead singer, Nexus, is the last to get his mask off, though it seems to be the easiest to remove. He’s beaming, throwing a wink my way as he slides all of their masks into a box on the floor beside him. A square jaw, high cheekbones, and plush lips define his face. Rich brown eyes study me with clear interest.

I can feel my face heating uncomfortably from his attention.

My safety is always at risk thanks to my birth family and my designation. For the first time, I think my heart might be at risk too.