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“The beta I brought home last night is across the street, dragging a laundry basket down the sidewalk,” Quinn says with urgency. “I think she is cursing at said basket.”
“Beautiful?” Dash sits up eagerly, scanning the street for a glimpse of the beta.
“Why is this the first I’m hearing about her?” I interject as I follow Dash’s gaze.
Sure enough, across the street, a small woman with pale blonde and pink hair growls at a laundry basket she’s dragging down the sidewalk. Her frustration is palpable, her movements jerky and irritated.
“My online gamer friend called in a favor,” Quinn explains as he pulls the van up to the sidewalk. “She needed a ride share but didn’t trust it.”
I grunt in response, feeling curious and cautious. She was right—the ride shares and apps can lead to even more danger.
Dash moves to walk away, only to have Zane grab his collar and shove him toward the van. “Get in before your dick makes a mistake it can’t come back from—like an eighteen-year mistake, one I’d have to deal with as well, and I’m not ready to be a dad.”
“But she’s perfect,” Dash laments desperately.
“She’s a beta from the looks of it.” Zane pushes him into the van, slamming the door firmly shut.
“He can’t get a beta pregnant, stop feeding him lies.” As I remove the comm from my ear, I toss it to Quinn through the open window. “Her name?”
“Aria,” Quinn replies dreamily, gazing at the woman like he is under a spell.
“No.” I point to all three of my pack members. “We are still waiting on a call from Scent Synergy. We agreed—no betas, remember? It’s not fair to them when we find our omega.”
Zane snorts. He hates that we are still in the queue.
Quinn’s face falls slightly. “But Aria?—”
I cut him off gently. “I know, Quinn. But we can’t risk hurting her in the long run. It’s better this way.”
No matches, but that’s okay. I’m a patient man.
“Who the fuck cares about having an omega?” Zane mutters before slamming the van door shut.
I frown and look away, the weight of finding an omega lying heavily on me. I get it. Our odds of finding a scent match are rare. Omegas are even rarer. A lot of packs are content to take on a beta, but I refuse to. I have seen firsthand what it can do to a beta when an alpha pack finds a scent-matched omega, and the beta never makes it out okay. Never. They are always emotionally destroyed, and I refuse to willingly do that to a woman, even if they are adorable and growl at a laundry basket as though it personally offended them.
“I’ll catch you back at the house.” I slap the van once, the sound echoing in the quiet street. My focus shifts to the little woman who just kicked the laundry basket, toppling it over onto the dirty street.
She’s adorably feral.
I watch the little spitfire for a moment, weighing my options. Every instinct tells me to walk away. We don’t need complications, especially not beta complications. But something about her fierce determination, the way she faces her mundane battle with such intensity, draws me in. It doesn’t matter that it’s a laundry basket. It reminds me of our pack.
Before I realize it, my feet are carrying me across the street. Each step feels like a decision, a choice to reach out, despite our pack’s agreement. I rationalize it as simple kindness, nothing more. But deep down, I know I’m curious about this woman who’s caught Quinn’s eye.
I stride across the street, my steps confident and measured, like a knight approaching a damsel in distress, even if this damsel looks like she’s ready to bite my head off. The closer I get, the more details come into focus. Her pale blonde and pink hair glows in the light, and her delicate features twist into a fierce scowl as she glares at the fallen laundry. The air around her crackles with frustration and determination.
“Need some help, Aria?” I ask, keeping my tone gentle so as to not scare her away. As the words leave my mouth, I wonder if I’m making a mistake, but it’s too late now. She’s turning to face me.
7
ARIA
I get up and shower, and I even scrape the very last of my coffee from the tin and make my way to the laundromat…only for the blasted dryer to die on me. Even worse, there are only five dryers. Five. Just five. In a freaking laundromat.
The scent of stale detergent and damp clothes that filled the small, crowded space lingers in my nose. I’m not at all bitter about how someone else decides to run their business, but how can someone even run a business when all five of the dryers don’t work? Now, I’m stuck dragging a basket of wet laundry down the sidewalk, the crisp autumn air doing little to improve my mood.
I let out a frustrated growl at the wet clothing loud enough to make heads turn, then I kick the basket, sending a few socks flying. Sometimes, a girl just needs to let out some steam. I instantly regret my actions as my clean laundry spills all over the sidewalk. I whine, choking on my emotions, and drop my head back to stare at the bright sky, pretending I have my shit together, even if I don’t.
I’m struggling with my laundry basket when I hear a vehicle pull up across the street. Glancing over, I see a van with tinted windows. My heart rate picks up, remembering Quinn from last night. Is he following me?
