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I step back from the window, running a hand through my hair. I need to get a grip. I can’t let them get under my skin. Too late.
Taking a deep breath, I move to the bathroom to wash off the grime of the day and my scent, hoping the water will help clear my mind.
A deafening knock on the door jolts me out of my thoughts, and my heart hammers against my rib cage like a caged animal desperate to escape. Every muscle in my body tenses as I wait breathlessly for whoever is on the other side to make their next move.
“Aria?” Malachi’s voice is muffled through the door. “We’ll be out here if you need anything. We’re not leaving until we know you’re safe.”
I sigh, shaking my head. “Stubborn alphas,” I mutter to myself.
Ignoring the knock, I strip out of my clothes and step into the shower, letting the water cascade over me. The hot water soothes my frayed nerves, and I close my eyes, allowing myself a moment of peace…or at least a moment to think of all the ridiculous things I can do to show these guys I’m feral and no one’s omega.
9
ARIA
“Yahtzee!” I jump up from my spot on the couch, the triumph in my voice masking the gnawing fear that settled in with the night hours ago. The guys disappeared after I ignored them when I had to rip off my skin-colored duct tape, but after hours of searching, I finally uncovered what I need. “No appointment needed.” I breathe a sigh of relief as I jot the address down and jump up far too fast.
Dizziness washes through me as I fall back to the couch and breathe slowly, the room spinning around me like a carousel gone mad.
When the first teens transitioned to alphas and omegas, the world had no idea what was going on. To be honest, they still have no idea. In the years since, the only thing those of us with hyperactive scent glands could do was stock up on hunter’s wash—the stuff hunters use so they can sneak around in the forest and hunt Bambi.
It took a lot of trolling the internet—and I admit maybe a little bit of the dark web—to uncover the little Puritan City gem that I did. I could have called Cayenne and asked her, but what else was I doing? Besides, I needed to find ways to feel productive and not think about them.
Especially Dash’s abs. Why were they so oily? I swear he oiled them the moment he got in that van.
Anyway, there’s a little apothecary about twelve miles away, and someone in an obscure thread said they picked up scent blockers there.
I am totally taking a chance. It could be absolutely nothing, but either way, I’m feeling desperate.
Standing once again, I head into the kitchen and pull out an onion.
A red onion, or purple, depending on where you are from.
“Don’t fail me now,” I whisper to the vegetable, tossing it in the air and catching it. I slam the red onion on the counter and grab my knife. Red onions smell like body odor if they are left out too long. Ever smell someone and think, damn, I could really go for a hoagie? That’s red onion.
I slice thin strips, and because I’m a demoness, I don’t cry. It’s a superpower. Grabbing my flesh-colored duct tape, I portion out two for my neck, two for my wrists, and two for my bits.
I lay a little sliver of onion in the center of my strip before applying them to my scent glands. My thighs are hella chafed from doing this every single day, and my wrists look like I have other extracurricular activities that would send me on a grippy sock vacay.
Honestly, that sounds amazing right now. That’s one way to lose an alpha.
Putting that nugget in the back of my mind, I grab my coat, scarf, and gloves because of the duct tape. With my keys in hand, I swing my door open with an explosion of nerves.
I’m not sure what I expected, but emptiness wasn’t it. Stepping into the open hall, I take two steps to the railing and glance down. I’m on the second floor, since Cayenne thought it was safest. The streetlights cast an eerie glow, reminding me it’s fall and the sun goes down far too early, but I don’t see anything suspicious, like an alpha making sure I feel safe or another making sure I’m not alone.
Bullshit.
Spinning around, I march down the steps with purpose. It’s been a combination of luck, Cayenne’s meticulous planning, and my own paranoid caution that not a single person has scented me as an omega. Between the industrial-strength, scent masking soaps Cayenne procures, my obsessive avoidance of crowded areas, and the unconventional onion trick, I’ve managed to fly under the radar. But it’s getting harder every day, and I know my luck won’t hold forever.
I can say it hasn’t failed me yet. That, and the beauty salon. I also keep to myself, avoiding all major gatherings, news outlets, and even traffic cams. When I first moved here, Cayenne gave me a crash course in avoiding detection. Traffic cams, facial recognition software, even those creepy drones that buzz around the city - she’s got a workaround for everything. So far, I’ve managed to stay off the grid
I’ll have to dodge a few today, but it is what it is.
It’s nearly six, and the place closes at eight, giving me two hours to get to the store. I could take a cab, since Cayenne really did transfer two hundred bucks into my account from Quinn and his pack.
Chewing my cheek, I pivot and head south. I don’t plan to walk the whole way, but I should be able to hop on a bus and head in that direction.
Just as I turn a corner, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I already know it’s Cayenne, so I pop in an earbud and an orange candy and answer.
