Page 209 of Beautifully Scarred Omega

But I was wrong. Because when he looked at Sophie tonight—when he and Finn and Ethan looked at her—there was so much tenderness in their faces. There was no hiding how completely gone they were for her.

Fine. Good for them. I hugged her after they made the announcement and told her that I was so happy for them. And I meant every bit of it. Sophie is my friend, and seeing her happy made me happy, even if I didn’t necessarily agree with her choices.

I can be happy for her and still want absolutely none of it for myself.

I walk to the bathroom. The tile is cold under my bare feet. I pull the pins from my hair, shake it loose, and let it fall past my shoulders. Then I lean toward the mirror and darken my eyeshadow, smudging it out until my eyes look smoky and heavy-lidded, saying exactly what I want them to say.

Then I press my fingers to my throat.

The glands beneath my jaw are tender, swollen to the size of small grapes under the skin. When I press them, the ache travels down my neck and across my collarbone before curling tight in my belly.

My heat is coming soon.

Perfect.

I stopped taking my suppressants on Tuesday, after I decided I was ready.

It’s close now. By the time I get there, it will be unbearable. My skin will burn, every nerve ending drawn tight with need, demanding something I’m finally allowing myself to have.

But right now, it’s only a hum. A slow, spreading pressure beneath my skin, waiting to become something more.

Alphas are good for one thing and one thing only, baby. Don’t you ever forget it.

My mama’s voice comes back to me clear as a bell, so vivid I could almost believe she were standing behind me, speaking the words straight into my ear.

I never forgot.

I don’t shower.

That’s deliberate. Everything that happens tonight depends on what comes off my skin, and I’ve spent days letting my scent build. I can smell myself now, faint beneath the remnants of tonight’s perfume, my natural scent beginning to push through, warm and rich. By the time I get there, it will be pouring off me.

They’ll scent me before they see me.

I strip off the underwear I wore to the gala and leave it on the bathroom floor. The black set goes on instead, lace cutting into my hips and pulling my waist into a shape that tends to make men forget what they were saying. The bra does the rest, lifting everything exactly where I want it.

Then the negligee.

Dark green silk, almost black in this light, skimming my body before stopping halfway down my thighs and making no real attempt at modesty. The fabric slips over my overheated skin like cool water, and I close my eyes for a moment because it feels good.

And feeling good is the whole point of tonight.

I check my reflection. The woman in the mirror has red hair falling down her back, smoky eyes, a dark-painted mouth, hips and breasts she has made no effort to hide. She looks exactly like what she is. An omega off suppressants, her heat rising, her scent building, without a single shred of apology anywhere on her body.

I pull a dress on over everything, black and simple, the zipper running straight down the back, then grab my phone and some cash and slip them into my bag. The card goes in last. Nothing on it but an address and a time, given to me by a woman I trust.

I’ve been doing this for six years.

Although this place is new, which probably explains the restless beat of my pulse. But the arrangement is the same as it always is. Alphas pay for access. The omega sets the terms beforehand, in writing. How many. How long. What is allowed. What isn’t. And exactly what happens to the man who decides those rules don’t apply to him.

My body is going to do this regardless. I can either let it dictate what happens to me, or I can decide what happens with it.

I made that decision a long time ago.

I’ve never regretted it.

This is the part people wouldn’t understand. They’d look at me and see desperation. Addiction. A woman out of control, throwing herself at strangers because her body is screaming for something she refuses to give it any other way.

They’d be wrong.