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Copyright © Jayce Carter 2019. All Rights Reserved, Totally Entwined Group Limited, T/A Totally Bound Publishing.
Claire had never broken into anywhere before and starting with the office of three alphas had to be among her worst ideas.
She’d smelled plenty of alphas over her years, and it always stirred the conflicting impulses of excitement and fear. That was an omega’s lot, however. To crave what would destroy them, to want what posed the most danger to them. Every alpha she encountered made her want to drop to her knees and yet flee at the same time. She’d keep her distance, use lavender oils to dilute their scent—anything to lessen her reaction—but it still soaked into her.
If she’d been anywhere else, doing anything else, she’d have run as fast as she could. Even one alpha could ruin everything, so the scent of a few clouded her head.
Still, she didn’t have a choice. She couldn’t run.
What she needed had to be locked somewhere inside that office, and she lacked any other options. Despite having gone over things a hundred times, she’d come to the same conclusion—the information was there.
Claire opened another drawer of the desk, her hands shoving papers aside, looking for notes, a calendar, something. The files on the computer would tell her what she needed, but they’d be password protected. She couldn’t break into it, since even turning on her computer challenged her some days.
She didn’t need much, just a name—one clue to who she searched for.
Another drawer checked and nothing.
The gnawing ache in Claire’s stomach made her shut her eyes and force breath through clenched teeth. Her skin heated and the sweat between her shoulder blades had her top clinging to her back.
What was wrong with her? It reminded her of the start of a heat, but she’d have recognized the signs long before. Heats didn’t just happen. She’d have felt unsettled, not hungry, would have wanted to make a nest. Weeks beforehand, she’d have had symptoms telling her it neared, giving her time to up her medication and avoid it. She hadn’t reached thirty as an omega without recognizing the signs of an upcoming heat.
The sensation had started after she’d sniffed a rag when searching Jackie’s home, smelling something on it she couldn’t place. Strong pheromones, but not alpha, not quite. The only thing her brain had told her was that it was wrong.
Not that it mattered right then. Whatever caused the pain in her stomach, whatever drew forth the sweat on her forehead, she had to ignore it. She needed to focus, to finish her search and get out.
The entire room reeked of alpha. Three of them spent time in that space, and she could pick out the scent of each one. She wanted to close her eyes, to inhale deep, to draw the smell into her lungs and let it seep into her. Hell, she wanted to crawl into the couch and bury her nose in the cushions. The moment the idea came to her, she chastised herself. If they returned to find someone in their space, someone searching their things—well, Claire had no desire to see what they might do.
Alphas weren’t known for their wonderful temperaments or willingness to forgive. They tended toward territorial, angry and possessive. The last thing Claire needed was to get taken in, to risk tests that might show her for what she was.
Life as an omega wasn’t easy ever, but to be tagged? To have to run again? To try to make a new life, a new identity, assuming that no one sold her off before that? No, she wouldn’t risk losing all she’d built.
She pulled her lock picks from the pocket of her cargo pants, taking the rake and the tension rod she’d practiced with for months. She’d taken up the hobby as a way to keep her hands active when anxiety got to her, but it seemed she’d need to put the skills into practice. She worked the tools until the cabinet clicked open.
Claire leafed through the files for the date she needed, but they organized nothing by date, only names. Even with that, the paperwork had payroll for receptionists, receipts for business expenses, but nothing on clients.
She shoved the cabinet closed on a huff, the metal clashing. Where the hell else could she look? Where else might she find something on clients and installation schedules?
The clearing of a throat behind her had Claire spinning. Had someone caught her? Could she talk her way out of it? When she turned, she came face to face with her worst nightmare. Three huge men stood between her and the only exit.
No, not just men. As the scents hit her and her stomach clenched and her head spun, she realized three things.
One, the three men were alphas.
Two, they were the alphas who always spent time in this room.
And three—the worst part—Claire was for sure in heat.
She doubled forward, her stomach cramping. She grasped the side of the desk to stay upright, her breath sawing in and out of her chest as her body went crazy.
She was in heat. Her body rebelled against the years of suppressants she’d used to keep her natural cycles locked away, pain nearly driving her to her knees. It only cared for the alphas in the room, the alphas who could satiate the need crawling through her.
“Who are you?” The question came from one of the men, but it was far away. At least, it seemed that way, as if he called through water miles off.
When a hand set on her arm, she realized he must have spoken from closer.
She could recall none of the excuses she’d come up with. Everything beyond the clawing need inside her vanished until all she could do was turn and bury her face into the warm neck of one of the alphas, to draw his scent into her lungs.
“Fuck. She’s in heat.”
