Page 22 of The Bright Omega

Beck operates like satisfaction is something you manufacture on demand. A surgery, a woman, repeat. Finn and Leith have each other and seem perfectly content to disappear into their own quiet little world. And me? I’m the only one keeping count.

My thoughts shift to Beck again. He’s always been a wild card. Cocky, reckless, the kind of alpha who likes to take chances and laugh while he does it. We met at Duke. I was a year older. Already popular. A fuck-you attitude and a black card will do that for you.

Beck was the scholarship kid they only let into the fraternity because they needed someone to keep the average GPA from tanking. I thought he’d be a quiet nerd buried in textbooks. Instead, he could party harder than any of us, then roll into an 8 a.m. lecture and still kick ass with straight As. He’s never been someone you underestimate.

But lately? He’s been floating. Surgery, fucking, repeat. No real attachments. No direction outside the OR. He’s too smart and too responsible to actually crash and burn, but he’s walking a dangerous line and he knows it. I can see it in the way he laughs a little too loud, stays out a little too late, and shrugs off any real conversation like it’s beneath him.

Finn and Leith aren’t much better. They’re sinking deeper into each other every month, retreating into their own private bubble. Leith barely grunts anymore unless Finn’s in the room. Finn’s so wrapped up in his research and in Leith that the rest of the world barely exists. He won’t even make contact with a woman.

We need an omega. Someone to ground this pack before it fractures. Someone loud enough to drag Finn out of his shell. Someone warm enough to make Leith say more than three words in a conversation. Someone who’ll force me to think about literally anything other than the Nantucket deal hanging over my head like a guillotine. And someone who might finally break Beck out of his endless cycle of scalpels and strangers.

I finish the bourbon in one long pull and set the empty glass down with a decisive clink. Decision made. I pull out my phone and open the chat. I go straight to Finn’s contact.

Piers: We never celebrated your research milestone last night. You and Leith disappeared before we could.

I hit send and wait. The reply comes faster than I expect.

Finn: It was just a small update. No big deal.

A low growl rumbles in my chest. Finn has always been the quiet type who’d rather hide in the lab than take any credit. But this work of his? This could be the thing that actually saves us. Not some random hookup. Not another night of Beck chasing tail and Leith and Finn locking the world out. Real compatibility. Real scent matches. The kind of future this pack was built for.

I type back before he can deflect any further.

Piers: It is a big deal. We’re celebrating. Next weekend. No excuses.

The three dots appear, disappear, then appear again.

Finn: Leith and I might have plans.

My jaw tightens. There it is again. The two of them sliding further and further into their own little world, leaving the rest of us on the outside. I don't begrudge them what they have. But it's becoming a problem. Finn is probably the one who will end up saving this pack with his research, yet he’s content to disappear with Leith and pretend the rest of us don’t exist.

Piers: Not this time. Dinner. Saturday. All of us. No negotiating.

I set the phone down before he can argue. This pack has been drifting for too long. An omega would change everything. I lean back in the leather chair, rolling the glass between my fingers. This morning on the stairs had been strange. Vanilla and lavender drifted through the air. It had been sweet, warm, and tempting.

For half a second my alpha surged forward, ready to hunt. Beck’s pupils blew wide, swallowing every bit of color in his eyes. I knew then I hadn’t imagined it. But when Leith and Finn came down the stairs, neither of them even flinched. The scent vanished as quickly as it had appeared, and I was left with nothing but the smell of bacon and coffee. Wishful thinking. A trick of the mind. That’s all it was.

I stand from the desk, rolling my shoulders. The bourbon has settled into a pleasant warmth. I feel better about this. Saturday. We celebrate Finn’s work. And then we start looking for the omega this pack actually needs.

thirteen

Camelia

“No more waiting around,” I say to myself. “You are not some pathetic omega in a bad romance novel. Cammie James the fuck up.”

So maybe motivational speaking isn’t my strong suit. But I have to do something to pull myself out of this funk. It’s been almost a week since the night with Finn and Leith, and I’m officially done wallowing in my nest hoping my phone will buzz.

I received one single text from Finn on Saturday morning, only a few hours after they left my apartment, saying he’d had fun, followed by a sweet little smiley face emoji. I’d texted back, “Let’s do it again sometime.” Radio silence ever since.

I let him knot me, for god’s sake. That deserves more than one sad little text. But I’ll be damned if I’m the one who breaks first.

Still, I keep seeing Finn’s soft, shy smile in my head. And Leith’s quirked, scarred eyebrow. The way they both looked at me like I was something special. I’m nothing if not honest. They are also something worth staring at.

Maybe someone else is curled up in Leith's lap right now, snuggled against all his hard muscles, while Finn gently pushes food into their mouth. My omega genuinely cannot think of anything worse.

But Cammie Fucking James does not wallow in self-doubt or self-pity. She gets back in the proverbial saddle and finds another pack to date. Today’s victim: Pack Overstreet.

We matched yesterday morning on the app and made quick plans for an afternoon drink. Their profile was painfully bare, only one group photo taken from too far away and a one-line bio that said “Looking for our missing piece.” Real original, guys. But whatever. It’s one drink. At best, we’re a love match and I ride off into the sunset with two perfect alphas and a beta. At worst, there’s another Old AF Doug lurking in the group, ready to publicly critique my ass size and send me home crying into a giant slice of chocolate cake.