Pack Hodges

Cyrene-Chapter 2

Walking through the hallways of the OC is always a challenge. The cascading scents of multiple omegas all crash together and sharpen bitterly as the girls see me walking. I spot Bliss my current tormenter in a long line of endless bullies all intent of reminding me how much I don’t belong here.

I’m well aware, ladies.

I scurry past hoping to avoid yet another painful confrontation but luck is not on my side today, if ever.

“Irene, where’s your friend?”

She knows my name and if that’s the worst thing she says to me today then it’ll be a great day. I put my head down and keep walking when I feel a claw tipped hand grab my upper arm. Jolette.

“She’s talking to you.”

Bedazzled nails dig into my skin and I hide a wince. Never give them anything. So I opt for something closest to the truth, “I’m wanted in Eve’s office.” Eve is our “house mother” though she reminds me of one of those mothers off the Discovery Channel that eat their young. Once when I was twelve, I’d tried out for the OC’s annual recital. I’d wanted to play Chopin’s Raindrop Prelude. I’ve failed almost every class here but in piano, I shine. I’d practiced for weeks and could play it from memory alone. But when you’re the runt of the litter and constantly on Eve’s sh$t list the last thing she wants you to do is shine. I spent the night of the recital nursing a split lip granted to me by one of Eve’s favorite students, Lorelei. After that I only ever played after curfew on the nights Mari and I risked being out of our rooms.

“Aww do you think you’ll finally get some attention from some alphas?” Bliss asks like a give a f$ck about alphas but for the rest of the girls in the OC the sun rises and sets on which packs are the best: best connections, best looks, most money. The best alphas for me are the ones that stay the f$ck away. I’d had my fill of alphas at the age of 4 and never intend to bind to a pack.

I respond with a blank look. Give them nothing, they’ll get bored. Jollete finally lets go and I’m gone around the corner.

As I approach Eve’s office I hear Mari’s words to me and straighten my spine. Joy, Eve’s secretary, spots me with her trademark lack of joy and says with poorly concealed spiteful glee, “they’re waiting for you.”

I open the door and am faced with Eve and Mr. Cassabian. Eve is dressed as usual in a tight pencil skirt and fitted blouse showing off her perfect figure with her burgundy hair tied in some intricate knot. As a rare female alpha, it’s clear she thinks a lot of herself and has never been known to tone down her dominance. Her high cheekbones and red lips give her a very 1940’s classic look that only goes so far to hiding her true nature: pure predator. In heels she has to be nearly 6’1 and she’s always wearing heels. You can always tell a lot about an alpha by their scent and she’s always smelled like snake skin to me. Her green gaze snaps to me and she says sharply, “sit down.”

My waist length black hair which I purposefully keep unkempt (alphas just love a sloppy omega) falls from it’s loose knot as I sit down but I make no moves to fix it. Give them nothing.

“You’re small even for an omega,” a deep voice rumbles from the corner of her office sounding like gravel rolling down hill which soothes me until I look in his eyes. Marcus Cassabian’s glare is directed towards me with eyes so empty I’m wondering if I’m looking at a being with a soul. He towers over Eve, making me at my 5 feet feel like a mouse trapped in a room with two owls. His salt and pepper hair is kept long and smoothed away from his head giving him a very GQ look, if GQ looks could be terrifying. I’ve avoided most of our OC socials on principle so my last 22 years have been spent blissfully distant from most alphas but I’m almost drowning in the dominance he’s casting in the room. As much as his unrestrained alpha aura is choking me its his scent that confuses me. He smells like old books in a way I find so comforting that I nearly laugh from how untrue that thought is.

“Omega”, he says it sharply, drawing my attention back to him and away from my wandering thoughts. “Thank you for joining us.” Like I had a choice in the matter.

“Yes, Cyrene. Happy 26th birthday,” Eve simpers in a tone reserved for when company is around. I don’t miss the allusion to my birthday and the possible reasons for her bringing it up.

Mr.Cassabian continues, “how do you find the OC?” The question catches me off guard. Never in my life has someone asked me how I felt about living at the Omega Center. Eve cuts her eyes at me and I answer slowly,”uhh it’s fine.”

Deep blue eyes very much like mine narrow at me.

“Eve, please step out.” I can tell she’s annoyed but she would never object at least not verbally. She gracefully walks out.

With Eve out of the room, Mr. Cassabian sits down behind her desk like it’s his office and it feels like it is. He levels me with a gaze so intense I drop my eyes.

“I have a proposition for you.”

My head snaps up. A proposition? From an alpha? That’s like getting a proposition from one of Rumpelstiltskin. It might sound good but it’ll come with more catches than the baseball games Mari makes me watch. Instead of responding, I wait. Whatever he’s going to say, I’m sure I’ll have no choice in the matter regardless.

“You’re 26 and unawakened. Your mates will never find you if you don’t. You could find yourself finding your alphas who don’t ever recognize you as theirs.” I want to snort because he’s barking up the wrong tree if he thinks I care about that. Finding my “destined mates” is about as appealing as a lobotomy and I believe I’ll need one if I ever find myself panting after them.

“There’s a reform pack that needs a temporary omega. Their rehabilitation is critical to the Hodges International.” My wariness increases a hundredfold. Hodges International is the largest corporation is North America specializing in everything from defense to investments to f$cking pharmaceuticals. The suppressants I used to worry about getting my hands on are manufactured by HI. Suppressants it turns out I’ll never need since my body seems to be on the same page as I am. No heat, no alphas.

If he’s intent on matching me with a reform pack from Hodges International…well there could be worse options. Chances are they’ll be too stuck up and career obsessed to give any attention to me.

“As you know the reform process is lengthy and the final step is alphas demonstrating they are capable of caring for an omega. Omega care is wired in our DNA and its critical each pack shows this.”

I keep my face blank, my deep blue, nearly purple eyes unwavering. Omega care is most definitely not wired in an alpha’s DNA. I learned that at an early age when I found my mom dead at the hands of an alpha she trusted and I found myself at the mercy of the OC. But I won’t be sharing that with the alpha in front of me with the perfect posture and the crinkles around his eyes making me think he must laugh and often. Where did that thought come from?

“Your best option is placement with the Hodges pack.”

My stomach drops. The Hodges pack is well known at the OC being the main topic of conversation whenever alphas come up. They’re the adopted sons of the owner of the Hodges International but I never knew they were a reform pack. I don’t know much about them besides the fact most omegas seem to pant after them. You become a reform pack by f$cking up big time. Whatever they did it had to be bad and I have no idea how it led to Eamon Hodges adopting them.

My only concern is, “what do I get out of this?”

Mr. Cassabian seems confused by my questions like what kind of omegas doesn’t want to be around a ton of strange alphas. Smart omegas, that kind.

“It’s possible prolonged exposure to alphas would finally trigger your awakening and you could find your mates.”

When my face remains passive, he continues, “and I’m willing to offer you a generous payment for you time. That should you wish to you could afford to start your life anywhere and you could even afford security an unmated omega would require.”

Finally, my jaw drops. This is the dream. This is the hook where he finally has the gaping fish on the line.

But instead of falling in line without a thought, “what’s the catch?”

“One month of your life with the Hodges Pack. Just for the duration of the reform process.”

“That’s it?” I ask clearly not believing him.

“That’s it.”

“I want it in writing, all of it.”

Once again, he gives me a bewildered look like an omega who doesn’t believe an alpha is some rarity.

“Agreed”

“Okay. I’ll do it. When does it start?”

“Today.”