Claiming the Vesper Omega

Chapter 3

Vesper POV

Leanne turned in her seat, her expression sharpening. “You don’t.”

“I don’t?”

“You’ve spent two years bleeding for this,” she said, her voice dropping into that stern register she used when she caught me in a lie. “You wanted out of Silver Lake. You wanted this life. Don’t let your nerves rewrite your history now.”

*Nerves.* That’s what she called it. To her, I was just the shy younger sister, the girl who hid in libraries because she didn’t know how to talk to people. She didn’t see the predator-prey dynamic playing out in my head. She didn’t see the Omega trying to shrink into the shadows.

“It’s just… loud,” I managed.

“It’s a city,” she said flatly. “It’s supposed to be loud. You’ll tune it out.” She unfolded the campus map, her finger tracing a route. “Reception hall first. Then we drop your stuff.”

She took charge, and I let her. It was easier to be a passenger, to let someone else navigate the minefield. We stepped out of the car, and I held my breath, scanning the air. No musk. No heavy, dominant pheromones. Just exhaust fumes and cheap perfume. So far, so good.

We collected my key and schedule in a blur of administrative efficiency. Leanne studied the map again. “Dorm is here. Close to the lecture halls. Convenient.”

“I’ll take the box,” she decided, tossing me the map.

I hesitated. “I can—”

“No. You look like you’re about to pass out. Just walk.”

She grabbed the box of books, grunting as she lifted it. “Jesus, V. Did you pack lead bricks?”

“Books,” I muttered, locking the car.

“It feels like rocks,” she complained, shifting the weight. “Why do you need this many books? It's the digital age, remember?”

“I like paper,” I said. It was a lie. I liked the weight. I liked knowing exactly what I carried.

We navigated the crowds, weaving through clusters of laughing students and stressed parents. The elevator line was a snake of impatient people, so Leanne pointed to the stairwell. “Faster.”

Third floor. Room 36. By the time we reached the door, my legs were burning, and my lungs felt tight. The door was ajar.

I pushed it open, stepping into the unknown.

The room was half-unpacked. Clothes spilled across one bed like a colorful explosion. Standing in the middle of the chaos was a girl with short, choppy blonde hair. She froze when we entered, a hanger suspended in mid-air. Her eyes darted from me to Leanne, then back again.

“Whoa,” she breathed. “Are you guys twins?”

“Sisters,” I said, forcing a smile. “I’m V.”

I hated the nickname. It was a shield, a deflection. My real name felt too exposed, too permanent. *Vesper* wasn’t a name; it was a condition. But V. was vague. Anonymous.

“Leanne,” my sister said, dropping the box onto the empty bed with a thud that shook the floorboards.

“I’m Cole,” the blonde said, finally lowering the hanger. “And seriously, you two could be clones. My sisters and I look nothing alike. People think we’re adopted by strangers.”

Cole talked fast, filling the silence with a stream of consciousness that required no response from me. It was perfect. The speakers didn’t ask questions. They just broadcast.

Leanne checked her watch. “I should head out. Traffic will be a nightmare.”

The sudden prospect of being alone tightened my chest. “Okay.”

“Visit in a few weeks,” Leanne said, moving toward the door. “I’ll make that weird spicy chili you like.”

“And jalapeño poppers?” I asked. The capsaicin burn was a distraction, a way to feel something other than the hum of my own biology.

“You’re strange,” Leanne said, but there was a faint smile on her lips. “Yes. Both. Just call first.”

She didn’t hug me. We weren’t a hugging family. She just nodded, a sharp, decisive motion. Then she paused, her hand on the doorknob.

“Have a good semester, V.” Her eyes locked onto mine, serious and unreadable. “And stay away from Alphas.”

I blinked. “What?”

“Just… keep your distance,” she said. “They’re trouble.”

Before I could ask what she meant—how she could possibly know anything about my specific dangers—she was gone. The door clicked shut, leaving me in the sudden quiet of the dorm room.

*Stay away from Alphas.*

The words echoed in my head. Leanne had never mentioned Alphas before. Not once. In Silver Lake, they were mythical creatures, stories told to scare children. Why would she warn me now?

“You don’t like them either, huh?” Cole’s voice broke my trance. She was folding a black shirt, her back to me.

I stiffened. “Who?”

“Alphas,” Cole said, turning around. “Your sister. She gave off major ‘avoid the predators’ vibes.”

“I’ve never met one,” I said carefully.

“Lucky you,” Cole scoffed. “Every girl in my high school class lost their minds over the single Alpha in our grade. He was a jerk. Arrogant, cruel, treated Betas like furniture. But they threw themselves at him anyway.” She shuddered dramatically. “Don’t get me wrong, they’re hot. And successful. But they’re not worth the headache. They play with us, break us, and move on. Your sister is right. Keep your distance.”

“I’m not interested,” I said. The lie tasted like ash. A part of me—the part I starved and suppressed—ached at the mere mention of them. The biological pull was a constant, low-grade fever I couldn’t shake.

“Thank god,” Cole said, rolling her eyes. “Finally, a roommate who isn’t desperate to get knocked up by the first guy with a growl. I’m Cole, by the way. Officially.”

“V.,” I repeated.

She held up the black shirt she’d been folding. It was low-cut, revealing, and designed to attract attention. “There you are. I thought I lost you in the laundry vortex.” She grinned, pulling off her oversized t-shirt and swapping it for the black one in one fluid motion. “Much better. So, pizza? There’s a place down the street that’s supposed to be life-changing.”

I looked at the unpacked boxes, the heavy books, the closed door where my sister had just warned me about the very thing I was hiding.

“Sure,” I said. “Pizza sounds good.”