Page 6 of Gold Rush
The lights overheard are the kind of bright white that all shops tend to have, and as they buzz, I smile up at the reader in front of me. Her eyes are wide, her thick London accent making it hard for me to keep up with her string of words. “It means a lot to me and my sister, so if you could sign it for her — for Chey — I’d really really appreciate it.”
“Of course.” I pick up my pen and writeFOR CHEYwith a flourish, adding the tagline I put above my signature,FIND YOUR HAPPINESS. At the bottom, I sign my pen name — June Wald.
As I look up to hand it back to her, my eye catches on a man at the front of the store. He lingers against the front display window, in a bulky jacket, with the hood partially up, and my chest tugs uncomfortably as one of the other booksellers approaches him. They exchange words and the man tugs a piece of paper out of his pocket. I glance to the side, looking for one of the other booksellers, when a stomach cramp rockets through my body. It’s startling enough to make me suck in a sharp breath, blinking rapidly as the pain roars through me like I’ve been stabbed.
I double over in the chair, groaning a little as the reader in front of my table gasps. The bell to the store jingles, but it’s dull in the back of my senses as I hold onto my torso, riding out the pain, nausea crawling up my throat, the burning of bile chasing it as I shiver out of nowhere.
“Are you okay?” The reader whispers the words as I hold up a hand, trying to fight back the mortification of feelingthissick in front of the end of the line. I wassoclose to being done with the night and able to go back to the hotel before my train ride tomorrow to Manchester.
There’s a sudden smell, sweet and herbal, and it’s not unpleasant, but it comes out of nowhere. I suck in a breath, fighting off tears as the cramping starts again. The smell turns slightly bitter.
The sound of a book hitting the table startles me and I look up at the girl in front of me. She couldn’t be more than a couple years younger thanme. Her eyes are wide and sympathetic as she steps closer, her voice soft. “Oh.” She looks over her shoulder at the man with her. “Brian —”
His brow pulls together, his nostrils flaring as he looks at me. There’s a silver bite mark on the girl’s wrist where her oatmeal colored cardigan is pushed up. He’s bulky, and eyeing the reader in front of me warily — as warily as he’s now looking at me.
“I’m sorry, excuse me.” I push up from the chair and turn, running toward the office. I only make it partially down the hallway before I take a hard right to the single person bathroom, locking the door behind me as I drop in front of the toilet, throwing up the remaining food on my mostly-empty stomach as I shake with chills.
My mindspins. I’ve barely had any food in nearly two days. There’s no way it’s food poisoning, and normally my generalized anxiety doesn’t cause this level of severe symptoms. It could be a virus, but it’s been so back and forth, I feel like I’d have more consistent symptoms. And there’s not a chance in hell I’m pregnant, not only have I not slept with anyone in over a year, but I’ve had an IUD for three years because my periods started getting worse after college.
The doctor I have back home pushed it off as a sign I probably needed to settle down, because the second best thing in the world, after a pregnant omega, is a pregnant beta — on the off chanceanotheromega could be brought into the world.
I have no interest in children, thus the stalemate of fake hormones to curb the bad periods and self-imposed celibacy.
As another cramp hits me, I curl up on the floor, squeezing my eyes shut as I smell that same sweet, herbal scent — like someone is holding a warm mug of tea up to my nose with honey mixed into it.
My heart drops as there’s a knock on the door.
Most designations present around eighteen, a few years after puberty to let the hormones settle, but nottoolate. It was a big deal about a decade ago when an omega emerged at twenty-five — because clearly it wassoold. How dare he have a developed frontal lobe before picking alphas and forging bonds for life? Everyone seemed to be alright with it when, only a year later, it was announced one of his new bonded — a female alpha — was pregnant. I can’t imagine a female omega getting off that easy.
Sweat beads on my brow and I stare at the toilet, my hands shaking.
I turned twenty-eight last month.
There’s no way.
“June —” The voice of the beta bookseller is soft. “Um, we sent everyone away, but there’s… Well there’s a reader out here and she says she can help and we didn’t know — but my colleague, um, James, he’s an alpha and well, Julia’s boyfriend is an alpha here too and they both say they can smell you —”
I push up, closing my eyes as I try to get my shit together. I drag myself over to the door, unlocking it and easing it open a sliver.
The reader from before stands in the hall, her eyes wide. “I don’t know how to tell you this, but I think you’re an omega. I think you need to go to a Designation Center,right now.”
Fuck me.
CHAPTER THREE
JUNE
“I apologize, Miss Walden, we normally…”The director of the London Designation Center shuffles her papers, looking down at them with wide eyes. “Well, we normally deal with theparentsof the omegas who seek our services.”
Because most omegas aren’t seen as legal adults in the eyes of any government. Because most omegas have theirownershiptransferred from their parents to their first bonded alpha after being bitten. Because omegas shouldnotbe a nearly thirty year-old woman, sitting in a tiny room functioning as a doctor’s office as a beta doctor eyes her like a medical marvel.
The blood sample in front of me is still wet, as is the tip of my pricked finger. Red blood oozes out, but when it catches the light there’s a golden shimmer to it that can’t be faked.
I’m an omega.
There’s a stack of pamphlets next to me, all in bright, cheerful colors, meant to… I don’t know — lessen the blow of being told you’re a second-class citizen? One of the titles isSO YOU’RE AN OMEGA: WHAT TO KNOW ABOUT YOUR FIRST HEATand the sheerconceptof a heat makes me want to start hyperventilating.
Biologically the differences between omegas and everyoneelseare that, for some reason, they often have a fertility spike anywhere from three to four times a year, following a cycle. It happens in all omegas, regardless of their gender identity, and the symptoms the pamphlet clued me onto included: shivering, shaking, vomiting, nausea, stomach issues, headaches, sensitivity to sounds, smells, and lights, increased libido, and overall increased fertility — among many, many other possible symptoms.
