Page 95 of Generation Omega: Claimed
What began as a funny idea is quickly becoming a mission statement. “It would, wouldn’t it?” I can see it so clearly. “We would be—weare—establishing a new era in the omegaverse, something fresh and yet ancient. I love it!” My first omega law is that no packmate shall ever wear underpants, which is entirely appropriate.
Sage’s green eyes sparkle with possibility, proving she’s solidly on board. “I know people. When you’re ready with your design, look, tartan, colors, floral something or other,and traditional versus utility—whatever you want—I’ll make it happen.”
“That’s amazing. Thanks.”
Sage glances at Gideon, some approval being sought. He inclines his head, and she turns back to me. “I’d like to talk to you, beyond prepping you for today’s project. Would you mind having lunch with me?”
Gideon stares at me, and I know what’s being asked. Do I feel comfortable being alone with Sage? Really, that’s not quite accurate, because Gideon will be close or someone else will. After all, if Gideon doesn’t hover enough, Ory will have a thing or two to say—most likely growl—about it, while unleashing his not-so-inner barbarian.
“That’s fine. We should talk.”
“Wonderful. I appreciate it.”
Gideon finishes preparing our lunch and carries the plates to the unsurprisingly beige dining room. Sage and I sit together, opening our bottles of water.
Before leaving, Gideon pauses. “I’ll be close.”
“I know.” I wink at him and watch that fine ass as he leaves—plastic surgery or not, he’s stunning. Before Sage has a chance to say anything, I ask, “Do you know who owns this place? Because it’s…”
“Insanely beige, right?”
“Yes, except that one room so far.”
“No, just that room. And yes, this shrine to blandness belongs to some friends of mine, a very stormy couple with terrible conflict-resolution skills.” Sage’s hand gestures toward the beige walls, table, chairs, tablecloth, and plates. “Home improvement projects are a real test for couples—I’m sure you’ve heard that. Well, this is the unfortunate outcome of a home improvement project gone wrong. They’d been fighting for months about every detail, and finally, the wife said that shedidn’t care what her husband did. He attempted to get her to participate, and she refused.”
Her head tilts, her amusement like a sparkly accessory she wears. “He made her pay for that in beige, because as we both know, shedidcare, and now she refuses to come here. But selling the place would count as losing the argument—something neither will ever admit to—so it’s available for a covert omegaverse mission.”
For some reason, other people’s ridiculousness warms my heart. “That’s nice for us, but tell me the husband at least likes beige.”
“Hehatesit.” Sage shrugs. “Love is odd, and they do adore each other.”
“Love is odd, isn’t it?” My tone is abruptly off—my good mood quickly smothered by volatile emotions. Sage picks up on it instantly. She doesn’t press for more, giving me time to work through my thoughts and decide how much I want to share. “It’s a funny story about the house and the couple, but it makes me think about my pack. I have no idea about our style or decor, or even how we would decide with so many of us.”
The likelihood that our place would be called eccentric seems high, but that’s not what’s triggering me. “The omegaverse builds theseinsta-bonds, but there’s no way to skip over all the other stuff that requires time. And with such a large pack, we’ll be learning all our lives. I like that idea—actually, I love it—but I can’t forget the ticking clock or the almost-certain expiration date that’s been stamped on all of us. To know who you’re meant to love and to run out of time before you discover why seems incredibly cruel. But I guess that’s what this world is right now.”
“You all have come so far in just over a week. It’s miraculous. I’m sure you know that, but having seen what I have, it’s clear this pack is special. I certainly wouldn’t bet against your odds of growing old together, discovering new things about each otherevery day as you allow this world to blossom at last.” From hopeful to tense, her eyes warn of what’s to come. “There’s one thing I really want to say to you, before we talk about the rest. I’m sorry about Thatcher and how he’s reacted to all of this.”
I don’t know what’s going on inside me, but I feel like one of those dogs whose fur gets spiky when he’s about to attack. My tone is laced with that exact energy. “I won’t discuss my packmates with you or anyone outside my pack. We aren’t friends, and you’re not pack. You’re here because you are a trusted resource, and I’m grateful for your help. But don’t you dare overstep with me or my pack.”
Instead of being insulted or defensive, like a boss lady might be inclined, Sage’s demeanor exudes something beyond relief, bordering on amazement. “Fair enough. I respect your boundaries. Now, before we get to my agenda, is there anything you’d like to know about me or any way I can help you?”
I wince before I can stop myself and seriously consider remaining silent, but the origin omega’s warning is still with me. “There’s something I’d like to know, but I’m concerned I might be overstepping your boundaries.”
Before responding, her gaze settles on my lunch, as though she won’t continue until I eat something. I’d get huffy if I didn’t know who inspired her profound interest in the needs of my belly.
After I take a bite, she begins. “Let me share some basics that will help you understand what I see as my role in this. The first thing to know is that I serve the omegaverse, and you are its chosen. I’m here for you. I’ll be wherever you need me, anytime you need me. All my wealth, connections, everything I have—it’s all at your disposal. So, there’s that.”
Sage takes a bite of her turkey sandwich while I ponder that astonishing statement. “Second, any information I can provide is yours. There is no topic that’s off-limits. You want to knowwhat I ate for breakfast, how much I want to climb a certain gentleman on my security team, or how much I made yesterday, just ask. I work for you now—that’s how this goes.”
I know I’m staring, while also using my lunch to conceal how rattled I am to have a billionaire suddenly working for me. I failed at my only business endeavor—a strawberry lemonade stand—because I absolutely got high on my own supply, and I still think it was completely worth it.
“Third, the nature of our relationship is completely up to you, but I will never divulge anything you say to me without your permission or, more likely, command. Basically, I’m a vault, unless you need me to be a bullhorn.”
Her forehead knots as she considers something while I continue making progress with my lunch. “I’m more likely to base jump than cautiously downclimb, so there’s a risk of overwhelming you, but I want to communicate this now, not later. When I say I serve you and the omegaverse, I mean you are the heir to this throne. You are our future queen, and your commands will be followed—even if I don’t agree or they mean I don’t get to see my next birthday.”
A shadow seems to cover Sage that has nothing to do with the light in this bright nook. “I had my doubts, my own crisis of faith, after Kazimir was selected to be your alpha. But when he called me, explained about your rogue packmate, and asked me to come, everything clicked. Whether you become the queen we need or a tyrant, I will obey you to the letter. You want me to curtsy and not make eye contact, that’s what I’ll do.”
I blurt an obnoxious laugh. “Curtsy?! What the hell?”
