Page 97 of Generation Omega: Claimed
“Thank you, Sage. I really appreciate that. Now, we better get started…” My sentence is abducted as a possibility hits me that’s so repulsive I almost can’t allow it inside me.
“Tillie, are you okay? Do you need your alphas?”
I shove it down—I can’t do this right now. This isn’t the time. This isn’t the time. This isn’t the time. I repeat those words until I’ve snuffed out the flame of a truth I’m not ready to face. It might not be true, but a sick feeling in my gut confirms that it is.
“I’m fine. Now, what am I supposed to tell the world about their new omega?”
CHAPTER 45
TILLIE
I loved the colorful bouquet painted on my cheek at Omega-Palooza. That artist was beyond amazing and goofy sweet in just the right way. Actually, wearing my omegee pride in the form of flowers was one of the highlights of my pre-reveal existence, along with those fabulous knotty fries. Fantasy and reality danced so beautifully together that day, and Ethan’s willingness to play along was the stuff of every romance lover’s dreams.
Naturally, after that incredible experience, I had my doubts when Sage declared that what she brought was a million times better than any silly face paint. If I didn’t have to hold completely still while she works, I would already be celebrating her epic win in the flower department. Because her contribution to my distinctly omega style is actual pressed flowers—delicate blooms in yellow, white, and lavender, with green leaves to pull them together. With extraordinary precision and a steady hand, Sage is applying them to my cheek and forehead.
Along with everything else she’s done, it’s impossible not to believe that I’m ready for my omega publicity tour—at least on the outside. My hair is in a refreshed ponytail, something Sage decided to keep as part of anomega on the runtheme. She lightly applied my makeup, saying the whole time that I didn’treally need it. I’m wearing a new wrap dress, this one a pretty pale yellow, and I’m now seated at a vanity, staring at myself in the mirror as Sage finishes her most impressive miracle yet. I can’t wait for Ethan to see my new and improved flowers, though I bet he’s as nostalgic as I am about my first omega flower art.
I’m grateful for Sage’s help, but even more for the silence she’s so comfortable with, while I craft my statement to the world. Gideon, Sage, and surly Jameson shared their ideas, and I listened, unable to truly conceive what I’m about to do. Inform the world that everything they know is changing, and the Easter bunny is real—that’s going to go overgreat. Most people don’t believe in the omegaverse, and they certainly aren’t going to instantly accept that I’m anything but a fraud attempting to gain notoriety, or even creatively market Gideon’s upcoming omegaverse movie. Asking people to disbelieve what they see, hear, and feel… that’s a recipe for failure.
But maybe that’s the direction I should take—don’task them to disbelieve what they know. Instead, ask them to believe everything they see, all the nightmares masquerading as harsh, inescapable realities, and go from there. Unfortunately, I can’t make any promises about the future being all glowy and filled with fluffy bunnies. I don’t know enough yet to even begin to comprehend what an omegaverse-run world will look like. So, I’m back where I started, living in a flummoxed state of mind. Is there anything I could say that will cause the masses to open their minds and hearts to the chance of something better? If only I could shake a ball and get an answer, but no, and the omega legacy has either muted me or is soundly ignoring me.
When Sage finishes with the last leaf, she steps back, assesses her work and my appearance, and then smiles. “You make averybelievable omega. I’m just relieved you don’t burn non-pack members anymore, because those flowers would have been a mess if I had to wear gloves.”
“It’s definitely more practical that we don’t cause blisters anymore.” I can’t remove my gaze from my own reflection. “Thanks for all of this. I’m still a nervous wreck on the inside, but I look the part, which is the best I could have hoped for. What will happen to the video after we’re done?”
“I’ll release it tomorrow after we’re all away from here. I have untraceable bots and a variety of accounts to spread the post widely. The omegees are ready to get rowdy, and seeing you is going to spark a brushfire that will be impossible to contain.”
I tug my focus away from my face and the possibility staring back at me, and meet Sage’s shrewd eyes. “Why haven’t they come for you?”
Sage’s grin is sinister, and her posture reads more as alpha than beta, which makes me wonder whether her hot mercenary is ready for her. “My reach is wide. I fund half the politicians in this country, including President Farraway, sodisappearingme means they’ll struggle with their re-election campaigns. And I’ve got salacious dirt onallof them that will be released if I ever vanish, so…” She shrugs. “… mutually assured destruction is what keeps me free. But I have no illusions about the dangerous game I’m playing.”
“If we’re keeping to our schedule, we need to get started,” Gideon calls as he enters and then freezes when he sees me. “Damn, baby girl, you look gorgeous.”
I blush—can’t be helped. “Thanks. I think I’m ready.”
Yes, you are. You’re everything. Also, what you requested is all prepared.
I send him my thanks, and my nerves begin their chaotic leaping again. Three—the number of items on my to-do list before I can truly rest, if I’m heeding the origin omega’s warning. And I am. This day can’t end until everything with my pack is as solid as can be and my announcement to the world is ready to go live. I wish we had more time to truly connect, but just like Iwas ready for the vacation on the yacht to end, I need this pre-race stretching phase to conclude. At a certain point, evading the starter pistol is more draining than freeing yourself to run. So, I stand and walk with Gideon into the living room, where most of my alphas and my Ethan are waiting for me.
It’s Ethan’s face I seek first, of course. His love for me is anything but subtle. But more than love appears in his eyes, and I know it’s not just the marvelous flowers decorating my face that led to his insight. He’s observing exactly what I’m feeling, that I’m an omega ready to declare herself and begin the battle to clear away all the barriers blocking me frommygarden. When he bows his head to me, I understand the silent gesture, the respect, the acceptance of me as not just his lover, best friend, or omega. In one action, he’s signified my place in the hierarchy of this pack. I’m not a queen yet, but there are fewer steps on the ladder between where I began and where I’m meant to be.
The truly astounding thing is that all my alphas caught Ethan’s tiny, enormous gesture, and they follow his lead, bowing their heads to me. When I turn to Sage, she does the same. Part of me—Old Tillie, really—wants to balk at such an obvious display of admiration, but she’s the lesser part of me now, especially since meeting the primal force within me. That feral, fiery gal isn’t at all afraid to stand before the crowd and claim her power. There’s something solemn about this moment, a heartfelt expression of the trust between us. They’re acknowledging that they accept and serve me, and I’m vowing never to ask them to be less than they are or more brutal than they need to be. A pack in balance—we’re not there yet, but we, at least, know where we’re aiming.
I whisper to Kazimir, “He needs to be here.” Balance can’t exist without a complete pack. It’s undoubtedly true, but I wish dread didn’t accompany both the wisdom and the person attached to it.
Proving Kazimir and Thatcher possess their own communication system, Thatcher emerges from the den without a spoken word or movement from Kazimir. At the sight of our rogue, my stomach wrenches, not because of anything that’s between us, but because he looks so much worse, ashen-faced and traumatized.
I send an accusing glare at Kazimir, but it’s obvious that Thatcher’s warden has no idea what’s affecting him like this.
Kazimir approaches Thatcher and speaks in a low rumble. His face broadcasts several worsening levels of annoyance, before he issues a stern rebuke at the omega legacy. Then, to Thatcher, he commands, “Stop that right now. Just relax as much as you can.”
Thatcher swallows roughly and some of his tension wanes, but not much.
Sage attempts to conceal a fleeting grimace at the condition of her friend, but I see it and quickly ask her, “Where do you want us?”
Sage seems relieved to have a direction to look other than at Thatcher. “Your alphas and I talked this through earlier, and it’s our consensus that the most strategic plan is to reveal your face, while concealing your alphas’ identities for now. This creates mystery that will drive a lot of interest, but more importantly, it allows your alphas freedom of movement. Of course, some of them are known to our enemies, but they aren’t sharing that information broadly at this point.”
I search my alphas’ faces for confirmation, and they clearly don’t like the plan but agree with its intent.
