“If I were an Omega, I’d want one. Why don’t you want a pack?”
“Because…” I trailed off.
Because having a pack meant having too many people who could hurt me if I lost them.
That was it. The entire reason I’d been so opposed to taking a mate for the years since I’d revealed. It wasn’t because I thought they would stifle my independence, claiming to own me. I knew damn well Caspian wouldn’t do that, and I was still hesitant at the thought of him mating me.
It was because I was worried I would love them and lose them, like I’d lost Maisie.
My brain was a gods damned bitch for not informing me of this sooner. It would have saved me a whole hell of a lot of strife. Maybe I should have gone to therapy like Clara had suggested.
I was saved from having to voice my tumultuous thoughts by May’s loud gasp. “Oh, my god. Freya. Look.”
She shoved the phone into my face before I could ask what had shocked her. Staring back at me from the screen, was me.
A wanted poster of me.
“What the fuck?” I muttered, grabbing her phone and scrolling through the page.
It was an article from a news site for witches that May followed religiously. There was some magic that forbid Nulls from gaining access, but it made no sense to me. Tech magic was a specific skill set I’d had no interest in learning.
At the top of the page, the headline read:
Witch-nymph Omega wanted for murder
My heart dropped and I read further down, into the main body of the article.
The Next Life Company and AEA ask that you keep an eye out for Freya Alverona, a witch-nymph Omega. She’s wanted for heinous crimes, including murder and endangering the secrecy of our society. Please be advised that she is considered armed and dangerous, but is wantedalive. Do not approach unless you are a skilled bounty hunter, but report all sightings to the Fugitive Branch of the AEA which can be reached at 888-278-5454 or [email protected].
As pictured, she has silver hair and purple eyes. She sometimes wears round, wire-framed glasses. She is 24 years of age and 5 feet, 8 inches tall with a slim build.
Below was the picture of me May had shown me. It was a closeup of my face. I remembered it as the picture on my government ID, and it certainly wasn’t doing me any favours in endearing me to the public. My resting bitch face was strong.
Engrossed in the article, I hardly noticed Mabel reading over my shoulder. We both made sounds of surprise when we saw the next section, though.
Her associates Shan Rahman, Caspian Maira, and Emmett Noble are also wanted for various crimes. Their images are posted within this bulletin, and we have linked previous reports asking for help with their capture. Alverona’s familiar, an orange tabby cat known as Oswald, must also be apprehended and taken it for questioning.
It went on to detail their appearances the same way it had detailed mine, showing pictures of them. Their mug shots must have been work ID photos, and somehow they’d even found a picture of Oswald from Club Chaos.
“This is terrible,” May fretted, taking her phone back and navigating away from the page. “Everyone in the city is going to know what you look like, and what your designation is.”
I wasn’t sure what to feel, but I could agree it was terrible.
Any chances our group had of making it without Nolan had been shot to hell.
Kylan was serious about wanting me, and had contacts in the Next Life Company to help him make it happen. Well, it might be the AEA themselves, but why would my name be brought into it? As far as they knew, I was a witness, if that. Not a murderer. I was unsurprised Kylan had figured it out, though it was going to make my attempts to kill him exceptionally harder.
It had to be him.
One point to Kylan for crippling our movements.
As my brain processed how much the world knew about me after I’d tried so hard to keep it secret, anger grew in my chest. He had no right to blow up everything I’d done to hide myself. He had no fucking right to have me.
And, oh gods, the news article was everywhere. Across the country. My parents were going to find out about my designation from a wanted poster.
“Send Nolan a link to that,” I said, my tone flat.
I was trying my best to stay calm, but I wouldn’t be for long. Emotions were rising, and I was caught between wanting to cry — which I hadn’t done in years — and wanting to fight. Fight would win, closely followed by fuck, because my heat was crashing into me. This minor stressor was enough to eliminate the few hours I would have had.
