Camulod chronicles book.., p.76
Happy Valentine's Day, Omega: Short and Steamy Omegaverse, page 76
Happy Valentine's Day, Omega
Short and Steamy Omegaverse
Bridget Blake
Copyright © 2024 by Bridget Blake
All rights reserved.
The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permission requests, contact Bridget Blake.
Published by Bridget Blake (2024)
Book Cover by Bridget Blake
Editing by Pair Of Nines Publishing
Contents
1. Chapter One
2. Chapter Two
3. Chapter Three
4. Chapter Four
5. Chapter Five
6. Chapter Six
7. Chapter Seven
8. Chapter Eight
9. Chapter Nine
10. Chapter Ten
11. Chapter Eleven
12. Chapter Twelve
13. Chapter Thirteen
14. Chapter Fourteen
15. Chapter Fifteen
16. Chapter Sixteen
17. Chapter Seventeen
18. Chapter Eighteen
19. Chapter Nineteen
20. Epilogue
1
The first time I discover an item in my bag which isn’t mine, I’m too irritated to care.
“Checkmate, Omega,” says Alpha Magnus Novikov. He sits back in the creaking wooden chair with a triumphant smirk.
I want to smack it off his smug, handsome face.
I’m reeling. I was in control of the game, and then, within three moves, he checked my alpha king with his knight.
I don’t like to lose.
I can’t afford to lose.
The winner of the inter-academy chess championship receives a wildcard invitation to the International Grande Chess Tournament.
Most of my Omega peers join the chess club to flirt with Alphas from The Alpha Academy.
Not me.
While they’re mate hunting, I’m seeking glory and a ticket to the big leagues.
I’ll be the first ever Omega to win the tournament and the first to become a professional chess player.
“I win, Omega.” Alpha Novikov holds my alpha king, turning the white figure over in his large hands.
“Congratulations,” I reply stiffly, fighting the urge to snatch the piece away.
“You were distracted,” he states, his blue eyes glinting as he scrutinizes me. Everything Alpha Novikov does is intense and calculated. “Moving your knight was a rookie error, it left your alpha exposed.”
I clench my fists in my uniform skirt.
Goddess, he’s such a shitty winner. After each match, he points out my mistakes, like he’s helping me.
We both know he’s gloating.
When we met in chess club two years ago, he didn’t go easy on me. In fact, he destroyed me in ten minutes flat. In that moment of defeat, I vowed to make my chess nemesis my chess bitch.
I don’t like that he’s cocky and arrogant.
He’s a jerk.
But, annoyingly, he’s a brilliant jerk. And observant; nothing gets past him. He’s in complete control of his environment.
I sigh and pack away the chess pieces, tucking them into their velvet-lined home to rest until the next time they’re called to battle.
The issue is he’s not wrong. I was distracted today.
He distracted me.
His rich bergamot scent does funny things to my insides. It makes me feel all twisty and hot and bothered.
If I’m honest with myself, I’ve been thinking about Alpha Novikov a lot.
Too much.
And it’s making it difficult for me to concentrate on kicking his ass.
It’s just a stupid Omega biological attraction. It’s not him I’m attracted to, rather my inner Omega getting confused by his scent, handsome face, and sinfully toned body.
Even if I were interested in finding a mate, which I’m not, the fact of the matter is, Alpha Novikov and I aren’t compatible.
He’s dominant, even more so than the average Alpha, and he’s extremely particular about everything.
And me?
I’m an Omega who doesn’t fit The Omega Academy mold.
I’m competitive to a fault and never one to back down from a fight.
I’m messy, unwilling to preen over my appearance when I could focus on more important things, like working out how to beat the pompous asshat sitting in front of me with a smug smirk.
I hastily swipe my things off the table and into my bag. “Nothing for you to worry yourself about, Novikov.”
“Don’t lie to me,” he says, his nostrils flaring. “Something is bothering you.”
I straighten my spine, responding to his firm tone.
My ire rises.
I’m quick to anger, my temper flaring hot and burning bright. A family trait the academy still thinks they can fix.
If they make me an obedient little Omega, they can petition me off to Alphas and earn back their investment in my education. The more docile and accomplished the Omega, the more Alphas will pay for the opportunity to court an unmated Omega.
At twenty-three years old, I’m two years overdue to begin courting.
My teachers are concerned my ‘attitude problems’ will reflect poorly on the academy, and refuse to announce my availability for courtship.
Fine by me.
Once I receive my invitation to the professional tournament, I’ll have my dreams to pursue, and I can’t have a possessive Alpha holding me back.
Alpha Novikov, with his tightly calculated and controlling personality, would smother me.
“It’s none of your business,” I say through gritted teeth.
The Beta handler assigned to keep me safe from unmated Alphas is watching and will report my bad behavior to the headmistress.
I can’t withstand yet another lecture on Omega decorum from the old lady, so I keep the worst of my attitude to myself.
Alpha Novikov cocks his head to the side, giving me a clear view of his chiseled jawline. My gut clenches approvingly.
Stupid sexy Alpha.
“It’s an Alpha’s duty to care for an Omega’s mental wellbeing.”
I stiffen and clench my fists tighter in my skirt.
Why would he say something like that? He sounds almost possessive.
I sniff and look down my nose at him. “Good thing you’re not my Alpha.”
His eyebrows furrow and his jaw tightens.
The thought of Alpha Magnus Novikov being my Alpha makes me want to run and hide. We’d end up killing each other. Everything would become a competition. I’d drive him insane.
“I look forward to our next match,” he eventually says in a measured tone. “I suggest you study The Sicilian Attack.”
I grit my teeth to stop myself from snapping back something snarky. He makes a good point, though. I need to develop my aggressive openings.
I can admit I’m a poor loser and even worse at taking constructive criticism.
I stand from the table, smooth the wrinkles formed by my hands out of my skirt, and sling my bag over my shoulder. I turn my back on him, knowing the action irritates dominant Alphas.
It’s petty and childish, but I’m angry.
I stride out of the library with an unladylike stomp, and I feel his steely gaze drilling into my back.
My skin prickles pleasantly.
My Beta handler follows at a distance, knowing better than to chastise my behavior. The handlers have learned to pick their battles with me.
Arriving back in my dorm, I dump the contents of my bag onto the floor, searching for my chess strategy book.
A shiny glint catches my eye.
Buried under the heavy load of my textbooks on floral arrangement and Omega history is a fountain pen.
The pen is a work of art and has the most enchanting gold filigree etched into the shiny black body. It’s scratched, and the nib broken, the contents of my bag unforgiving against something so delicate.
It’s lovely, even in its ruined state.
Later, I slip it into the library’s lost and found box. I swallow the guilt of accidentally ruining something so expensive.
Wherever it came from, it certainly isn’t meant for the likes of me.
2
Winter settles through The Omega Academy, and inside its hallowed stone halls, the temperature is consistently cold as fuck.
That's a specific term. 'Cold as fuck' comes right after 'My nipples could cut glass.'
Sitting in my Advanced Decorum Theory class, I feel icy tendrils seep through the worn soles of my Mary-Jane shoes. The tattered and rough-spun socks my father purchased from the local second-hand store do nothing to stop the cold.
By the time lunch rolls around, I speed walk to the dining hall and arrange myself down on the edge of the giant stone fireplace heating the room. I hug my knees to my chest and wiggle my feet in front of the flames. My toes tingle as they defrost next to the crackling fire, and I moan in relief.
Unfortunately, a group
of my least favorite Omegas are gliding past, their manicured hands primly held at their waist.
“Gross, Batty-Natty. Didn’t your mother teach you not to orgasm in public?” the ringleader Patricia sneers, her nose scrunched in disgust.
The three other Omegas trailing behind her snicker, watching the confrontation with glee.
Omegas rarely form friendship groups because our biology forces us to see each other as competition for mates. Yet Patricia's family has powerful political influence, and it draws lackeys to her like moths to a flame. If there is one thing Omegas are attracted to, it's power.
The comment about my mother is a bulls-eye hit. My mother died before she could teach me how to be an Omega.
I've been working at controlling my infamous temper, but the familiar anger curdles in my belly before I can stop it.
“I couldn’t resist, Patricia. I was hoping to get the dried-up clam you call your cunt to react to something,” I snap back with a little too much ferocity. When in doubt, Omega princesses like Patricia cringe away from crass language.
They really don't like the word 'cunt'.
So I use it liberally and take great pleasure in their discomfort.
"And you thought you could get me wet?" she scoffs, her manicured finger swirling at me, her steely gaze sweeping up and down my curled-up figure. "Look at you. You're a mess. It should be an actual crime that you're an Omega. Have some self-respect, and clean yourself up."
I don't have a retort.
I am a mess.
Anger issues, hand-me-down uniform, shitty social skills, and a competitive streak a mile-wide.
Patricia smirks with victory and sweeps away with an extra sway to her narrow hips. The other Omegas trail after her, their mocking glances pressing into my self-esteem with bruising pressure.
Sighing, I frown.
I've always been a tomboy – being the first daughter after six sons has that effect. Being the first Omega after six Alphas means I didn't stand a chance.
My Alpha father encouraged a love of chess to keep me from traipsing after my brothers and learning too many bad habits.
It backfired spectacularly when I developed a taste for mentally dominating an Alpha in chess. To me, there's nothing better than beating an arrogant Alpha who underestimates me because I'm an Omega.
He swiftly gave up raising me as a precious, mild-mannered Omega.
I received little beauty and poise instruction from my mother. She died shortly after my birth, and with her, she took my only feminine influence.
Glancing down at my hands, I cringe at the disparity between my hands and Patricia's delicate pink French tip polish. I guess I could attempt to remove the dirt from under my fingernails after Gardening class.
Later that evening, as I tip the contents of my bag out onto my bed to repack it for tomorrow's schedule, a bundle of fabric bounces out onto my crocheted bedspread.
Socks.
Thick, insulated socks.
Someone stuffed a pack of three pairs of woolen socks into my bag without my notice. I want to feel embarrassed that someone noticed my ratty socks, but mostly I'm relieved.
I'd been dreading another day of achingly cold feet. The wool is a smart gray color, as per the uniform regulations, but it is so soft I want to cry.
I didn't know socks were supposed to feel so soft, as I've never owned a new pair before. They are always too large and slightly crunchy from use by the time they are in my possession.
I press the socks into my face and smile softly to myself. Omegas love soft things, and I'm no exception.
I don't question where the socks came from. I only want to enjoy how toasty my toes will be in my History class tomorrow.
It was probably a teacher, right?
They know my family can't afford new things and took pity on me.
Probably.
3
Aweek passes before the next gift appears.
I drop my burdensome bag against the south courtyard's stone wall and go to pull out my book of chess strategies.
I blink in confusion.
My worn, fraying messenger bag, handed down from my many older Alpha brothers, has a large red ribbon tied to perfection in a big looping bow. The knot is complex and distinct, different from the standard style.
The fine silk fabric is an inch and a half wide and edged in a shimmering gold thread which dances under the sunlight. I blink rapidly in confusion before crouching before it and gingerly lifting one of the perfectly symmetrical loops with the tip of my finger.
The cool fabric slips against my finger, and I sigh in delight. I've never touched anything so smooth and flawless.
I narrow my eyes.
I don't know where this bow came from. I should be wary. Yet I struggle to think of a malicious reason someone placed it there.
It's a ribbon, for Goddess' sake. It's not dangerous.
However, the unwanted gossip it will spark among my classmates is dangerous. If they think I'm illegally being courted by an Alpha without the academy's permission, it will make my life difficult. I mean, more than usual.
With a twinge of disappointment, my shoulders drop in resignation. The pretty bow will have to go.
I purse my lips as I pull the ends and undo the complex knot. I take a moment to look at the ribbon and admire the richness of the color.
I vow not to mention or show the ribbon to anyone, feeling oddly possessive of my secret gift.
I push it into the depths of my uniform pocket, wrapping it around my hand as I walk to and from classrooms, a secret smile tugging at my lips.
I like having a small, inconsequential secret that's only mine.
I pretend I don't see a pattern emerging. The unexplained items appearing in my bookbag. I like the warm, fuzzy feeling they give me. Questioning where they came from can only bring me trouble.
4
Christmas time rolls around, and I finish packing my bags for the two-week break back home.
My eldest brother will collect me in the morning and take me back to our family's home. We're from a small town, and it's where my brothers still live. My father's house isn't huge, but we fit in there for Christmas Day – although it's becoming a bit of a squeeze.
My brothers aren't wealthy enough to petition for an Omega, but most of them have found love with Betas and other Alphas. Each year, there's another new face added to our brood. I have a lonely existence at the academy, and I'm looking forward to seeing everyone.
I'm lucky to have so many Alphas in my family who protect me when I visit on holidays. Many Omegas aren't permitted to leave the academy without being escorted by a handler.
It's tradition that on the last night of term, all of the Omegas pile into the dormitory common room for the exchange of secret Santa gifts. I saved my government-issued Omega allowance for two months to afford a soft nesting blanket for my recipient: a first-year Omega with a permanent wide-eyed stare.
Despite the proximity to so many Omegas, the room is pleasantly festive. A verbal fight will break out at some point, so many pheromones in one room encouraging territorial behavior. For now, it's peaceful.
I settle into a couch at the back of the room, my legs crossed, observing as the presents are dug out from under the heavily decorated tree.
In amongst the frivolity of my fellow Omegas, I can't help my fingers from inching down into the depth of my skirt pocket and gently stroking the puckered golden thread along the edge of my silken ribbon. The mystery of its appearance remains, and I can't break the strange hold it has on me. Whenever I touch it, I feel calm and secure.
"Hey, Natalia, this was still under the tree for you," says Cara, snapping me out of my thoughts.
The cherub-faced Omega holding out a slim, flat present is my best friend. She's my opposite in every possible way. Eternally positive, fashion focused, and eager to mate.
"Uh, really?" I utter in confusion.
I'd opened the present from my secret Santa. It was a basket of soap. I rolled my eyes and passed it off to a young Omega who was delighted to receive the body products.
Every year it's the same thing. Soap.
'Cause, apparently, I'm a mess that needs cleaning up.
Petty bitches are tiresome.
That should've been it. We each get one gift so not to inspire jealousy and fighting.
