by V T Bonds
Unnatural Omega
Alpha Elite Series Book 2
V.T. Bonds
Copyright © 2020 by V.T. Bonds
Cover design by V.T. Bonds
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
ISBN: 979-8-6314-9062-8
*This story is not for the faint of heart. It is a dark action-packed Omegaverse story set in a world where violence and sexual situations occur. Scenes are not glossed over. Sensitive readers please abstain. Proceed with caution.*
Dedication
To my Beta Readers – Your support means the world to me. You chime in as often as you can, listen to my nonsensical ramblings, and help me see the faults in my “progress”. Thank you for putting up with my sporadic-ness. Yes, I made a word up for you. Again.
Wee Little Omegaverse Authors – Yet again, you’ve earned a spot in my dedication. You are my first line of defense. When I think the stresses of life are too much, you put my focus on the right things. Of course, other times you steal the focus, and that’s okay. You keep me from being too serious. No matter what happens in the future, know that I treasure the moments we’ve spent together.
Liberty Champion and Deanna Bright – You didn’t expect to go down in history, did you? This is what you get for causing such a fuss on social media. Your raving has kept me typing through many a rough day. Thank you for being so supportive. May all your dark depravity find happiness in whatever books you consume.
Chapter One
Britani
Maybe one of these days my research will actually lead to a successful experiment. My mother was the one with an inherent green thumb; all she seemed to need was sunlight and a song, and all the flora would blossom. I, on the other hand, shrivel the innocent foliage within mere seconds of entering the room.
I wish I had inherited my mother’s gifts, but as my father would say, “A gift cannot be denied nor demanded.” He was full of enlightened advice, but he had already gotten everything he could ever hope for: a devoted and talented wife, a beautiful daughter, and a successful career.
I can’t seem to find the happiness that died with my parents. They did their best to instill hope and joy in me, but it’s difficult to stay optimistic when there’s a big hole in your heart and the world has no place for you.
Chucking the disposable apron into the garbage, I yank the gloves off and toss them in too.
“Thanks for saving me a pod, Jyn. I don’t know how you justify wasting a test on me every week, but I appreciate it. I don’t understand why it fails—the formula is sound on paper. A new seed next week?” I ask as I join her at the sinks.
“Your tenacity is astounding. Of course, I’ll save you one next week. It’s the least I can do for all the work you do around here. This branch would have been defunded long ago if you hadn’t joined us, and we all know it,” Jyn replies.
I know she’s trying to placate me, but my frustration refuses to recede. I’ve gone over the formula countless times and cannot find a reason for the failures, and even though I tell myself I won’t let it bother me, it does.
“You’re sweet, Jyn. If only my affinity for numbers equated to real life success,” I sigh. She bumps my shoulder with hers, since her hands are preoccupied. Her sink is full of steaming water that appears neon pink because of the little oblong seeds floating along the surface. She gently swirls the water with both gloved arms in a rhythm born of practice. I bump her shoulder back and use the next sink over to wash my pristine hands. They didn’t touch anything in the lab except through gloves, but habit and regulations lure me to scrub.
Watching the soap bubbles rinse from my fingers and froth up the drain makes a stab of loneliness shoot through my heart. Some of the best times with my mom were in the kitchen. I’d wash dishes the old-fashioned way, scrubbing with a sponge in mountains of bubbles, enjoying my mother’s singing. She'd stroke my cheek as she walked by to stir whatever was on the stove. Other times she’d recount fanciful tales in her soft voice, kiss me on the head, smile at me, and make food that filled the whole apartment with delicious smells. It didn’t matter how many dishes needed to be cleaned or what day of the week it was, every evening was a delight. I looked forward to washing dishes with tons of soap and soaking in my mother’s beautiful heart.
People questioned my mother’s dynamic. She showed so many Omega tendencies that the doubt was understandable. Gentle, loving, small in stature, fierce when it came to her husband and child, but my mother always tested Beta. Never once was there proof to back up their doubts. She never took medication, went into heat, nested, or purred. She was just a gentle soul. She was happy with my father and the beautiful life they created together. I was truly blessed to have such a sheltered and blissful childhood.
When it came time to leave for academy, I walked into the world with a cringe-worthy amount of optimism and naiveté. The diversity of the other students was astounding. Even though there were no Alphas among us, it became clear that most of what I was told in my early years of schooling was false.
This city may have been founded to build a better world for the less fierce dynamics, but it’s no longer a utopia. Life is hard. People can be cruel. Betas can abuse power and Omegas can be self-serving.
With those revelations, I have no wish to ever meet an Alpha.
I suppose I ruminate too long because Jyn falters in her stirring.
“See you tomorrow? No wait, tomorrow is the third Thursday of the month. Friday?” she asks.
I nod my head and shut off the faucet. Since before I can remember, my parents always spent the third Thursday of every month together, taking the whole day off work for a family day. I haven’t been able to break the tradition, even though they are gone. Now I visit the barrier, a wall that protects the city from the encroaching desert. That’s where I said goodbye to my parents as their ashes were released into the wind. It is fitting that their remains are free to fly within the vastness of the desert.
While I was there that first time, the misery coating my insides was so thick I thought I’d never enjoy life again. I watched their tiny flecks dance in the air, carefree and burden-less, and float off into a rainbow of color. The sunset had been so gorgeous it pierced my mourning and imprinted onto my heart.
Now I crave the dry wind on my skin and the splash of colors that can only be found standing at the edge of society.
Tomorrow I get the chance to soak up as much of the view as I can.
Saying goodbye to my coworkers, I grab my bag and walk out the door, starting my trek back to my apartment.
Chapter Two
Kwame
The buildings twinkle in the light of a brilliant sunset. People scurry along the footpaths and transporters glide from one destination to the next.
Dirk and I stand looking out the window, trapped by forces we can’t ignore. The beautiful sounds of Nova and Seeck leak through the walls, but gloom holds us hostage. Neither of us can force our legs to retreat from the window, an impending sense of doom rooting us to the spot. My heart thuds in my chest as the blood in my veins acts like sludge.
Children explore the world with their parents below, but we stand locked in a world of dark anticipation. The ominous cloud oozes behind my sternum as the light turns from bright orange to a dark burgundy. The sun sinks behind the horizon.
A force pulls my sight towards the outskirts of the city. A wall borders the edge of society from a barren landscape—dunes of sand span the entire horizon. Large transporters zip between buildings, stopping only at their designated stations.
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My gaze settles on a specific transporter and I stare. It is too far away to see much detail, but it moves along its track at rapid speed. It comes to a stop, but no people get off. Three or four figures disappear into the cars. The doors slide closed and the transporter starts moving. Before it reaches half speed, a blinding flash of white comes from the window. The roof bends inward, and the entire frame shrinks as the metal snaps from too much pressure. What was once a transporter to fit a hundred people is now only big enough to fit ten.
Clouds of black billow from the window, coalescing around the transporter, clinging to it despite the wind.
In the following void, my heart stops.
The silence in my chest pulls my senses from me. As if the black cloud has wrapped around me, my vision darkens and my hearing dampens. I watch as the window flies upward, my view becoming a close up of the floorboards. I don’t feel my body’s impact with the floor.
The last thing I register is Dirk’s tortured roar.
Chapter Three
Britani
I close my lunch box and stand there, hands on the worn material, and fight back tears. What was once a vibrant green is now a tinted grey, and the zippers no longer shine. Even though the internal structure is a little warped, it still insulates like new. Most things are built to last here, since Baseon is a low-waste city, and this box is no exception. It seems like the most indestructible thing in my life most days, and I cherish every moment I get to carry it. It’s heavier than models produced nowadays, since the insulating substance has been upgraded, but it keeps things at proper temperature for over twenty-four hours.
This was my dad’s lunch box. He used it every day he went to work, each meal a thoughtful home cooked dish. Now it’s packed with a simple sandwich, an apple, store bought snacks, and two filtered water bottles. Though the box is only halfway filled, I don’t usually take this much. One bottle alone is manageable, but the second bottle’s filter makes fitting everything a puzzle. My food feels like a travesty of a meal in comparison to my mom’s cooking, but I can’t bring myself to use a different lunch box.
I fill my lungs with air full of memories, standing in my mom’s kitchen. It’s been almost two years since they’ve died, but I haven’t changed anything. I visit this room as little as possible, because it reminds me how much I’ve lost. It hurts, but I still need to eat and can’t force myself to take an inquiry to the city council for a relocation.
After forcing the air from my lungs, I suck in as much as I can before heading out of the apartment. Even though their scent barely lingers in the small home, I like to imagine I can keep their memories alive by holding my breath when I leave the house. With my lunchbox flung over one shoulder and my little wallet tucked into my pocket, I lock the door behind me and make my way down the corridor.
Being in the mid-range level of buildings, the layout is straightforward and the décor is simple. All facets of the apartments have been strictly kept—plumbing, electrical, elevators—everything has been well taken care of and replaced when necessary. Even so, I opt to take the stairs down, not in the mood to make small talk with whatever neighbor may be taking the elevator. I push open the door to the stairwell and begin my descent, the large windows allowing the beautiful colors of sunrise to light my way.
I skip down the last set of stairs, preparing for the business of the streets. Mornings can be quite hectic with everyone beginning the work day, even though the main streets are wide and accustomed to high volumes of traffic. Pushing open the door, the noise pummels my ears and I wince. At least my eyes don’t require adjustment, since the windows kept the staircase bright. I turn toward my destination and walk a few blocks to the correct transporter.
I hop on one, wait a few stops, then transfer to a different line. As I repeat this process a couple times, I see a few familiar faces, since most of the conductors work set schedules. I’ve never spoken with any of them, since the trains are always so busy, but I always try to give them a friendly smile.
The further from the city center I go, the less crowded the transporters become. By the time I get on the last train, my shoulder aches from carrying my bag, and my shoes feel tight. Even so, I make sure to enter the conductor’s side of the transporter, which has no seats. The front of the cars feel like a glass bowl—the roof, walls, and a large portion of the floor is made from a see-through material. The conductor stands at the nose of the transporter, where they have the most visibility of the outside world and the inside of the car.
A square pad consisting of three buttons sits on the wall next to them, all of them clear and without labels, but their uses are easy to guess. The left button would be green for the all clear, the middle button would be yellow for a thirty second delay, and the right button would be red for emergency stop.
I’ve wondered why conductors are still used, when public transporters basically run themselves, but after seeing how some people are forced to live, I don’t care the reasons why. I’m just glad the city still employs people, even if the job doesn’t seem necessary.
I walk to my normal spot, standing on the last bit of solid flooring. I’ve never been comfortable enough to stand on the glass while the transporter moves. The regular conductor is there, and I return her smile. I always look forward to seeing her, even when we don’t exchange words. She reminds me of my mom, though her features are nowhere near the same. While my mother was a brunette and had light brown eyes, this woman has platinum blonde hair and striking blue eyes.
She must be Omega—she’s the smallest woman I’ve ever met. Even the other Omegas in the city aren’t as tiny as her. Everything about her looks delicate and feminine, but never once have I felt ungainly or awkward around her. Since she gave me a tentative smile the first time I saw her, I’ve always thought of her as a friend. Her aura makes me want to hang out in the transporter all day just so I can bask in her sweetness.
A few more people enter the car before the left button flashes, signaling the allotted time for boarding has ended. She checks the sidewalk outside, makes sure the doors are cleared, then presses the flashing button.
A ping sounds through the transporter, the doors slide closed, and the noise of the city disappears. I brace against the rapid acceleration of the car, holding the strap attached to the wall, amazed at the woman’s ability to stay upright without grabbing something. Although, I imagine she knows every jostle and bend in the tracks, riding this route so often.
I settle into the slight swaying of travel, noting the changes flying past the windows and the random noises from other passengers. This ride is the longest of my day, since there are only a few stations at the wall. The line continues away from the city center, but there are several stops so passengers can step on and off, and when it gets to the wall, it turns to the left and zips along the border until it arrives at a designated stop. Before the doors open, I glance around the car and see only a handful of people, all gathered in preparation to disembark. With relaxed movements, despite my racing heart and shaking fingers, I pull the extra water bottle from my lunch box and face the conductor.
She notices me out of the corner of her eye and turns her attention to me. Hoping she isn’t offended, I offer her the water, the liquid inside rippling as I try to hide my nervousness. Her brows scrunch together, and I can’t tell if she’s confused or upset. Swallowing the ball of nerves down, I try to not make a big deal out of it.
“I have an extra, and, um—would you like it?” I ask as a ping fills the air.
She glances around the car, looks back to me, and nods. Sighing in relief, I pass it to her as everyone else leaves the train.
“I’m Britani. I think of you as a friend, even though we’ve never really spoken, and I just… thank you.” I step off the train as she sends me a happy little grin.
“I’m Shya. See you this evening?” her high-pitched voice asks.
I return her smile and nod, my heart slowing as the adrenaline wears off.
It isn’t that i
nteracting with the conductors is illegal or wrong, it just isn’t done very often, and if the wrong person is nearby when things exchange hands, they may report both people to the authorities for bribery or some such nonsense. Also, I don’t want to portray myself as a stereotypical idiot, but Omegas require more water than Betas—if she had been offended, I would have understood. It’s a sensitive topic among Omegas in the city—they live here because they want the Beta lifestyle, so highlighting their differences makes them twitchy.
But the interaction went well, and I’m happy she accepted.
Letting my feet carry me forward, I make my way to the pier. A gaggle of tourists stand to the right of the entrance, their guide’s spiel pumped directly into their ear devices. I don’t mind tourists, many people never venture out to the wall, but today I’m here to be away from people. I need the solitude and the emptiness of the desert to find my center. Luckily this group has no kids, and several of them already look bored, so I doubt they’ll be here for very long.
I walk to the booth and pull out my wallet, waiting for the teller to look up from their phone. When he does, his wrinkles deepen as he smiles in recognition.
“Britani! Has it been a month already?” he exclaims.
“Yes, Garen, it has.” I can’t help the glance I throw at the group of people milling nearby.
“Oh, don’t worry about them. They’re on a two-day tour with many stops. They won’t be here long, and the guide said no one had any interest to go past the halfway mark, so go get your peace. I’ll waive your fee today, and don’t argue.” His eyes dart toward the transporter stop and I realize he saw my exchange with Shya.
I sigh and put my wallet back in my pocket.
“Thank you Garen, but I’m paying full price next time,” I say, accepting the ticket he offers. Sticking it in my lunch box, I pretend I don’t hear his mumbled, “we’ll see”.