by K. Webster
Alpha & Omega
Copyright © 2015 K. Webster
Cover Design: K. Webster
Photo: Dollar Photo Club
Editor: Mickey Reed
Formatting: Champagne Formats
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information and retrieval system without express written permission from the Author/Publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Table of Contents
Dedication
Quote
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Epilogue
A Note from the Author
Omega & Love
Alpha & Omega Playlist
Books by Author K Webster
Acknowledgements
About the Author
To my very own Alpha,
’Til death.
And even after I take my last breath.
I promise you forever.
Your very own Twiggy
But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we—
Of many far wiser than we—
And neither the angels in Heaven above
Nor the demons down under the sea
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
~An excerpt from Annabel Lee by Edgar Allan Poe~
LIFE IS NOTHING but a sequential series of monotonous repeats. You wake up and then you eat. You work and then you eat. You bathe and then you eat. Oh, and then you sleep.
Over.
And.
Fucking over again.
Life is a blur. Each passing moment is just another second closer to your final destination—six feet under the dirt to be mourned and eventually forgotten.
I wasn’t made for life. Unfortunately, I was one of the few who figured out the algorithms of this godforsaken planet and became a slave to the monotony. I knew my ultimate destiny was death. The overdramatic poet in me craved that end, because maybe then I could actually feel something besides the constant internal clock counting each second until my expiration. My thought was: Let’s hurry and get this phase of my existence over with so that I can move the fuck on. Life is like the lobby of a doctor’s office. Or waiting to get your driver’s license renewed at the DMV.
Boring.
As.
Fuck.
Each day, I toyed with the idea of speeding the process up. Sure, I lived in a home with lovely parents who bought me lovely things and loved me dearly. But something was missing inside me—that little part that keeps everyone else grounded and emotionally tied to this Earth. For me, that part was void. It never existed in the first place, so I hadn’t been able to grow or nurture it like everyone else. In me, there were no feelings of hope or excitement. I did not envision children or a spouse or a kickass career.
All I could think about was what color the inside of my coffin would be. Would my parents splurge and get me a ridiculous silk–lined, wooden box that caused them to tap into their retirement? Or would they just use their credit card and buy the midgrade one—the one that has a thin padding and scratchy material but looks good enough on the outside?
I didn’t plan on staying there anyway. They could have cremated me if that had been more in their budget. I’d have been happy with my remains sitting on the mantel next to Granny’s and our dog, Buckie. It honestly wouldn’t have mattered because I figured I would be running full force into the afterlife that awaited me. Something deep inside me knew I was better mentally equipped for that next phase. A part of me twitched and fidgeted at the idea of what was to come.
Was that what these other brainless drones called hope?
Dare I say I was hopeful?
Then it was all ruined.
One smile. One goddamned beautiful smile infected my heart and soul with such a force that I nearly exploded. All hopes of afterlife and the eagerness to leave this one vanished with that one handsome smile.
Thump.
My heart gave one painful thud and began beating for the first time in its life. I hated the feeling. Hated that the powers that be had realized I was onto their game. They made me their project. They showed me a smile. I was diseased by light from such a simple gesture.
Surely I could manage to look away and remember my goals. There had to be a way to avoid the magnetic glow that sucked me right in.
And then he spoke.
The beautiful smile had an even more beautiful voice. And with each word, each joke, and, eventually, each touch, I intertwined my soul so intricately with his that I never had a chance of letting go.
I fell in love.
And suddenly, life wasn’t long enough.
TODAY IS FA day—the day when all of us Minders take on our final assignments before advancing to Seraph Guardians and getting our wings. I’ve wanted to be an SG since the moment I was recruited to HEA Corp.
Six years ago, I woke up with no recollection of my past. I’d been killed or died in some traumatic way but had “heroic qualities” according to my recruiting officer, Pallas, which is why I was recruited by HEA. That day, I showed up alongside Omega. They partnered us up, and we’ve been inseparable ever since.
Minders like Omega and I don’t need sleep. We don’t require any sustenance like food and water. Minders also don’t care about love or hate, right or wrong. Those of us who find ourselves in this position care about one thing: protecting those fragile, earthly beings they call humans. Since we were also human at one time, being a Minder is the step before becoming the ultimate badass, an SG. All Minders strive to become SGs. Unfortunately, not all Minders become them. Sometimes, they can’t cut it and are sent next door for work.
Most Minders take decades to complete their assignments because they either fail or get more assignments as more required training. Omega and I, like a well-oiled wheel, are like the Tango and Cash of the afterlife. Our assignments come easily to us, and we have a great time completing them. When on assignment, we work together like two halves of a whole, which is why we’re kicking ass and taking names. The other Minders, especially Herra and Loper, are jealous bastards, but they can’t do a damn thing about it. And if they get too mouthy, HEL Enterprises is always at our doorsteps looking for new hires.
Omega and I often converse to see if we were brothers or best friends in our prior human bodies, but neither of us can remember and Pallas ref
uses to tell us. It only makes sense that we knew each other. Two people can’t be that close upon instant meeting. There was a bond and a deep trust neither of us could pinpoint the origin to. Regardless, we held on to that bond and strengthened it over the past six years. I’d die for Omega—if I could die, that is.
The biggest downfall of becoming a Minder is the memory loss. You wake up in a body that doesn’t belong to you, talking in a voice that was never yours, with a blank memory. For most, it isn’t a big deal. Omega gives me shit about caring who the old me was. Something in my brain, though, won’t allow me to give up. It is against our laws to discover who we were, and we aren’t supposed to try. But I’ll always wonder. And when I become an SG, I’ll have the resources to find out.
“Ready for this, Al?” Omega’s voice thunders as we tromp down the marbled hallway sounding like a herd of elephants.
“Brother, I was born ready. Pallas can bring on his toughest shit and I’ll handle it with finesse,” I joke as I slide my fingers through my longish, inky-black hair.
Omega calls my hair The Chick Magnet. The female Minders in our sector go batshit crazy over my hair. Minders don’t care about their own looks. We actually avoid mirrors at all costs. Vanity isn’t something we’re allowed to think about—seven deadly sins and all—but we do care about the looks of others. Apparently, I’m what the females call “a hottie.” Omega tells me all the time that it isn’t fair that I got The Chick Magnet hair and he got lame, chocolate curls. He reminds me of a male model I had to once protect on assignment. The females here call Omega dreamy.
Hottie and Dreamy.
We kick ass and we’re good-looking motherfuckers too. This life is a pretty sweet one, I tell you.
“Good luck, boys,” Lovenia purrs as she stands outside the door of Pallas’s office.
Omega lets an animalistic growl loose and I chuckle. Those two have it so bad for each other, but neither is making any steps to move forward. There’s so much sexual tension between them that, when they finally do climb into the sack together, both Heaven and Hell will weep with joy because, quite frankly, we’re all just over it.
Lovenia is a Leviathan. Try saying that three times fast. She’s a higher-up at HEL Enterprises but likes slumming it with us when she’s not on assignment. Our buildings are side by side, and our companies are sister companies. Employees of HEA work their way up. Literally. The higher the floor in our building, the more powerful you are at this company. HEL works just the opposite. Their head honcho, Luc, offices in the basement. They tell me it’s hot there.
“You don’t need luck when you’re the Alpha and Omega duo. Luck needs us, baby,” I grin and then wink at her.
She blushes and bats those long, dark lashes at me. Lovenia is all curves and smart as a whip, and she will lance you to bits with her sharp Latina tongue. Big, tough Omega will be handcuffed to her bed soon—it’s only a matter of time. I may be a huge flirt, but I don’t mess around too much on their side. It isn’t against the Minder rules, but it is against SG policy. I figure the less I commingle with them, the better. My goals are big, so I can’t let anyone or anything stand in my way.
“Hey, Omega. Why don’t you come by my place after you get your FA and I’ll give you a special treat,” she speaks seductively to my partner.
The low growl in his throat is one of pure want. If he wants to fuck her before becoming an SG, that’ll be his only chance. I know my boy. He already has her naked in his head.
“I have a treat of my own for you, sweet Love,” he smirks back.
She beams beautifully at his nickname for her, and for a second, I wonder if he’ll back out on FA day just to haul her back to his quarters. They hold each other’s heated stares before she approaches him and pecks him on the cheek.
“I’ll be waiting in nothing but a big, red bow tied around my hips. You better hurry back and unwrap your gift,” she says in a manner that could bring any man to his knees. Good thing my brother isn’t human.
“Move it along, princess. We have work to do,” I grumble in faux annoyance.
She giggles all the way down the hallway as she leaves us to take our final assignment before becoming true guardian angels. My mother would be proud—if I actually had one.
Omega strides up to Pallas’s door and knocks loudly. Pallas is a partially deaf SG officer. Word on the street is he lost his hearing on his FA before becoming an SG. They don’t speak much of their assignments because they are intended to be classified. But, even though we’re angels in training, we’re not perfect. The gossip mill is a quiet yet powerful machine. It doesn’t help that most Leviathans are behind every rumor, whether it be truth or myth.
“Come in,” Pallas hollers through the thick, wooden door.
Omega turns the knob and pushes through the opening. Instantly, we’re hit with the stench of cigars. Good ol’ Pallas has one permanently affixed between his yellow teeth, it would seem. Not once have I ever seen him take it out in the six years I’ve known him.
“Sit, boys,” the gravelly voiced officer instructs.
We sit side by side and eagerly await our assignment. My leg has begun to bounce with contained energy that’s just waiting to explode. This time in our life is do or die. We either pass or fail this final assignment. Passing means promotion and wings. Failing means termination from HEA Corp. Failure is not an option because I’d die before ever working for the other side which is exactly what would happen.
“First of all, I want to tell you both how proud of you I am. When I stumbled upon you two, I knew you were special. The both of you are like sons of mine.” He takes a minute to let that sink in. “That being said, your final assignment will be difficult. My commanding officers have studied both of your cases and found things to insert into your mission that could compromise your ability to perform. They have direct access to your prior life. Your weaknesses have been highlighted and will be turned against you.”
Omega grunts, and I flit my eyes over to him. His dark-brown eyes are brooding. He senses something bad coming. And I’d be a fool if I didn’t sense it too.
“We’re Minders, not humans. I think we can manage. We’ve killed it on every other mission, boss. You know this,” I tell Pallas. Something in my voice indicates my uncertainty, and I instantly hate that feeling.
Pallas groans as he spouts off his next piece. “Yes, you kept your subjects alive for the allotted time periods before the Reapers took them. That’s to be commended. Neither of you has ever failed. But to be SG worthy, you have to be strong in any capacity.”
So far, our jobs have been easy. They put us on a subject that can’t see or hear us. We watch their every move. When they walk into traffic, we surge our power to make cars brake. If they slip in the shower, we break their fall. A subject of mine once choked on a meatball while at home alone and I just blasted him on the back, hurtling the meat across the room. We protect them—mostly from themselves—until D Day, also known as Death Day.
When Death Day arrives, the minions over at HEL, called Reapers, swoop in and take them to their final destination. Lovenia says that it’s like a vacation at a warm beach minus the water and way hotter. Doesn’t sound too bad . . .
“Did you hear me?” Pallas grumbles, yanking my attention back to him.
Not missing a beat, I say, “So, you’re telling us something changes in the way we do our job?”
“Exactly. Same rules apply as far as mirrors—stay away so you don’t become weak. And in the instance you do become weak, find a church or Bible—you’ll heal quickly.”
Omega and I nod in response. Nothing new so far.
“Here’s the deal, boys,” Pallas groans. “You’ll be human for this job.”
Omega bursts from his chair in a furious blast and leans across the desk with his finger in Pallas’s face. “You can’t do that! We’re about to become fucking guardian angels! What about our powers?”
He’s outraged, and I can’t help but feel slightly betrayed. Why trai
n us one way and then send us out with no tools?
“Don’t curse in my office. I should write you up for that,” Pallas snaps and swats Omega’s hand away.
“Sit down, buddy. We’ll figure it out,” I tell him and yank down on the back of his suit jacket. Then I nervously wipe my palms on the thighs even though I don’t sweat. Must be an old habit from my prior life.
Once Omega has relaxed a bit in his chair, Pallas continues his instructions.
“You won’t have your powers. In fact, by becoming human for that short time, you’ll be susceptible to real-life inflictions that will carry over to when you are an SG or . . .” he trails off.
We know he means we’ll become fucking Reapers if we don’t pass this mission.
“Anyway,” he continues, “that’s how I got this hearing problem. Bar fight. Some prick hit me in the head with a barstool while I was trying to protect a pool shark I was in charge of. You can get injured, but you won’t die. You’re still immortal. But don’t go getting your legs blown off or some wicked stuff like that. You’ll be a worthless SG. Believe me—I had to prove my tail off that I could still be an SG even with a handicap. That, boys, is why I sit behind a desk versus being out there with the likes of you.”
My mind spins at what he’s telling us. Omega is boiling over with rage.
“So, we’ll be stripped of our powers, visible to our charges, and faced with obstacles we struggled with while in our former human lives? How long are our assignments?” I question.
Where Omega is pissed, I’m impatient to get this started. Something deep within me bounces back and forth on each foot like a boxer eager to fight. I love challenges, and thus far, we’ve handled everything with ease. Nobody has died on either of our watches. HEL got their people and we got closer to becoming an SG.
“In a nutshell. You’ll encounter some other ‘obstacles’ along the way—and by ‘obstacles,’ I mean a Leviathan will be assigned to the both of you to complicate things. Why do you think Lovenia was here?” he grumbles as if her very existence makes him cringe.
To the both of us?