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Luna

These next two weeks are the longest two weeks of my entire life. I never thought I’d count down the days until I had to be paraded in front of a bunch of alphas, but I am.

Because the upcoming ball and my debut into the Northside’s upper society is when I’ll get a chance to see the pack again.

I’ve been doing as much as I possibly can to keep busy. Thanks to the cooking classes I’ve been taking, I finally have two kinds of breakfasts, lunches, and dinners that I’m confident I can cook without a recipe. I’ve been taking beauty classes too. Apparently, the latest makeup trends are an important enough skill for omegas that they have a class on them.

I nearly burned myself with a curling iron the first time I used it, and I forgot heat protectant on the first half of my hair, but I’ve gotten a lot better since.

There’s probably something to be said about the kinds of classes the Omega Center offers being classes that help omegas be good omegas for the alphas they’re going to be with, but I’m just grateful for the distractions.

Plus, I am an omega. I want to be able to be a good one for my pack.

The kind of good omega they want is far better than what Alpha Niall taught me a good omega was.

My pack just wants me to be happy, and I think in order for me to be happy, I have to be useful. And the things I’m learning in these classes, as specific as they are, are the things that’ll help me be useful in the world they live in.

“So, do you need any help getting ready?” Susan, the director’s assistant, asks me, her smile warm.

She’s been the one to check up on me a couple of times a week. She’s a sweet older omega with only one bonded mate since she grew up in a time before packs were a thing. She has a few children who are all grown up now, and she works here to pass the time.

I was surprised, considering that working for the director seems like a lot of work just to pass the time, but I never really said anything. She seems happy enough.

“No, I think I’ll be okay,” I answer. She’s left three dresses for me to choose from for tonight’s ball.

“Are you sure? I can call in a stylist and a makeup artist if you’d like, you only debut once.” She leans in, almost conspiratorially. “It could be nice to blow that pack you’re interested in away, you know?”

I pause. “Do—do you think that’s a good idea?”

“It certainly won’t hurt, darling. They’re beta women, if it matters to you.”

I want to look my best for the guys. There’s a part of me, the omega part, I assume, that wants to blow them away. I want them to look at me and, well,longfor me. I want them to look at me the same way I look at them.

They’ve seen me in such vulnerable positions, dirty, and practically skin and bones. I don’t want that to be all they imagine when they think about me.

“O—okay, maybe just the makeup artist. I think I can get dressed myself.”

“Alright, I’ll call her over right away.” Susan pulls out her phone and types out a quick message while I take a chance to start unzipping the garment bags the dresses were brought in.

There are three dresses, one sleek black one, one gold and shimmery that I can already see is shedding glitter inside the bag, and a dark blue gown with a beaded bodice that looks like the night sky.

I’m immediately drawn to the third one. It’s stunning.

I’m not interested in leaving a trail of glitter behind me and the first, sleek black dress looks like it has a plunging neckline I don’t think I’m comfortable wearing.

“I thought you’d like that one,” Susan says, coming up beside me as I drift my fingers along the intricate beading of the third dress.

“It’s gorgeous.”

“It certainly is. The designer hand-sewed all the appliques and beading. The dress is a work of art, if you ask me.”

“What?” My hand jerks back from it as if it were made of lava. “There’s—there’s no way I can wear this. It’s—it’s far too much.”

“For your debut? Not at all, darling. You’re honestly doing the designer a favor by choosing their dress. With the number of people interested in you and your debut, they’ll certainly get a lot of attention.”

I swallow hard, remembering what this dress is for. How many eyes are going to be on me. How many people I’m going to have to talk to.

“How—how is tonight going to go again?”