Page 62 of Claiming the Pack's Omega

It’s a woman’s voice.

Luna’s.

I glance over my shoulder as I run into the parking garage, seeing Luna panting as she tries to catch up to me. One of her alphas, the big, jacked, tattooed Southside one is following behind her.

It doesn’t look like he’s trying to chase after me, though. More like he came so he can keep an eye on his omega.

Considering she was kidnapped only a few months ago, that makes sense.

Throwing myself out that window and running for my life felt like the right thing to do in the moment.

I’ve spent these past few months terrified that someone would find out that I was the reason that Northside councilman got arrested. God only knows what would’ve happened to me if people figured that out.

I think my body hasn’t quite caught up to the fact that I’m not stuck in the Southside anymore.

“Sorry,” I say softly, tucking my stinging hands into the pocket on the front of my hoodie.

She catches up to me a few seconds later, taking a second catch her breath

“Oh—my god—you—” she lets out a little cough. “Give me a second.”

“Hey, take your time, I’m not going anywhere.”

She glances up at me through her blonde curls with a wry look and I let out a small huff of laughter.

“I’m not going anywhere anymore,” I acquiesce.

“Do you need water, Angel?” Her alpha asks her.

“No, Madden, I’m okay,” she says, standing up straight and offering me a soft smile.

Ah, yeah, Madden. That was his name.

He’s the one I called. Like hell was I going to talk to a Northsider, willingly. Not when I had the option to talk to a Southsider.

“Surprised you managed to fit through the window,” I say, jerking my head at his bulky form.

“It was a bit of a squeeze,” he shrugs, making sure to keep his distance.

Smart.

If it at all felt like he was the one chasing after me, I would’ve run a lot longer.

My gaze darts back to Luna, eyeing her off-the-shoulder sweater, which showcases her bondmarks.

“Those are new,” I say, jerking my head towards them.

She lifts up a hand to where her neck meets her shoulder, touching one of them, a wistful expression on her face.

“Yeah,” she says, smiling. “They’re a few months old at this point.”

What does someone say to something like a bond? Something that symbolizes the kind of commitment that goes beyond the traditional kind of marriage?

Marriage is already a contract of sorts that ties together the lives of two people, financially and emotionally.

Bonds, on the other hand? They tie people together physically, too.

If you asked me how I felt about them twenty-four hours ago, I’d say I hate what they represent. I hate how those sorts of ties can very easily become yet another layer of bonds used against an omega, especially if she’s caught between the web of multiple bondmates, in a pack.