Page 6 of First (After the End #1)

“Oh, there you are. We’ve been looking all over for—” Her eyes trail down my healer uniform, which is wrinkled, and ripped, and splattered all over with not-so-mysterious red stains.

“Sorry.” I grin.

Lady Larsen shakes her head, not quite hiding her own smile. “I bet you are. And that’s why I won’t mention that bruise darkening around your eye. Lara, honey, will you call off the bridal search party I had to quickly put together, then tell the maids to bring in the dress?”

“Yes, Mama.” She presses a kiss to her mother’s cheek and leaves.

With an arm around my shoulders, Lady Larsen whisks me to the sonic shower, and twenty minutes later I sit in front of the circular wall mirror in Lara’s room as two members of her staff work tirelessly to turn me into something stunning—while tormenting my poor, throbbing cheekbone.

“Not so much blush, Peter,” Lady Larsen instructs.

“Her complexion is already rosy as it is. We wouldn’t want Lennart to think his mate is about to faint from agitation.

Don’t worry, Sofia, you are already so pretty.

And we managed to hide the black eye. Here, have a sip of tea. I had it made just for you.”

I know I’m pretty. Even when my self-doubt was at its highest, I’ve always known that my looks are pleasing.

Lennart is obviously attracted to me, and since he’s the only person with whom I’ve ever considered sharing my bed—the only person who has shown interest in doing so, even when faced with my shortcomings—that should be the end of my ruminating.

But being pretty and being a pretty Omega are different things.

I’m not petite and soft-fleshed and luscious.

Very little about my lean body suggests nurturing abundance and parental welcome, and my muscles have the kind of strength and suppleness that one wouldn’t be surprised to find on any other designation.

For a while, I believed that I would reach puberty and present as an Alpha.

Or not present at all and realize that I was a Beta, just like my parents.

The older I got, the more likely the latter seemed.

And then, in my late teens, my jaw and neck started itching.

I knew immediately what it meant, but I didn’t allow myself to believe it until the healer with whom I’d been training confirmed that my scent glands were emerging.

Alphas had those, too, but only at the base of their necks.

The rough mark throbbing between my shoulder blades clearly identified me as one thing:

Omega.

My perception of my future required some adjustment, but I could embrace it.

As a designation, it was highly compatible with my dream job of being a healer.

I’d always been nurturing, always wanted to have a family, and the kind of bond that could form between an Alpha and an Omega who chose each other…

I craved that. The more I thought about it, the more I loved the idea of being someone’s Omega.

It was as though so many of my deepest desires were finally clicking into place.

I began eagerly awaiting my first heat, which would signal that I had fully presented.

But it never came. Years and infinite medical tests later, my scent hasn’t developed. I never matured into my Omega designation. I’ll never be able to form a complete bond with an Alpha.

According the world, I am defective. Unfinished. And despite all that, Lennart still asked me to become his mate.

“Here. Spectacular.” Lady Larsen finishes braiding a strand of natural pearls through my hair, then catches my eyes through the mirror. “Are you happy?”

Her concern warms my heart. Other parents would be appalled to know that their Beta son was marrying a cold Omega, yet she has never been anything but accepting.

“I am.” I reach out to squeeze my fingers around her hand, staring into those refined, delicate features that she passed on to Lennart, almost undiluted by her husband’s harsher genes.

“It’s normal to feel anxious on the day of one’s mating.”

I smile. “Yes, I know.” According to everyone I’ve spoken to—and in the past few days, every person I’ve ever met has sought me out to selflessly bestow their opinions upon me—anxiety, fear, anticipation, eagerness, excitement are all acceptable emotions to experience before the impending ceremony.

The one sentiment never listed was relief, which may not be the hallmark of a happy bride but is what currently overwhelms me.

I am relieved and grateful that Lennart decided to take me as his and give me a chance to build the family I desire.

He is handsome and intelligent, and he has been loving and supportive toward me since we met while apprenticing under the same healer.

He started professing his love at fourteen and first kissed me at fifteen, on the outside, under the shade of a kelp forest, on the fifth day of a particularly warm Low.

It was a dry, unpleasant kiss. When he told me, “I’m going to mate you, Sofia Kuznetsov,” I laughed in his face, then told him that he was an entire year younger than me and that I wasn’t going to mate anyone I wasn’t madly in love with.

I meant it, too. Lennart was never more than a friend. But after my botched presentation, he was the only person who never looked at me with frustration or disappointment. His affection never wavered. And by the fourth time he asked me to mate him, I said yes.

Perhaps I shouldn’t have. After all, I can take care of myself, even without my father.

I could make a living as a healer. But I want the kind of companionship that comes with romantic love and a family.

I want to take care of someone and be taken care of, to cherish and be cherished.

I want to not feel alone. And if that means settling for less than true love, amicable companionship will suffice.

I’ve been open with Lennart about the reality of my feelings. Still, I cannot help wondering whether I’m taking advantage of him.

I bring the tea to my lips, but my stomach is too unsettled, and I can’t manage a single sip. “Lady Larsen?” I ask, not meeting my own eyes in the mirror.

“Yes?”

“I don’t think I’ve thanked you enough.”

“Thanked me? For what?”

“For how incredibly supportive of Lennart’s and my union you have been. I know I am barely an Omega—”

“Nonsense.” From behind, her palms wrap around my shoulders. “You are a well-read, educated girl. There is no such thing as ‘barely an Omega.’”

“But it’s true.” I twist back. “I haven’t fully presented. I might not be able to have kids, and—”

“Hush.” Her knuckles caress my face, loving. Like a mother. “You will be an excellent mate for Lennart. And I cannot wait to have you as my daughter.”

“Even if I—”

“Sofia, stop worrying.” Her expression is stern, but kind. “Plus, who knows? Maybe mating will awaken something in you. Maybe it will trigger the rest of your presentation.”

I frown, skeptical. Cold Omegas are rare, but there are no reports of them being pushed through the rest of their presentation by mating. It’s wishful thinking, and I don’t want her to harbor false hope.

“Come, now. It’ll take us a while to get you into the dress I chose for you. You’ll hate me for it, but I guarantee that it’ll be worth it.”

I force my lips into a smile. This is for the best, I tell myself. Then I repeat it over and over, like a mantra. I’ll mate Lennart, make him as happy as I humanly can, and become happy myself.

I rise from my chair and walk with sure steps toward the blissful future I’m determined to create.