Page 65 of Omega's Faith

"We still need to discuss how to proceed. The current situation is untenable."

She's right. The photographers haven't left in days. They camp at the edge of our property—we don't have gates, the Fellowship never needed them—and document every movement. Yesterday, little Emma couldn't understand why she wasn't allowed to play in the yard.

"When?"

"Tuesday. Four o'clock. My apartment." She gives me an address in the city. "I’ll send a car for you."

"Will Alex be there?"

"No. He's been... uncommunicative lately. Besides, it’s better that you and I discuss this alone."

Uncommunicative. That's one word for it. Another would be 'hiding.' Or 'running away,' which seems to be his signature move.

"Fine. Tuesday."

"Jonah." Her voice softens marginally. "For what it's worth, I don't think either of you expected this outcome."

Of course, we did. I knew I shouldn’t have married him in the first place and he was just as clear that he didn’t want to. What else was going to happen?

But I don’t say it. Instead I say, “Yes, Ma’am,” like the goodlittle omega that I am.

She hangs up without saying goodbye. I lie back against the pillows, one hand drifting to my stomach.

It’s too early for a pregnancy test. If I am pregnant, I won’t get a positive result for at least another week.

Somehow I’m both longing for it and dreading it. My heart is going to break whether it is positive or negative.

There's could be a life growing inside me, a tiny piece of Alex and me combined.

The thought terrifies me. An omega alone, pregnant, with an alpha who doesn't want children and thinks marriage is optional. But instead, there's this fierce protectiveness already building. It would be my baby. Mine and Alex's, yes, but mine to protect and nurture and love even if its alpha can't.

A soft knock interrupts my spiraling thoughts. "Jonah?" It's Robert, my oldest brother. "Can I come in?"

"Yeah."

He enters with a tray—soup, crackers, ginger ale. Invalid food. He sets it on my nightstand then sits on the edge of my bed, making the mattress dip.

"You look terrible," he says conversationally.

"Thanks."

"When's the last time you ate actual food?"

I try to remember. Days blur together when you spend them staring at the ceiling. "Not sure. When did you last come over?"

"On Monday,” he says bluntly. “It's Wednesday."

"Oh."

He studies me with those careful alpha eyes, so different from Alex's storm-gray ones. Robert's are warm brown, steady, the kind of eyes that see everything but judge nothing.

"You miss him."

It's not a question. I don't answer.

"It's okay to miss him, you know. Even if he's a jerk."

"He is a jerk," I admit. “It’s complicated.”