Page 10 of Omega’s Fever (Prime Match #2)

Kellen

The courthouse elevator climbs past the second floor where the courtrooms are. I frown. We’re going the wrong way.

“Where are we going?” I direct the question to my security escort. He’s another young one, completely green, and he flinches every time he looks at me.

He either won’t last the week or he’ll harden and turn into a Woods or an Antonini. I hope for his sake that he quits.

“Judge’s chambers.” He says without looking at me. “Special instructions.”

It’s been four weeks. That’s twenty-eight days since I’ve seen Milo Warren.

For some inexplicable reason, the case date got put back by four weeks due to additional witnesses.

I guess Cobb decided that he didn’t have enough people willing to lie about me and bullied a few more into stepping forward.

It makes no real difference. I’ll be in prison either way.

I also got a letter from the Bureau three weeks ago confirming my match with Milo Warren.

We’re a prime genetic match confirmed at 97.3% compatibility, it said. I’ve been ribbed about that probably every single hour since.

I’d stared at those words until they burned into my retinas.

Prime match. It’s the kind of thing that happens to other people.

If it weren’t for the sex with Milo in the interview room a month ago, I’d have thought that it was fake.

Even so, I find it hard to believe. Four weeks is a long time.

The sex feels like a fever dream and obviously I’ve not seen him since.

Of course, I haven’t. If I were him, I’d be on the other side of the country by now.

Who’d want to be matched with me. Maybe that’s what this is about.

I’m about to get my next attorney. Let’s hope I don’t match with that one. That’d be hilarious.

The elevator dings as we reach the fourth floor. I’m yanked forward by the elbow as the doors open.

I wonder if I should tell my boy guard that he shouldn’t do that. I’m not going to cause shit with him but there are plenty of my fellow inmates who would. I keep my mouth shut. The kid will learn soon enough, one way or another.

The hallway up here has a nice carpet, a dark blue that muffles our footsteps. Oil paintings of dead judges line the walls, all of them staring down with the same disapproving frown.

My hands clench into fists. These past weeks, staying calm has become harder.

I’ve had a lot of people start fights with me in the last month. I get my fair few usually, same as anyone else but it’s been a lot more than usual.

I try to finish the fights as subtly and quickly as I can. Technically, I’ve won them all but in reality, prison fights are always lose-lose.

I ‘win’ the fight and the guy gets hurt — that’s another few years added to my sentence. I lose the fight? Well, then I’m just dead, but then they can’t add any more years on if I’m dead so I guess there’s a bright side.

The door to chambers is solid mahogany with a brass nameplate: Hon. David Melkham. My escort knocks twice.

“Enter.”

The door swings open and my omega’s scent hits me immediately.

Milo stands in front of the judge’s massive desk, his back to me. He’s thinner. Even through the expensive suit, I can see the sharp line of his shoulder blades. What’s wrong with him?

He doesn’t turn around but he must have scented me.

“Your Honor,” his voice is steady but pitched higher than I remember, “I must again formally request to be removed from this case. The confirmation of a prime match creates a conflict of interest.”

Judge Melkham looks even more sour than usual. “Mr. Warren, we’ve had this discussion via correspondence twice in the past month.”

“The situation has evolved.” Milo’s knuckles are white against the yellow legal pad. “The Bureau’s assessment—”

“Is irrelevant to these proceedings.” The judge’s voice could freeze hellfire. “You took an oath as an attorney. I expect you to honor it.”

I can’t stop staring at the rigid line of Milo’s spine. Can’t stop breathing in his scent. I’ve been fantasizing about that scent for weeks, and now he’s three feet away and won’t even look at me.

“Bring in the defendant,” Melkham orders.

My legs move on autopilot as the guard yanks my elbow again.

The room smells like him. God, I’d forgotten how strong it was. My brain feels like it’s melting.

“Sit.” The judge points to a chair beside Milo.

I lower myself carefully. This close, I can see the dark circles under Milo’s eyes, purple-black like bruises. He still doesn’t look at me. Something has happened to him or is happening to him. My stomach turns. I don’t know how to protect him from this.

“Now then.” Melkham sighs, his irritation clear with the sound. “I need to make something clear. I do not care about this prime match situation. Not at all. If we have a single inappropriate display from either you Mr Hayes or you Mr Warren, I will find you both in contempt of court.”

Milo’s jaw tightens. “Your Honor, with all due respect—”

“Respect would involve not wasting this court’s time. The jury pool is waiting. We’re already thirty minutes behind schedule because of this meeting and even further because you’ve decided to make this case a lot more complicated at the last minute, Mr Warren.

So let me be crystal clear: you will proceed with jury selection, you will provide competent representation. Both of you will behave like civilized human beings. Am I understood?”

“Yes, Your Honor.” The words sound like they’re being dragged from Milo’s throat with fishhooks.

“Yes, Your Honor,” I say.

“Mr. Hayes.” The judge turns his attention to me. “Has your attorney been in contact with you regarding trial preparation?”

I glance at Milo. He’s studying the floor. “No, Your Honor.”

“I see.” Melkham’s frown deepens, which I wouldn’t have thought possible. “Mr. Warren, you’ve had four weeks.”

“I’ve been reviewing everything.” Milo’s voice gains strength. “I’ve interviewed witnesses, filed the necessary motions, and prepared a comprehensive defense strategy.”

That gets my attention. He’s been working the case?

“Then perhaps you can explain why you haven’t consulted with your client?”

Milo’s shoulders rise and fall with a deep breath. “I felt it prudent to minimize direct contact given the... circumstances.”

“The circumstances.” Melkham removes his glasses to clean them, a gesture that somehow manages to convey complete disdain. “Mr. Warren, I don’t care if your client is your prime match, your mortal enemy, or the second coming of Christ himself. You have a job. Do it.”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

“Both of you, courtroom C. Now. And Mr. Warren? If you request recusal one more time, I’ll hold you in contempt. The sentence for contempt in my court is thirty days. I doubt your firm would appreciate that.”

We file out in silence. My escort flanks me while Milo walks ahead, his gait stiff and mechanical. The elevator ride down feels eternal. His scent fills the small space until I’m drowning in it. My hands shake with the effort of not reaching for him, but he hasn’t looked at me.

The courtroom is already packed with potential jurors. They turn to stare as we enter. Milo takes his seat at the defense table. I’m guided to the chair beside him.

This close, I can hear his breathing. It’s quick and shallow, like he’s trying not to inhale. Like my scent is poison.

“All rise!”

Judge Melkham sweeps in, robes billowing. The room stands. When we sit again, Milo shifts his chair a couple of inches further from mine.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the judge addresses the jury pool, “we’re here for voir dire in the matter of State versus Hayes. The defendant is charged with human trafficking, racketeering, assault, and conspiracy. Ms. Sutter, you may begin.”

Victoria Sutter rises from the prosecution table. She looks like she’s already won, all sharp smiles and predatory confidence. “Thank you, Your Honor.”

The first potential juror is called. A middle-aged woman in a floral dress who keeps glancing at me like I might leap across the room. Oh, she is definitely going to go for the guilty verdict. I resist the urge to roll my eyes. There are going to be a lot of them today.

Sutter asks the standard questions. Do you have any bias against the prosecution? Have you been a victim of violent crime? Can you remain impartial?

“Mr. Warren,” the judge prompts when Sutter finishes. “Your questions.”

Milo stands slowly. When he turns to face the juror, I get my first real look at him in four weeks.

He looks like hell.

The weight loss is more pronounced from the front. His cheekbones are sharp enough to cut glass. But it’s his eyes that stop me cold. The vivid blue I remember is dulled, like someone turned down the color saturation.

My heart tightens. Everything in me knows that this is my omega and my omega is hurting. I want to reach for him and pull him into my arms and make everything okay. What is wrong with him?

“Good morning, Mrs. Patterson.” His voice is steady, professional. “I just have a few questions. Have you or anyone close to you ever been wrongfully accused of something?”

The woman blinks. “I... well, my nephew was suspended from school once for something he didn’t do.”

“How did that make you feel?”

“Angry. Frustrated. He was a good kid.”

“Were you able to prove his innocence?”

“Eventually, yes. Another student came forward.”

Milo nods. “So you understand that accusations aren’t the same as truth.”

“Objection,” Sutter calls out, sounding bored. “Counsel is leading.”

“Sustained. Mr. Warren, please rephrase.”

Milo doesn’t miss a beat. He’s smooth. It’s smooth. Despite looking like he hasn’t slept in weeks, Milo works the jury pool with surgical precision. He finds the threads of doubt and the personal experiences that might make them question the prosecution’s narrative.

By the sixth juror, I’m genuinely impressed. By the twelfth, I’m trying not to stare at the way he gestures when he makes a point.