Page 3 of Omega’s Fever (Prime Match #2)

Kellen

The enticing scent of aroused omega fills the courtroom and slams into my brain.

I have just enough brainpower left to recognise that leaping across the table and attempting to fuck my defense attorney on the floor of the court room is a very bad idea.

Still, every instinct insists that he belongs to me and all I can think about is how desperately I want to claim him.

For the first time in my life, I wish they hadn’t taken off the handcuffs. There’s nothing holding me back except my own rapidly failing self-control.

My fingers dig into my thighs hard enough to bruise through the thin fabric of the prison jumpsuit. Every muscle in my body locks down, fighting the urge to surge across the space between us.

The omega scrambles on the floor, gathering his files with visibly shaking hands. His honey-brown hair falls across his forehead as he bends, and I catch myself staring at the vulnerable curve of his neck.

I imagine my teeth sinking into him, making him mine. Imagine the soft needy noises he’ll make.

I breathe out. Get it together, Hayes. Focus on something else .

The wire-rimmed glasses sit crooked on his nose now. One lens has a fingerprint smudge.

But his scent. God, his scent. It’s everywhere, coating the inside of my nostrils, sliding down my throat with every breath. Sweet like vanilla. It makes my teeth ache.

Judge Melkham clears his throat and I look up. His nostrils are flared, and his weathered face is twisted with disgust. He knows exactly what’s happening. Everyone in this room knows.

Our pheromones hang thick enough to taste.

Mine are dark and possessive, territorial in a way I’ve never experienced.

My omega’s scent is sweet and unmistakably aroused despite the fear threading through it.

The combination makes the court reporter shift uncomfortably.

The bailiff raises an eyebrow, clearly amused.

“Counsel.” Judge Melkham’s voice could freeze hell. “Are you quite finished?”

The omega jerks upright, papers clutched against his chest. His face burns red from his collar to the tips of his ears.

When he opens his mouth, nothing comes out for a long moment.

He looks unsteady on his feet and that’s confirmed when he reaches out and puts a single hand on my table, gripping it tight.

“I...” His voice cracks like a teenager’s. He swallows hard and tries again. “Your Honor, I need to request removal from this case.”

I feel like I’ve been punched. A minute ago, I wouldn’t have cared. Now it feels like my heart has been ripped out.

But of course he wants out.

“On what grounds?” Judge Melkham leans back in his chair, fingers steepled. The leather creaks under his weight.

“Conflict of interest.” My attorney’s knuckles turn white where he grips the edge of the defendant’s table. He is close enough that I could reach out and touch. “I’m clearly having a scent reaction to the defendant. That may compromise my ability to provide adequate representation.”

The prosecutor, a sharp-faced woman in her late thirties named Victoria Sutter, makes a sound that might be a laugh.

She covers it with a cough, but her eyes sparkle with amusement.

I know her from the last trial. She’s an enormously talented attorney and, if it weren’t for the fact that she is trying to send me to prison for life, I’d probably like her.

“Mr. Hayes has already had three attorneys withdraw from his case.” Judge Melkham’s tone suggests he’d rather be anywhere else. “This trial has been delayed twice. Motion denied.”

The omega sways slightly. I watch the pulse flutter in his throat, rabbit-quick and desperate. “Your Honor, please,” he says, and the desperation in his voice pulls at me.

“I said denied.” The judge’s gavel comes down hard enough to make him flinch. “Now, shall we proceed with the actual purpose of this hearing, or would you like to waste more of this court’s time?”

“Of course, your Honor.” My attorney picks up the last of his spilled papers and takes the chair next to me, angling it as far as possible from me as he can. He doesn’t look me in the eye.

The judge gives a deep sigh. “I’ve not had the privilege of you in my court room before. It’s considered polite to let the court know who you are.”

“Milo Warren, your Honor. I’m from Schmitt and Petersen.”

Milo. My omega’s name is Milo. I can’t take my eyes off of him.

The judge sighs again. “Oh them.” He sounds less than impressed.

Conversely, I am impressed. I know Schmitt and Petersen.

They’re one of the biggest private firms in the state and filled with more old money lawyers than a country club board meeting.

For a crazy instant, I wonder if Cobb has put them up to this.

Buying my defense attorney would make sending me down for his crime a lot simpler, but this isn’t his style. He prefers more direct action.

“Mr. Hayes.” Judge Melkham turns his attention to me, and I straighten reflexively. It’s an old habit. “Have you been registered with the Bureau?”

“No.” What does that have to do with anything? The idea that I’d have registered with the Omega Match Bureau is laughable.

Technically, every omega and alpha are legally required to register the day that they turn twenty-one but not everyone does. I sure as hell didn’t. I’d bet my pretty lawyer has. He looks the law-abiding type.

The fancy-pants lawyers at the Bureau do chase down unregistered alphas and force them to register, but it’s the alpha CEOs, judges and trust fund assholes that they want to match to their precious little high-bred omegas.

No one in government wants an alpha like me breeding.

“Then you will submit to registration before this trial proceeds.” The judge makes a note on his legal pad. “The court will not tolerate any more delays.”

Beside me, my omega’s scent spikes with fear. I glance over at him. His face has flushed pink and he looks slightly dazed. Finally, the penny drops and I realize what the judge is doing. He thinks we’re a match.

It’s not completely crazy. There’s clearly a scent match going on here, but an official match is deeper than that. It requires bloodwork, tests and compatibility on an almost primal level.

The moment that the thought hits my brain, I realize that’s what’s happening here. It must be. I’ve never had a reaction like this to anyone.

“Objection.” Milo’s voice gains strength. “Convicted felons aren’t required to register with the Bureau. The statute is clear on this matter.”

Judge Melkham’s eyebrows climb toward his receding hairline. “Mr. Hayes has not been convicted, Counselor. Perhaps you should review your client’s file more carefully. He is innocent until proven guilty, despite what you might think”

The insult lands exactly where intended. Milo’s flush deepens and I want to punch the judge in his smug face.

I’m also less than impressed that my own attorney has already decided I’ve been convicted, cute as he may be.

I sit still and breathe through my mouth, trying to minimize the omega’s scent in my nostrils. It doesn’t help.

“Let’s discuss discovery materials.” Judge Melkham moves on like he hasn’t made my attorney look like an idiot in open court. “Ms. Sutter?”

The prosecutor stands. “All discovery has been provided to defense counsel, Your Honor. Witness statements, physical evidence, financial records. We disclosed everything two weeks ago.”

Two weeks ago, I had a different attorney. One who didn’t smell like heaven and look at me like I’m a wild animal about to attack.

Which, to be fair, isn’t far from the truth right now. By god, I want to eat him alive.

“Mr...?” Judge Melkham glances down at his notes. “Winters, did you say? Do you have any issues with the discovery provided?”

The omega’s cheeks burn even brighter. “It’s Warren, Your Honor. And I... I haven’t had adequate time to review all the materials. This case was reassigned to me this morning.”

“This morning.” The judge’s tone could strip paint. “So you’re unprepared?”

“I...” His voice dies. His shoulders hunch inward, making him look smaller, younger. Something protective roars to life in my chest.

“Motion hearings will be scheduled for Monday.” Judge Melkham continues like Milo hasn’t spoken. “I trust that will give you adequate time to familiarize yourself with your client’s case, Mr. Warren.”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

“Any preliminary motions at this time?”

Milo shuffles through his papers. “The defense requests jury sequestration, given the previous mistrial due to jury tampering.”

“Denied.” Judge Melkham doesn’t even pretend to consider it. “Sequestration is reserved for cases with substantial media attention or credible threats. This has neither.”

I bite back a laugh. No credible threats. Right. Cobb’s reach extends far, but apparently not far enough to concern Judge Melkham.

“Moving on to the witness list from the previous trial.” The judge flips through his own papers. “Several failed to appear. Will the prosecution be calling the same witnesses?”

“Yes, Your Honor.” Victoria Sutter doesn’t bother hiding her satisfaction. “We’ve taken steps to ensure their attendance this time.”

Steps. I wonder what kind of steps. The kind that involve police escorts? Or the kind that involve Cobb’s men making sure certain people stay quiet?

“Any plea negotiations?” Judge Melkham asks, though his tone suggests he already knows the answer.

“No, Your Honor.” Sutter’s smile shows too many teeth. “The state has no interest in offering a deal at this time.”

Of course not. They want the big win. The headline-grabbing conviction. Take down the scary alpha who ran fighting rings and trafficked women. It doesn’t matter that I didn’t do it. All Sutter wants is the headline.

“Moving on to the trial date.” Judge Melkham consults his calendar.

My attorney makes a note as the judge sets out the dates. Or he tries to. His hand shakes so badly that his notes are just squiggles. I can smell his distress now, sour under the sweetness. I want to pull him into my arms and cuddle him until he feels better.

I grit my teeth. That would not play well with the judge.

“One more thing.” Judge Melkham’s eyes narrow as he looks at Milo. “If you intend to continue appearing in my courtroom, Mr. Warren, I suggest you invest in suppressants. Strong ones. This display is highly unprofessional.”

Milo goes scarlet from his hairline to below his collar. His mouth opens and closes. The humiliation rolls off him in waves, sharp and acrid.

“Yes, Your Honor.” The words come out strangled.

“Jury selection is Tuesday. Nine AM. Don’t be late this time. Now, is there an interview room available?”

The court clerk, a mousy woman in her fifties, checks her computer screen. “Interview Room Three is free, Your Honor.”

“Good.” The judge turns his attention to Milo, who still stands frozen at the defendant’s table. “Mr. Warren, I’m being nice to you here. Take the interview room and perhaps take some time to actually speak with your client before attempting to defend him.”

Milo’s face burns even brighter, if that’s possible. He nods once.

The clerk looks up. “Your Honor, we have a Bureau representative arriving in an hour to discuss the Thorndike/Torres case. We can ask him to take Mr Hayes’ blood for the registration while he is here.”

“Yes, do it. Bailiff, take Mr. Hayes to Interview Room Three.” Judge Melkham’s tone could freeze hell twice over.

“And Mr. Warren? Once again, next time I expect you to conduct yourself with at least a modicum of professionalism. This is a court of law, not a...” He waves his hand dismissively. “Whatever this is.”

A courthouse guard I don’t recognize steps forward. Young guy, maybe mid-twenties, with nervous eyes and a uniform that’s still crisp. New on the job, probably. He cuffs me again before we get up, then escorts me out of the door.

The walk to Interview Room Three takes us through narrow hallways. My legs feel unsteady, like I’ve taken too many hits in the ring. My attorney’s — Milo’s — scent clings to my skin, the inside of my lungs. Every breath brings a fresh wave of want.

I catch a glimpse of him down another hallway as we walk. He’s pacing back and forth. Even from here, I can see the panic in his movements. I feel sorry for him. I shouldn’t.

Yes, this is weird and it’s certainly a little speed bump in the smooth highway of his life, but at the end of the day, he’ll still have a job and a life. His life isn’t as fucked up as mine. I’ve got nothing ahead of me except more prison.

He catches my eye before we turn the corner out of sight, but he doesn’t hold my gaze. Instead he blinks twice, and turns away.

Interview Room Three turns out to be a glorified closet with a metal table bolted to the floor and two plastic chairs that have seen better decades. The fluorescent light buzzes overhead, casting everything in harsh white that makes the beige walls look sick.

“Sit,” the guard says, not unkindly.

I drop into the seat while he produces a longer chain from his belt. He threads it through the ring welded to the table, then attaches it to my shackles. The metal is cold and heavy, limiting my movement to maybe eighteen inches in any direction.

“Someone will be with you shortly,” he says, checking the locks twice out of protocol rather than malice.

He leaves without another word. The door clicks shut with finality, and I’m alone with the buzzing light and the ghost of vanilla in my nostrils.