Page 61 of The Violence of Love (The Black Market Omega #2)

Autumn

The car speeds down the isolated road, the countryside blurring past the window in long, sun-drenched streaks of green and gold.

It’s the first warm day in weeks, and the fields leading up to my parents’ home are filled with tall grass and lush wildflowers.

The kind I used to press between the pages of my textbooks when I was younger. It’s so pretty.

I’m lucky that I get to go home sometimes.

Most omegas at Beechworth stay behind during the long holidays, stuck in the dorms while their families travel.

But not me. My parents live close enough to be granted an exception from time to time.

The academy board says I’m “safe” to go home—probably because my parents' place is tucked out here in the hills, far from anything loud or dangerous.

When the car finally pulls to a stop in front of their little house, the beta driver steps out and opens my door with a warm smile. He’s older, maybe in his fifties, with laugh lines around his eyes and a voice that makes me wonder if he used to smoke.

“Have fun, Miss Autumn,” he says kindly, offering me a hand I don’t need, but I accept anyway. “I’ll be back in two days, same time.”

“Thanks, Mr. Harlan,” I say, brushing off my skirt.

He hesitates, giving me a look that straddles the line between paternal and professional. “Remember—this is a good area. But there are still some unsavory types who wouldn’t think twice about going after an unmated omega. So no wandering off, understood?”

I roll my eyes, grinning. “I’ll be good. I promise I won’t leave the house.”

“Good girl,” he says with a relieved sigh before climbing back behind the wheel. Then the car pulls away, leaving me in the silence of my home.

I step through the front door, and every nerve in my body releases.

The scent hits me first—lavender and vanilla with a trace of worn wood and lemon polish.

Home . Nothing ever changes here: the creaky floorboard by the umbrella stand, the slightly crooked picture frame above the coat rack, the hallway runner with the stain from the hot chocolate incident from when I was nine.

It’s not a big house, but it’s cozy—warm walls painted soft yellow, thick curtains that my mother changes every season, and shelves crowded with knickknacks, cookbooks, and framed memories.

There are photos of me everywhere. Baby pictures.

Dance recitals. Awkward middle school shots.

My notification letter I received from the academy right after I presented as an omega is framed and hung right in the hallway.

My parents act like it’s an achievement that I got to go to Beechworth, and not a requirement by law.

As much as I adore my parents, sometimes this house feels more like a shrine than a home.

It’s like the whole place shouts, “ look how loved she is! ” the moment anyone steps inside.

“Mom?” I call gently, setting my bag down by the stairs, then kicking off my shoes.

“In the kitchen, honey!” her voice calls back, bright and familiar.

I follow it, and find her at the sink, sleeves rolled up, rinsing off a bowl of apples.

She turns and smiles, eyes crinkling the same way mine do when I’m genuinely happy. “There you are. You made good time.”

“The driver barely hit the speed limit,” I tease, setting my hands on my hips. “What’s with the apples?”

“I’m making pie,” she says, plucking an apple from the bowl and placing it on the cutting board. “I thought we could cook dinner together.”

My heart swells. “Yes, please. That sounds amazing.”

Cooking with my mom is my favorite thing. Always has been. It makes everything feel grounded, like time slows down for us.

But then something clicks in my brain, and I frown. “Wait... why apple pie? Dad hates apples. And you don’t eat sweets.” I pat my stomach, thinking about my already too-tight leotard for dance class. “Please don’t make a whole pie just for me.”

“Actually,” She looks over her shoulder at me with a twinkle in her eye, “I have a surprise for you,” she says with a little giggle.

My mom wipes her hands on a dish towel, then reaches out and takes mine in that gentle, coaxing way she always used to when I was younger—like she was scared I’d run off like a skittish animal.

“Come on,” she says, tugging lightly. “Let me show you.”

I let her lead me through the living room, my socks whispering against the hardwood floor. The back door creaks open, and that early fall air brushes against my face. That’s when I see him.

Someone is sitting outside with my father. He’s obviously an alpha. Broad shoulders, strong jawline, a too-relaxed sprawl like the patio chair belongs to him. I squint, but the sunlight cuts across the porch and makes it hard to tell exactly who?—

And then his scent hits me: It’s a little like cedarwood and old leather—and feels a lot like a bowling ball to the chest.

Tallen.

My heart drops straight to my stomach.

What is he doing here?

And how did he find out where my parents live?

Tallen stands the moment we step outside. His smile is smug, but his eyes don’t match it. There’s always something coiled behind them—like a snake waiting for the right second to strike. He straightens his back like he’s about to win a prize.

“Look who finally arrived,” he drawls, pushing one hand through his perfectly styled hair.

My mom keeps walking, trying to pull me out onto the patio, but I plant my feet in the doorway and don’t budge.

“What’s happening?” My voice comes out tight.

Dad looks up, his expression warm—proud, even. “Tallen here mentioned to me that he’s been wanting to pursue you for a while now. That you and him have had so many amazing talks at Beechworth.”

My mouth falls open at the subtle lie. We’ve never had any talks. Tallen is pushy and aggressive, and I’ve spent the last five years dodging the jerk at every garden party he’s attended.

“Tallen and I have had a few good talks, and…” Dad looks at me like he’s about to give me the greatest surprise of my life. “Well, we’ve started making things official.”

Official?

Tallen lets out a chuckle like this is all some romantic comedy we’ve both been cast in. “No more playing hard to get, omega.”

I stare at him, hollow. I’m not playing anything.

But I don’t say it. Not out loud. Not with his scent in my nose and his dark energy vibrating under my skin. Something in him has always scared me, even when he smiles.

Especially when he smiles.

“Mom?” I turn to her, praying she’ll see the fear in my eyes. “Don’t make me,” I whisper as softly as I can. But there’s no point. Tallen can hear me. His alpha ears probably heard me the second I pulled up.

“Autumn,” Mom shifts, taking both my hands in hers, “I know the idea of being mated scares you, but it’s time to?—”

“No,” I cut her off, and Tallen pushes out a heavy breath—It’s almost a growl, but not quiet. “I don’t want to…” I trail off, too scared to tell her that I don’t want Tallen. At least not with him standing right here.

“Omega,” Tallen’s voice is hard, edging toward commanding.

My body responds to it, waiting for his order.

It’s disgusting behavior. Any polite alpha knows not to command an omega they don’t own.

“There’s no need to fight this anymore,” he says.

“We’re a good match and you know it.” He forces his alpha-tone into the words, like simply saying them in a commanding way will force me to love him. But it only makes my body recoil.

“Where’s your pack?” I blurt out.

His brow twitches.

“I uh.” I swallow hard, trying like hell to get through this without crying. “If you want to claim me, then why haven’t I met your pack?” My voice keeps getting smaller and softer. “Even at the Beechworth events, you never bring them.”

There’s a moment of silence—just the sound of birds chirping and my dad scratching the underside of his beard. Tallen’s smile falters, then he pastes it back on like a mask that doesn’t quite fit.

“They’re busy,” he says with a dismissive shrug. “You know how pack life is.” He looks at my dad with all his alpha energy. It makes my father sit a little taller. “Full schedules. Pack dynamics to manage. Lots of travel lately.”

My father nods, like he understands, but there’s no way he can. Both my parents are betas. They’ve never been part of a pack. “Of course.” Dad smiles widely. “It only makes sense. That's why packs need omegas. To settle them.”

I glance sideways at my mom, then pull my hands back, forcing her to release me. “Why would you trust an alpha who hides his pack?” I whisper.

Her face falls, softens, then hardens again. “Because you’re almost twenty-six, baby. And if you don’t find a mate soon...” Her voice trembles. “You’re going to die.”

I blink. “We’ve already talked about this,” I say.

“The academy’s being dramatic. That death-clock science is outdated.

Unmated omegas have been known to live to thirty.

” I plead with my eyes, hoping that she actually listens this time.

“I’m not going to die just because I haven’t been marked. I still have plenty of time.”

“You don’t know that,” Mom says firmly, like I’m going to drop dead any second now. “You think you have time, but what if you don’t? What if this is it, Autumn? What if you turn him away and during your next heat you?—”

“I’m not turning anyone away,” I cut her off, sharp and low. “But I’m not mating someone who won’t let me meet his pack.” This is the safest way I can think to reject Tallen. To put it all back on him, but honestly? I don’t think the jerk has a pack.

“Autumn,” Mom says my name firmly. Her tone tells me she’s about to demand I do something, like she’s already dismissing every fear I have, but I don’t stay to hear it. I spin on my heels and walk back toward the house, blood rushing in my ears.