Page 25 of Your Wild Omega (The Feral Actress #2)

Chapter twenty

Red

The tension in the household between Zack and Callisto isn’t so subtle.

Not that we’re home much since we’re filming from dawn until dusk most days.

As the main character in the story, I have the highest percentage of scene appearances.

I didn’t think being a movie star would be easy, but I still wasn’t prepared for the soul-sucking exhaustion of it, not only physically but mentally.

We do takes over and over until I want to scream, and we grab food between scenes like we’re living on the run from the authorities.

If not for Rickon, I wouldn’t survive, but every time I think I can’t do another thing, he gives me an encouraging smile or an energy drink and urges me on as the days slide from one to another in a blur of lights and cameras.

The acting itself isn't difficult. No, that part’s every bit as fun as I imagined. Once Rickon helped me reduce the scent overload issue to a manageable level, I could get on with what I’m good at.

I load Ashana’s character with all the persistence and energy I can muster, painting her as a determined woman fighting tooth and nail for her place in a male-dominated industry.

Director Yun wants to film the switch scene much later, once I’m more confident in the saddle, and it’s fascinating imagining myself with a designation other than omega for the first time.

Chatting with the betas swarming around the set helped me realize that so many things I take for granted about myself don’t exist for non-omegas.

Like my ability to rebound from intense sex, for one, and my enhanced sense of smell, for two.

And my obsession with my pack also doesn’t seem to be on everyone’s minds in quite the same way.

I can’t tell if that’s because I was alone for so long, or because I have scent matches, or if it’s simply because I’m an omega.

There are plenty of independent beta women pursuing careers, and since I broke out of the Omega Center thinking I would do all this on my own, it reminds me I have lots to be grateful for.

“Look, Biscuit. You’re famous.” Rickon slides a glossy magazine across the bed sheets. A small black silhouette that looks suspiciously like me resides on the front cover of this week’s Entertainment OK edition and a subheading asks: Who is Valencio Yun’s new omega?

I snort and Rickon throws me a lopsided grin. “Total bait headlines, I know.”

I thumb through to the listed page number and find a full spread announcing the filming for The Omega’s Race , which includes profiles of the main cast members.

“There I am,” I say triumphantly, tapping a portrait photo of myself taken on the set.

I look good, in form fitting pants and a white polo shirt.

Zack, not fully awake yet, laces his arms around my waist with a faint grumble. I stroke his hair as I read the article.

Leading lady, Red Jones, cast in the pivotal role of Ashana Blackwood, remains a mystery. By all accounts, this appears to be her debut role, which has all of Ommywood asking how she managed to meet Director Yun’s famed rigid standards.

I giggle and lean my head on Rickon’s shoulder. “How exactly did I manage to meet his standards, alpha?”

Rickon grins. “Hmm, I seem to remember something about making him go hard.”

“Rigid standards, all right.” I chuckle, then slide a sultry look at my alpha as I reach between his legs. “Do I have that effect on you too?”

His breath catches. “Every fucking moment of the day and night.” And to prove his words, his cock hardens under my palm, pushing against his satin pajama bottoms. “But—” He lifts my hand to his lips and presses a lingering kiss to my skin.

“Let’s not wake the beast today, yeah?” He tips his head toward the alpha sprawled in my lap.

Zack’s not a morning person, and this might be the first sleep-in we’ve had in weeks.

And that’s because the Spring Film Festival kicks off today, and we have seventy-two glorious hours of no filming.

“And I don’t want my princess sore at all today,” Rickon adds, beaming at me.

“Sounds like you’re going to torture me with treatments and makeup instead,” I shoot back, unable to hide my excitement.

He tosses me a look so sultry it should be illegal. “The worst kind of torture. Ready to put the thumb screws in?”

I glance down at the rather heavy head in my lap, Zack’s chest pulsing against my crossed legs with each deep breath. “Mm-hmm,” I murmur, stroking hair off Zack’s forehead. “But you’ll have to help me shift the beast.”

“A dangerous enterprise,” Rickon says solemnly, lifting Zack’s upper body so I can scoot out.

Zack stirs and opens one eye.

“Keep sleeping, love,” Rickon whispers, kissing his cheek. “We’ll be downstairs.”

A pulse of pure joy shoots through me, and Zack smiles as he senses it too. He nuzzles into the pillow and goes back to sleep.

Such a difference from the early days when I brought him home, and he was uneasy about even lying down in a bed. In just a few weeks, he’s blossomed, finding his confidence and asserting his preferences, even if he only knows a handful of words.

He usually only tolerates having me out of sight in public if he can still hear my voice, but at home he’s settled enough for us to be on different floors of the apartment. Still, his obsession soothes the part of me that’s equally desperate to keep my alphas in sight.

Let’s hope he’s just as calm for the film gala.

Like everything else, Rickon has today’s schedule planned down to the minute. Across the city, most of the big names in film will be out at salons and day spas, but my alpha’s brought what he needs into our home.

After feeding me a bowl of berries, superfood powder, and granola with yogurt, Rickon sets my hair into curlers and wraps the whole bulging lot in a satin scarf. Then he gives me a pedicure using a little portable foot spa.

While Rickon paints my toenails shiny silver, I say, “I’m surprised there’s no mention of Zack in the articles.”

“There will be,” Rickon promises. “Valencio keeps the filming areas locked down tight, so the paparazzi won’t have any photos of Zack yet.

But now the first exposé on you is out, other magazines will pick it up with a flourish and they’ll all be trying to discover something new.

” He grins up at me, balancing my foot on his knee.

“And they’ll get everything they want tonight. ”

Excitement sparks through me as I glance over at the suit on a hanger, Rickon’s handiwork gleaming on the pearlescent vest that matches my dress.

It stands out against the charcoal shirt he’s chosen for Zack.

For himself, he’s reversed the colors, going for a pearl-pink shirt and a glittery black vest. I can’t wait to see the three of us dressed up to the nines.

The doorbell rings to announce the masseuse at ten o’clock on the dot, which prompts Zack to wander downstairs, stark naked, to see what the noise is all about. Agent Josef scrambles down to the first floor after him when he hears Zack’s incensed growl.

My alpha gazes at the satin lump on my head but quickly switches his focus to the stranger at the door.

“Ah, hi,” the man offers, balancing a large case as he switches from foot to foot nervously. “Is there a problem?”

“No problem,” Rickon says, bubbling with enthusiasm as he ushers the stranger into the library-turned-cage-turned-beauty-room. “Don’t worry about him, he’s just a little sensitive.”

I head over to Zack and pull his head down onto my shoulder.

“It’s okay, alpha,” I croon. “He’s here to give us massages.

He’s going to run his hands over me.” I stroke up and down his back, marveling at the muscles beneath his skin.

He doesn’t even exercise like a regular gym junkie .

. . although he’s forever carrying me and Rickon around at home.

I smother my smile in his stiff hair. “Do you think you can handle that just for today? Or do I have to put the collar on?”

He jolts, and I’m pretty sure he knows exactly what I’m saying. Slowly he shakes his head, scratching my shoulder with his prickly beard. His grip tightens. “Mine.”

“Yes, Zack, I’m yours. The man’s just going to touch a little. You can watch, but you can’t growl at him.”

He huffs out an unhappy breath, clearly sulking. Even this moodiness is delightful, because it means he’s expressing himself which is far better than attacking people.

“Zack?” I say, teasing my fingers towards his ribs. “Do I need to get the collar?”

He reaches for my wrists and traps them in his strong grip. Who am I kidding here? Zack’s the one holding my leash.

“No,” he murmurs, leaning into me for more body contact.

I chuckle and press kisses down the side of his neck. “Okay, good. Are you hungry?”

He humphs under his breath and lifts his head off my shoulder. “Eat.”

I rise on my tiptoes to kiss his cheek, then pull free.

“I’m amazed by how fast you’re learning,” I tell him as I head into the kitchen.

While I pull a bowl from the top shelf, I keep one ear cocked toward the other room where Rickon and the masseur set up.

“One day we’ll have a conversation about this, and you’ll tell me how you felt about wearing a collar and having me lead you around. ”

I pour cereal into a bowl and splash in the milk and some yogurt.

Zack slides into the table, used to this routine. When I put the bowl in front of him, he catches my dressing gown in his fist and pulls me into his chest. I fall with a laugh.

“Mine. Yes,” he says breathily, sending tingles flushing through my chest.

“Of course, and you’re mine too.”

He tugs my mouth to his and kisses me hard. When his hand wanders up under my bathrobe, I push him away.

“No, not now,” I tell him firmly.

He tilts his head, eyes shuttering. “Ask.”

My alpha’s hard to resist, but once we get started he can go for hours, and we don’t have time today. I shake my head and hold up my hand, pulling back from him. “No. Later. If you behave.”