 
## **Contents**

About This Book

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Author Bio

Omega Preview

© Eileen Glass
About This Book

When the alien alphas arrived on Earth, omega-compatible men weren't given a choice in mating with them. After a long and troubled war, Earth brought down the harem towers and exiled the alien lords to the moon where they rule from afar.

Things have calmed down in recent history; the powerful alphas seek mates who will submit themselves voluntarily. But who would sell themselves into slavery? Who would want to become a breeder?

Rourke's terminally ill mother needs a cure that's only accessible to the very rich. An omega auction can pay for it.

Breeders Wanted.

Exchange your ordinary life for Luxury, Family, and Space...

The words are imposed atop the photo of a smiling human man hugging a pink-haired baby with the moon behind them. The first word on the sign changes every couple of years from 'Breeders' to 'Omegas' and back because the Earth and the Moon bicker constantly over what it should say.

"Not thinking about getting your ass pounded, are you?" Cory laughs. "Remember, as bad as it gets scrubbing toilets, nothing is worse than that."

He touches his stomach and shudders. All men have the same reaction, mental or physical, when they stare at it for too long. Most don't even look at it anymore, but the signs are posted everywhere. Every business of a certain size is required to display them in highly visible areas. They also have to keep them in good condition, clean of graffiti.

Thus, there's a man currently climbing a ladder with scrub gloves and a wash bucket. Someone drew a dick over the baby so that the man seems to be cradling, and smiling at, an enormous prick. They also added ASS CUNT over 'Breeders'.

"You seem quiet, man. Everything alright?" Cory asks.

"Yeah," Rourke says, distracted, as the woman at the pharmacy counter calls for next in line.

He gives her his identification card, which she scans to pull up his record. The pain medication is for his mother, but he's an authorized buyer on her account. She scans the list of the many medications he's allowed to pick up.

"You're here for..." She guesses the one that's low due to the bottle capacity and the time of his last pick up. They monitor these things exactly to stop dealers.

"Yup," he confirms. Usually, she'd be off to retrieve the prescription. He sees her about three times a month for different things. But just this once, she lingers on her computer, her eyes affixed near the top of the screen. She clicks once.

Rourke's heart picks up a beat. What could she be looking at? Could he be approved so soon? He checked his account status on his lunch break, and it was yellow—'In Review'.

Her glance from Rourke and back to the computer screen could be coincidental.

Cory leans backwards against the counter, oblivious. "Remember Rourke, as it bad as it gets mopping floors for the corporate slaves that keep laying us off to save their paycheck... at least you aren't spitting babies out of your ass. It's a good thing they put those signs everywhere to keep life in perspective, huh?"

Rourke drops his eyes, unable to look at either of them. Everything Cory says is true. He and Cory have joked and talked shit over so many lunch breaks and just hanging out. BS-ing their lot in life always comes with a footnote: At least we aren't spitting babies out our ass for the alien overlords.

In Rourke's city especially, when life gets hard there's pride in never taking the easy way out. Suicide is preferable, Rourke heard in school once, and the whole class 'hmmed' with agreement. The teacher didn't chime in, but he looked proud.

Earth, in general, protests against the alpha aliens' rule. But Rourke's city is where they brought the harem towers down. Where they killed several alphas and alpha children in a war. Where they suffered massacres as a result.

Death before slavery is still the motto.

The woman—Audrey, her name tag says—gives the back of Cory's head a very long and obvious stare. She knows. It must be on her screen, the little infinity symbol next to his citizenship ID.

His application got approved. Rourke's thumbs itch to bring out his phone and check, just to be doubly sure, but he can't with Cory watching.

"Who the hell even calls that number?" his friend muses aloud with a bored sigh.

Almost no one... and Rourke. Their city has the highest number of omega-compatible humans and the lowest number of applicants. What would Cory say next if he knew?

"I'll get this from the back," Audrey says and leaves the computer. Her tone is neither friendly nor unfriendly. Rourke is probably reading too much into it, but it did seem that she was a little more personable before.

Thankfully, the law prevents anyone, professional or otherwise, from outing an omega status on someone's personal record. Rourke remembers his mother throwing a fork at the TV when they announced the alphas' ruling ten years ago. Protests were held for months, but the Earth Coalition backed the ruling due to the violent 'bitch hunt' that had happened.

Audrey returns. "Here you go." She passes the bag across the counter and interlaces her fingers, making an attempt at a polite smile. "Do you have any questions about the medication or anything?"

"No," Rourke mumbles and produces his wage card.

She looks at it and opens her mouth. Rourke can see the words forming. That's not necessary.

He cuts in. "Please."

Alpha government is absolutely efficient. The moment his application got approved, he doesn't pay for any medications, government services, or even housing. The allowance is temporary, until he gets auctioned. His winning alpha foots the bill when it all gets finalized.

It's illegal to charge an omega for these services. She looks at his card like she can't figure out what to do with it. Cory, who still has his back against the counter, looks over his shoulder to see what's up.

The card wobbles in his grasp as Rourke prepares for the worst.

"Oh! Of course!" Audrey play-slaps her forehead and breaks into forced chuckles. "Man, it's been such a long day..."

"We hear that," Cory remarks.

Rourke exhales with relief and gives her a grateful smile. She gives him a little one in return, tapping away on her keyboard. She slides his wage card, and a short receipt prints for the bill. Rourke takes a pen from the cup on her counter to sign his name. Then she trades the little receipt for his invoice.

"Have a great day! And thanks for being honest."

Rourke crams the invoice and the pills into his coat pocket. A whole half sheet of paper for the secure purchase of one tube of lip balm. Fortunately, Cory has no reason to be suspicious and doesn't demand to see the bill.

"Hey! Let's hit up the game store next," his friend says. "I want to try out Quests and Mages on the Perception console. I hear it's kick-ass."

That is one good thing about the alien alphas taking over Earth and enslaving the human race to have babies. With their advanced technology, video games have become amazing.

"Hey, Mom," Rourke says, opening the front door.

His mother is in her usual place on the recliner. She's dressed in yoga pants and a bathrobe, the TV on in front of her. She has a blanket over her lap because she gets cold most the time. Magazines, newspapers, and empty cups are littered around her like nesting material. Her TV tray is empty of a plate or a bowl though, meaning she hasn't eaten today. There's only a clear plastic pill case where her meal ought to be.

"Hey, Martha," calls Cory, waving, and his mother starts to get up.

"No, Mom, sit," Rourke says, moving her pills off the TV tray. He puts a hand on her shoulder to guide her back down. That works when Cory isn't here, but with company she doesn't like to seem weak. She pushes him away and rises, asking Cory loudly how he's been.

Rourke goes into the kitchen to heat her up some broth. She'll sip it for him.

Meanwhile, she asks about his and Ann's new baby and whether Cory has any pictures. He does, of course. Always. Though Cory is always charming and patient with his mom, Rourke can sense his friend's shoulders sagging. The second part of Cory's double shift starts soon, and he's only got four hours to catch a little sleep.

Since having a kid, Cory overworks himself with a smile. His managers love him.

To his own detriment, Cory is showing her his phone when Rourke returns with the bowl and spoon.

"She sent me this one last night."

His mom coos and gushes. Rourke rolls his eyes a bit and refills the third row of the pill case with the new ones he bought. His mother looks like a little old lady clinging to Cory's arm as he scrolls with his thumb. She had Rourke very young. She's barely forty. But her cancer has wasted her away and made her eyes hollow and large.

Hasn't done a damn thing to her smile though.

"Do you want some cookies?" she asks them both.

Rourke huffs with irritation. He already knows that his answer doesn't matter, and Cory is going to say yes by default. The stupid thing is that they both are tired and they're just being extra friendly for the other's sake.

Rourke won't say anything though. Not since his mother explained to him that she has to make the best of all her interactions with people now. It might be the last time she gets to see them.

'Making the most' really just means that she gabs at them all the time. Fortunately, Cory and Rourke are like brothers, so he knows the deal. He loves Martha too.

While she has him prisoner in the kitchen, Rourke goes to his room and gets on the computer. He can't shut his door, that would be out of habit for him, so he turns his monitor slightly away and listens for his mother's continuous chatter. Something about a herbal cure that's better than modern medicine.

In his browser, he types omegasociety.moon.gov. On their front page they have a man laughing with a blue-haired baby. The slideshow fades into more images of men in bliss with their tiny children. The last shows a newborn curled up asleep, his hair a tuft of green.

Say what you want about alphas—their children are adorable.

If only Rourke's stomach didn't sink into a pit every time he looked at them. He logs in with his citizen ID and navigates to his application status. The website is a labyrinth of links and information, but he gets there in two seconds. His foot taps. He swings the chair back and forth as the page says, Fetching data, do not refresh your browser...

His mother voice has become quiet, and he's getting a headache.

At last, the page spits up some text and graphics. Rourke rolls the mouse wheel fast, various bars of green scrolling past. Gene History Report, check. Background Check, green. Physical Health Exam, approved. All the way at the bottom, the very last step, it says Personal Motivation Essay.

Prostitution is illegal, so his essay is verifiable proof that he's not signing up for the money, and more specifically in his case, the health benefits for his mother. The Omega Society surveys his three-to six-page essay and grades him on the sincerity of what he writes, as well as reviewing all his other info for context.

It's the most invasive part of the application. They look into his social media accounts, his school reports, even the files his employers keep on him for anything of a personal nature that might determine if he's using the system purely for financial benefit.

Rourke told them he was in love with the adventurous lifestyle of being on the moon. Only in a lot more words. He doesn't use social media much because he loves to read old-fashioned paper books. Sci-fi and fantasy are his favorite genres, which is why he pines for the wonders of space and the exotic moon culture.

The pharmacist confirmed it, but here's the big check mark for proof. Congratulations! it says underneath, and in bold, Account Status: Approved. There's some more info about his case handler getting in contact with him soon, but Rourke doesn't get to finish reading it.

"Hey man, your mom and I are gonna set you up."

"What?!" Rourke clicks to close his browser about six times. Close with active tabs? the annoying machine asks. Rourke gets trapped in a cycle where he hits the red no, then the X, then no again. Fortunately he manages to hit yes as Cory pulls his chair away from the computer.

"We're getting you a girlfriend, man. Your mom's been telling me how depressed and lonely you are."

"Uh, I-I'm not..." Rourke stammers, his mind still running circles in the close loop. Cory takes his keyboard and mouse away, clicking to open the browser.

Rourke grips the arms of his chair as he puts the cursor in the text field and lays his hands on the keyboard. Rourke didn't use the private browsing mode, and he definitely didn't clear his history. If Cory types an O, the Omega Society will come up as a suggested page. His friend hits the L, typing in lovematch.com. Rourke can breathe again. He missed it by one key. Millimeters of distance. A typo could have outed him just now.

"We're making you a profile and finding you some love! My kid's gonna need your kid to marry... so you got some work to do," Cory says, chugging from a can.

Rourke frowns at the logo. It's an energy drink from the fridge. They're unhealthy, but both Rourke and Cory drink them sometimes to make it through a shift. "Cory, what the hell, you have to work in four hours! How are you going to sleep?!"

"Relax, Rourke. I got plenty of sleep yesterday. Now... what should your lurrve handle be?"

He types in Cory_Rourke.

"Ugh, no," Rourke says, laughing, trying to take the keyboard back. The inside joke is that both he and Cory have the same first name and Rourke pretends to hate using his. He never had a problem with his name until he met this other Cory, making a confusing situation for all their parents and teachers when they were boys.

"What's wrong? That is sexy as hell," Cory says, chugging more of his drink.

Rourke's mom comes in, the smell of baking cookies drifting with her. She has the blanket around her shoulders and she shivers as she sits on the bed. But she's smiling broadly at their mischief. Rourke's chair rolls further back as both she and Cory take over the making of his dating profile.

What will the Omega Society think if they're still spying on his accounts?

Oh well. I can always go in and delete it after.

"Well first, Rourke, let me congratulate you on passing the exams!"

Stephanie, his case handler, is a long-haired blonde with doll-like bangs and square glasses. The buttons on her suit jacket strain to hold form across her curves, though her waist is slim. With a concealer-painted face and overly luscious, dark eyelashes, everything about Stephanie is artificial except for her friendliness. Which positively surrounds Rourke the moment he enters her office.

"Were you nervous?" she asks, leaning over the desk like a schoolgirl with juicy gossip.

"Not too bad," he answers immediately, settling into the chair across from her. He's been practising being the perfect candidate, someone completely in love with the alphas and getting pregnant and everything that entails.

Her suspenseful pause prompts him to amend his answer.

"Well, yes, maybe a little..." Her mischievous stare doesn't let up, so he nervously admits, "I've been driving myself crazy, actually."

Satisfied, she sits back, letting the chair twirl a bit. "Yes. I saw on your report that you logged in approximately fifteen times a day to the website! Sorry to leave you in suspense. Those essays take us some time to grade for authenticity."

"Uh, you guys tracked me?"

"Yes. Eagerness is a positive sign. We also track all the links you follow while you're on our web page. Everything gets considered in your evaluation—which I'm happy to say, you passed with 'flying colors!'" She makes air quotes and giggles at her own joke. "So to speak."

"Oh. Good." He fooled them. So, the hard part's over. Now he just has to have a baby...

"So, let's discuss your departure from earth, shall we?" She slides out her keyboard and starts using the computer. "Have you told your family yet?"

Rourke shakes his head.

"Mm. You will have to tell them now, I'm afraid. Unless you fear for your safety, in which case you can skip acknowledgment and we'll keep you at a hotel for a few days. Until the auction is held."

"Um, that sounds good." Leaving without his telling his mom is a dick move, but this just isn't something she'll come to terms with for a while. Likely, not until she's at a better hospital, getting the treatment she needs. Someday close to now, he's going to have a warm bundle in his arms, and his mother is going to arrive angry—but healthy. She'll have her whole life to work on forgiving him.

"It requires an assessment of your living situation and an interview with a counselor." Her lenses reflect tiny scrolling text as she reads her monitor. "You'll have to give us details about why coming out as an omega is unsafe in your home, then your family may be visited by social worker. But you'll be long gone and in safe custody before that happens. You won't be involved in any subsequent investigations."

"Oh. That's not necessary." Rourke picks at his sleeves. "I'm not afraid for my life or anything. I just prefer not to tell anyone." He tries to be cheerful about his error, making a weak laugh. "I'll tell her."

"'Her' being your mother, I presume?"

Rourke nods.

"And no other immediate family in the home or close vicinity?"

"No."

Rourke had this fantasy when he was a kid that his dad would find out his mom was sick and come back repentant. But that never happened. They've never received so much as an email or a text. The man simply went from Rourke's whole life and he's never discussed why with his mother. The day to day problems of surviving are what matters anyway.

"You will have to obtain proof of acknowledgment before you're an official omega. One of these signed forms is the most common way." She scoots back to the printer which is spitting up a sheet. "But you can also take a video or audio recording when you tell your mom. Or, we can request a counselor to visit to your home when you tell her. That would be the best option if you're afraid of repercussions." She comes back and slides the form over to him. "How would you prefer to proceed?"

Rourke takes the paper. "This form will be fine."

Stephanie reaches across and takes his hand. Her lacquered nails are like little pebbles in his palm. "I know this seems like a lot of red tape to go through, but the laws are there for a reason, you know? We have to fight any abduction allegations that may arise." She squeezes his hand, then pulls away to resume typing. "Now, for transport. Your auction will take place this Saturday! Isn't that exciting?"

"Uh, yeah." Rourke's voice has become a little quiet to his own ears. His body has drifted farther away. Saturday? Somewhere, a piece of him is still in control, operating his mouth so he'll seem excited. "Yes, that's very... cool."

"Heh. It's alright to be nervous. The auction is the scariest part for most people. But it's very short, I promise you. The whole thing is usually done in a half hour, and that includes your orientation. You're only on the market for ten minutes or so."

Easy, breezy.

And by market, she means a literal market. Not Rourke being single or something sane like that.

Her mouse clicks sound especially loud. "I am sending your resignation documents to your employer. Your last day will be Friday, and your workplace is forbidden from outing you involuntarily. If anyone approaches you and asks questions, it is important that you inform me immediately." She looks away from her monitor and lowers her nose with an important stare. "Even if the encounter is inconsequential, we have to know who isn't abiding by confidentiality laws. Other omegas may be harmed by their indiscretion."

"Alright." This is happening.

Stephanie picks up a pen and writes on the back of a business card. "The van will arrive outside your home at 11am Saturday. Your auction will be scheduled for 12:15, and then you'll be on the shuttle. It departs that evening at 5pm." She clicks the pen shut. "Pretty exciting, huh? Are you ready to be in space at the end of the week?"

Oh god. Today is Tuesday.

"Wow. That's fast."

And he's going to spend the rest of the week at Cory's side, not telling him anything.

"Yup! We're past most of the red tape now. The alphas like to get their omegas right away. You'll be signing your documents and having your picture taken for your new citizen ID badge after your auction. You are technically an omega citizen of the moon as soon as you get this form signed." She reaches across the desk and taps the top of the paper with her pen. "Everything gets a lot faster after that."

"Okay. Wow. Cool." Rourke gulps.

"It's a lot to take in."

"Yeah."

Up to this point, Rourke only focused on getting his application approved. Nothing was possible before that. Now his organs are expanding to the edges, making room for the thought, I'm going to be pregnant by the end of this year. Alphas like to get their omegas fast, like Stephanie said. Rourke is counting on it since his mother won't get the auction money until he conceives.

Stephanie is quiet while he processes all of this. He gives her his best smile. "It's... my dream coming true."

Which was the theme of his bullshit paper.

She gets up from the desk and comes around to hug him.

This was all a horrible idea. A huge mistake.

On the elevator down from her office floor, Rourke leans against the safety bar and wraps his arms around his stomach.

Who will bid on him? Will he be nice? Will he be attractive?

How much trouble will he be in if he backs out now?

Rourke gives himself the entire elevator ride to regret his decision and feel sorry for himself. At the bus stop, he forges his mother's signature on the acknowledgment form. He'll snap a picture of it at home and email it over.

He learned his mother's handwriting after months of having to guide her through every hospital form, waiver, and even their lease agreement. She just doesn't have the energy to concentrate anymore.

She's worth it. Someday she'll meet him at the spaceport of the moon city. She'll be furious. Rourke might even have to beg her to come if she swears off talking to him ever again, which is a possibility. Maybe not, with her illness. But leaving her alone so he can become a breeder for the despicable alphas? That'll do it if anything will. Rourke is prepared to face that fury. He'll hand over the tiny one in his arms, some beautiful child, maybe with lilac hair. And that'll win her over.

The picture is crystal clear. Except for the alpha with him, which is a murky figure. Alphas aren't nice. They kill people without consequence. They enslave and rape. From what Rourke has heard, they aren't that different now, even though they've been exiled to the moon.

Earth has pushed them back that far, but they'll never be rid of them completely. The new government is working with the alphas, not against them anymore. And now, Rourke supposes he's a part of that.

Maybe my alpha will be nice?

It's worth it.

For Mom.

It will be hard for her without him, but he'll conceive quickly. Rourke has a plan for that too. He'll be the perfect omega, through and through. His mom will move to a rich neighborhood and get access to a better hospital. He can start the paperwork for home care from the shuttle. He's already picked out the company, and they'll bring her groceries, medication, and everything.

Rourke dates the forged signature and doesn't regret anything. His mother is now a first-class citizen. And if there's classes above that—royalty perhaps—he's a part of that. The alphas are kings and Rourke is... not a Queen. That implies some sharing of power. But a wife, certainly. A gigolo? Yes, certainly.

The bus comes, and Rourke swipes his wage card. This will be the last time he does that. Omegas don't have wage cards, they pay for everything with their citizenship IDs. The world is free for them, which is another reason people hate them so much.

The alphas take their fortunes from taxes, which gets funneled back to Rourke, his kids, and from now on, the rest of his lineage. It's the ultimate welfare, and the people who pay for it are Earth's citizens.

Rourke hangs his head as he sits in his seat. Everyone here works for a living and protests the alien's rules in the little ways they can get away with.

To be the perfect omega, he can't take his upbringing with him. He can't carry the anger of the enslavement and atrocities in their history, which means he can't be a citizen of his city anymore. He has to fully, wholeheartedly join in with the new government on the moon.

He takes out his phone and texts Cory about picking up his Saturday shift.

Leaving in secret is too easy. His mom sleeps some odd hours and noon is one of those times where she's conked out. She doesn't get up out of her chair much, ever. She hardly eats, so bathroom breaks are about all that she gets up for. She won't need pills again for another week or so, and Rourke already has the websites and forms he needs to get her supplies delivered and a nurse checking in on her three times a week. All he needs is that plastic card and citizen number to click submit. The immediate family members of omegas get an upgrade in their health care.

They watched old TV shows for hours the night before. Rourke held her hand and kissed her forehead. It was a weird amount of affection for them, but she half-hugged him and wished him goodnight. She probably thought he was feeling sentimental about her dying.

Not anymore.

She's going to get the medicine and treatment she needs.

Rourke can feel happy about that, even though he's leaving her without warning. He tucks a letter by her thigh and resists touching her. He'd like to tell he's scared and he has to leave home for the first time—not just home, but his whole planet.

But that would make him late. He puts his hood on and his sunglasses. The society suggested it, since people often take pictures of these 'abductions', trying to prove that the alphas are breaking the laws.

His phone vibrates with a text message. We're approaching. So, he heads out the door. They've instructed him to meet the van on the sidewalk, to lessen the time taken for his pick-up.

The last look at his mother doesn't capture her best side. The shutting of his front door doesn't take as long as it should. In too short a time, with too little an effort, he's walking away from his home forever.

Rourke had a long weekend on his schedule, so Cory won't even realize he's gone until Tuesday. Unless his mother calls him; which she might. Rourke is still writing his goodbye email to Cory in his head. At least he doesn't have to worry about his friend so much. Cory doesn't spend weekends and off-time with Rourke after starting his family.

A white van with an Omega Society emblem comes to a stop in front of him. They know who he is thanks to the tracer on his phone. An officer gets out to let him inside. Already, people have stopped milling about their business to pull out their phones.

"Hey! Breeder!" someone calls and flips him off.

The officer keeps one hand on his gun, and lifts his palm in warning. Earth officers are alright, but enforcers of alpha law shoot to kill most times. The man doesn't shout again, though he clearly says something derogatory to the woman who's with him.

Once inside, the officer reaches back from the front seat. "You got the stamp?"

"Yeah, here you go."

Rourke passes him his phone. The officer scans the barcode on the screen. Much like the physical package of a mail delivery man, Rourke is the officer's responsibility until that barcode gets scanned again at the Omega Society doors.

Stephanie explained it like the concept was cute. "You're already 'their omega' even though you aren't sold to a specific one yet. The alphas take very good care of you guys. They can hardly stand giving you the time to say goodbye to your families."

"Ready to go?" asks the officer, but the van is already moving.

Protesting at the Omega Society headquarters is illegal, but every road leading to the gates has people on the sidewalk with signs. When they see the van approaching, they raise their placards and posters and start chanting, "Death before slavery!" The officer warned him this would happen and recommended he pull down the shade over his window. The van windows are tinted anyway, so the shade is only for Rourke's benefit.

He keeps it up and sees slogans about meat markets, people who've wrapped themselves in chains, and graphic porn with the nasty bits censored but not blurred enough.

Yet, the gate is quiet, and the Omega Society looks just like your typical office building, several stories high. They scan Rourke's stamp at the door and he's guided to a waiting room with two other people, where he's asked to fill out an anonymous survey about his induction process. Rourke finishes it quickly, giving Stephanie all high scores. The leather chairs and modern coffee table are a far cry from the slave images on the posters.

The auction room, however, is accurate. Stephanie opens a normal, unnumbered door to a dark room and flicks on the light. The place looks unfinished, concrete all over and dim with no windows. A man-sized cage hangs from the high ceiling with four cameras coming down on rods, aiming at what would be contained within.

Rourke's feet halt on the hallway carpet and Stephanie walks in without him. He's seen scary movies, and if there was ever a bad room to walk into...

"It's okay, Rourke, you've got a half hour before you start. This is orientation, remember?" She waves eagerly for him to follow. "It's safe, I promise."

Rourke has seen this part a hundred times. He steps into the room and the door slams behind him, cutting off escape. Even so, he works his feet over the threshold. Too slow for Stephanie, however, who comes and physically collects him, hooking her arm around his.

"I'm not going to shove you into the cage or anything like that," she says, dragging him. She deposits him near the cage and brings up her clipboard, which has a list of talking points. "When your auction time comes, I'm going to give you this," She reaches into her shirt and pulls up a key on a cord around her neck. "You're going to approach the cage, unlock the door, and step inside yourself. I won't help you, I won't touch you, and I certainly won't force you. I won't even be in the room while we're auctioning. You can end the process at any time or reschedule the auction if you prefer. This is your last opportunity for refusal."

She mutters to herself, "Last week that said to back out." She shakes her head with a little exasperated sigh. "Politics, huh? So how about it, Rourke? Backing out on your dreams?"

"Not a chance," he says, breathing easier. Stephanie's chipper voice dispels the sex dungeon vibe in the room.

"Good boy—good man, I mean. Right. So, as I was saying," She flips the page on her clipboard and adopts a reader's tone. "The auction is probably the most controversial aspect of alpha culture. The alphas have a very different interpretation of courtship and love than we do. Love is also a competition, especially in the early stages."

Rourke touches the bars. They're thick, as if they're meant to contain him for real. But at least the auction doesn't take long, only ten to fifteen minutes.

"An alpha proves his love by beating all the other alphas. Yes, sometimes that means physical beating. Like cavemen or animals. But alphas are sophisticated, and the auction is a development of modern culture, the same way we hang onto love rituals like gift giving to prove devotion when in ancient history wives would be purchased." She finishes her script and looks up from the clipboard. "So basically, it's a contest. Fun, huh?"

"What about true love?" Rourke asks, though it doesn't matter either way. He's going through with this.

"They have true love. They absolutely do," she says with confidence. Everyone working for the Omega Society supports the alphas. "But they're aliens, sweetheart, and their concept of it has developed differently than ours. They have to win you. It's not just... thinking you're cute and asking for your number. Our concept of dating is completely foreign to them. Omegas are extremely rare and revered. The idea that you would just walk up to one and ask him to be with you is both criminal and disgusting."

"So how would they do it then?"

"Without the Omega Society? Well, in their old culture, an omega would first announce to his parents that he was seeking. Then his parents would either auction him or devise some means of competition. Kind of like knights and ladies, you know."

"What if they aren't compatible? What if they hate each other?"

"There is a process of re-selection, which you will learn about in your education once you're on the moon. For now, we just want to get you through the auction part." She brings the cord over her head. "I'll give this to you now."

"Can I climb in?" Rourke asks as he takes the key. It doesn't seem so bad since he can let himself out.

"Yes, if you want."

The heaviness of the cage could be explained by its tendency to move while climbing in. Rourke must push off his back foot and hope for the best, the cage swinging slightly side to side while he hangs on for balance. Stephanie grabs a bar with one hand to help steady him.

"Now, alphas are drawn to vulnerability. So, you'll climb in, we'll turn down the lights down almost all the way, and then you're going to experience a haunted house of sorts. We'll have loud noises. Lights flashing. You'll see hologram images and there will be figures that seem to reach for you or want to touch you. We're not going to scare the pants off you, but we want you to seem a little nervous. A little scared. Facial expression is very important here, so don't try to hide any emotions or avoid the cameras."

"Why do they like fear?" This is the first he'd heard of this.

Stephanie chuckles. "That's actually a corporate initiative of the Omega Society. It plays on the alphas' protective instincts and drives higher bids. Which means more profit for us!" She smiles charmingly, pushes up her glasses. "If you can sniffle and cry for me, that'd be a tremendous help too."

"Oh." Rourke looks at each of the cameras, imagining the men on the other side of it. His orientation packet already showed him how they bid on the moon, in private booths with several screens. They have smell emitters that make them think Rourke is an omega in heat even though he hasn't started the process of turning yet.

Who knows? Maybe he and his buyer-slash-husband will form a bond and talk about this fondly someday.

"Well," he says, stepping down. "I'm as ready as I'll ever be."

"Alright! I like that spirit!" Stephanie thumps him on the back. "You're a model omega. So, let's get you changed."

Rourke wraps his arms around himself. They gave him spandex shorts to wear so he isn't completely naked, and they keep the room warm, so he isn't cold. But everything else is off and the cameras are like hanging spiders with many eyes, a dozen or so alphas watching through them.

And yet, Stephanie is right. He opens the cage and climbs inside himself, for the second time, though the atmosphere is ominous and the cage swings freely, slightly from the chain it's suspended on.

Rourke secures the door and stands in place, so it will settle. He's sure the instability is all part of the scheme to make him look vulnerable. Somehow, he must cry.

Rourke played the Christmas tree in a school play once. A literal tree, which didn't do anything except spin and wave its branches for the dancing part.

He tangles his fingers tightly in the cord around his neck, fidgeting.

When the lights go dim, Rourke takes a deep breath. She said he'd know when the auction started. This must be it.

He looks at each camera in turn, bringing his arms down so as not to hide. His balance wobbles and he catches himself on the bars. But he supposes he should stumble a bit and make his eyes wider than they technically need to be.

More vulnerability equals more money. He's doing this for his mom, so he wants as much as possible.

The din of cheering makes him duck his head and cover his ears, but it's just noise. The room is empty. It must come from speakers that he can't see, surrounding him. It sounds like an auction, but he can't make out specific words in the soundtrack.

Tiny projector lights appear in the ceiling. This must be the haunted house Stephanie was talking about. On the floor, the shapes and shadows of a bustling crowd appear. The floor vanishes with the optical illusion of extended space beneath him, the figures reaching with their arms far, far below. And the cage continues to sway uncertainly.

From the seemingly impossible distance, one of the shadowy figures jumps. It seems to catch the floor where he's standing and pull itself up to the bars, hanging there. These are less convincing, and Rourke can stare hard to see through its murky shape. But it grins, and without explanation, the cage sways perfectly as if it's weight is there, tipping the cage. Rourke clutches to his side so he won't slide toward it.

He looks up. The cage top is solid, so he can't see the place where the chain connects. But there must be a mechanism. The floor is two feet below. The hologram figure has no definition, much less weight.

But another jumps on, and the cage rocks like crazy. He almost shouts, having to relocate fast before it grabs onto him. But he notices no sensation where the inky fingers pass through his wrist briefly.

It's not real. Just pretend. A haunted house in a very creepy place.

He shakes his head. That attitude won't fetch a high price. Stephanie asked for a cry, and she's going to get one. Hopefully both she and his mom will be very happy with the auction's money.

Rourke stops rationalizing and engages in a little pretend. These are the alphas. He's being sold to a harem, like in the history lessons. He makes expressions of being scared and upset.

The haunted house helps. A huge spotlight comes out from the wall, blinding him, and the 'auctioneer' gets loud. The 'crowd' laughs. The words are speech-sounding nonsense, but the tone isn't nice.

It kind of works, but his emotions are mostly missing. And he isn't anywhere near crying.

So, Rourke thinks about his mom. He doesn't let himself think about her being dead, ever, and when it happens, it's always in those quiet moments right before sleep. He's always pulled back from those thoughts as if having grazed against a sharp knife. But now he listens.

He thinks about her in a hospital bed, tubes in her nose, her face lined and sunken even though she's so young. He thinks about going on without her, which is the mental equivalent of sliding his hand against the blade. Going on alone. Missing her so much and not having the option talk to her again.

His throat tightens. He blinks rapidly, his eyes prickling. He's not quite in tears, but this might be as close as he gets. He looks at each of the cameras, then the cage spins, knocking him off balance.

He hits the bars, then the floor.

My mom might die regardless if I can't get the money for her medicine.

He needs a fortune. His mother has told him repeatedly about the cancer cures restricted for the elite. The medicine's cost is astronomical and not covered by insurance.

Tears come, and he looks at the cameras from where he kneels on all fours, waiting for the cage to even out. When he can, he stands. Murky figures reach for him, and he dodges as much as he can. He doesn't try to avoid stumbling and falling so much. He covers his ears as if the rude jeering hurts him.

Is it supposed to last this long?

Fifteen minutes can take a long time when you're paying attention to each of them, but he's starting to notice the repeated gestures in the jumping figures and the crowd below. The spotlight turns off and comes on again. The cage alternates between still, swaying, and spinning. Rourke kneels because he can't hold his balance.

This is the worst amusement ride ever, and he's going to get a grade when it's done.

Why is it taking forever? Are there no bids?

Maybe Rourke isn't bringing in a good price. Maybe they will throw him out like spoiled meat. Alphas are sex crazed perverts in the history books, so it hadn't occurred to Rourke that he might not be desirable...

No. I can do this.

But he doesn't feel like acting anymore, and he's unsure of his future. Rourke sits with his arms over his knees, waiting for the auction to end. It should be soon.

But it isn't. Not nearly. Rourke has a lot of time to think about his mother dying, life alone, and not even the possibility of the escape offered on the breeder advertisements. Those signs make the crappy jobs more tolerable. Every man choosing to flip hamburgers does that over breeding.

Rourke wipes his eyes. He's scared for real, but not because of the holograms. He doesn't bother scooting from the shadow monsters anymore.

What's taking so long?

There must not be any bids at all!

Stephanie said that most auctions are over in about ten minutes. Surely Rourke's sense of time hasn't been distorted that much.

A light explodes from the wall. It takes the clacking of Stephanie's heels to make him realize it's the door opening and not another hologram approaching him. She has the crowd projected onto her suit and face as she approaches him.

"Rourke, give me the key!" she says, reaching through the bars of his prison. She sounds mad, so he must have messed up. He didn't sell somehow. He takes the key off his neck and passes it to her.

This is it. Our life's over.

"What did I do wrong?"

She opens the door and glares at a camera. "I don't care if we're still on feed, I'm putting an end to this!" Her mad gaze softens somewhat as she gives him her hand and helps him out. The world pitches forward and his whole instinct is to resist as he's lowering his foot to a ground that he can no longer perceive. But Stephanie is doing alright in the seeming midair. Feeling the floor under his shoe puts his senses to rights.

"Shut it off, Tyler!" she snaps at a camera.

With a short whir, it all powers down. The projector lights shut off and the crowd disappears. It's silent again, just an empty, disturbing room.

Rourke dries his eyes on his arm and clears his throat.

"What happened?" he asks roughly. Stephanie's arm comes around his waist and she guides him quickly toward the exit, muttering a curse. Whatever he did, she's furious.

They get into the hall, where everything is bright and normal again. There's another woman and a man here, dressed in sharp business suits, and Rourke feels exposed and under dressed. He wants to cover himself.

"Rourke, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to do that to you!" Stephanie says, hugging him. The other two are smirking. Did they come out to laugh at him?

"I'm sorry?" Rourke says, wondering what went wrong. Was he just not convincing enough?

"Good job finding this one, Steph," says the woman, holding a door open for them. Others are gathered at the end of the hall, and they're all staring at Rourke. Stephanie pulls him through the offered door quickly.

"You're going to get that promotion for sure," says the man, clapping Stephanie's shoulder.

"Ooo, Kate is going to be furious!" says the woman.

There's large TV screen in here with the empty cage shown at four different angles. Over the image, several bars reach across a grid of dollar amounts, a name and a little picture tagged at each base. The man and woman join Stephanie in putting their arms around him as Rourke gazes at it.

The numbers are sorted in tens of millions.

"I... I don't understand... did... did somebody bid on me?"

Everyone laughs, except for Stephanie.

"It's not funny, guys, he was scared!"

She tucks his hair behind his ear, much like his mom might have done when he was a kid.

"Right. Sorry, Rourke," says the man, giving him a pat on the back and going to a desk.

"We didn't mean to scare you!" says the woman. "But I think you just bought all of us a Christmas bonus. I'm going to buy my kids the Perception console! Thank you."

"That... that's for me?" Rourke wipes his eyes again. The numbers he's seeing could buy a spaceship. Not that he needs one.

"Of course," Stephanie says questioningly, like he should have caught on my now. "Rourke, you sold for a lot."

Three of the bars are visually the same height, their separation values differing only by tens of thousands. It's weird to think of money as only tens of thousands... Like the difference of the bars isn't more than all the money he's going to make this year.

"Wow."

"'Wow' doesn't cut it! You're a record breaker!" The woman lifts Rourke's hand in a cheer. The man at his desk is on the phone, bragging about the sale to someone.

"But we're sorry we scared you. Rourke, I tried to get you out earlier, but these two held me back..."

"You were about to break the record," defends the man, covering his phone. Then he adds, for Rourke's benefit, after Stephanie's glare, "Sorry."

"No, it's okay. I wasn't really scared, you know."

"What?" Stephanie says.

"Well, yeah. You told me to cry, remember?"

All three stare at him, dumbfounded.

"I didn't mean... I wasn't being literal!" Stephanie pinches the bridge of her nose. "Oh my god..."

The other two crow with laughter.

"Good job, Rourke!"

"Very convincing," says the man.

"Ooh, my kids are gonna be so excited."

"So, he's the winner, huh?" Rourke says when they quiet down, gesturing at the bar on the very left. The accompanying portrait is small, but Rourke makes out straight blue hair and a serious expression.

No pink haired babies after all. Well, blue is pretty cute too.

"Technically not yet," Stephanie says, pulling away from him and standing in front of the TV. There's an undertone of annoyance. She must have been really worried about him. She picks up a thick binder from another nearby desk. "These are the profiles of the bidders involved. He did win, but you get the final say. The auction is just to 'prove their worth'. Look over their profiles, and choose the winner."

Rourke flips through the pages, but only scanning the pictures. His guy is handsome. The only pink-haired dude in the bunch is smirking cockily in his photo, and he seems the burly type. He doesn't care for that at all.

"You'll take this with you and choose your match on the shuttle."

"No need," Rourke says, closing it. "He won. I'm alright with that."

"What, you mean the blue guy?" Stephanie looks between him and the screen. "Rourke, he doesn't win unless you choose him. The whole point of the competition is to impress you. If you aren't impressed—that means, if you don't choose him—he didn't win."

Rourke scrutinizes the other portfolio pics on the graph. But the more he compares them, the more he likes the one on the left who bid the most. His expression is a little unfriendly, but his hair isn't too bright. Rourke doesn't want to hand his mother a baby that looks like a highlighter. Neon yellow guy is definitely out, and the hot purple-haired dude has the front of his shirt unbuttoned to the middle. That looks sleazy.

The blue-haired man is simple. Not too loud. Staring straight on like he's in the military. And he's dressed nice, in a business suit.

"No, I pick him. He's the one I want. Definitely."

The woman snickers and Rourke realizes how it must sound. Like he wants the alpha alien for more than his money. But he can't make an excuse because of course that's the way it should be.

"Well... alright then," Stephanie says.

"Congratulations, Rourke!" calls the man, tapping another number with his thumb.

"Uh, yeah. Thanks you guys..."

Stephanie huffs. "Keep the binder. Look over their profiles. Just in case."

"But we can inform the winner now!" says the woman, going to a computer.

"No!" Stephanie tries to stop her. "He needs time to finalize his decision—"

"No I don't." His clothes are in a pile on a chair, so Rourke goes over and pulls on his t-shirt. It should be okay now that his body has sold. "You can tell him he won. I'm not going to change my mind."

"Rourke, this is a life-changing decision," Stephanie says from where she guards the keyboard.

"But it's my decision," Rourke answers, picking up his jeans so that his underwear stays hidden. "I don't want any of the others. He's the best one."

The woman clasps her hands and makes a little sigh.

"Can I put my pants on now?" he asks.

Rourke closes the bathroom door and leans against it, sighing at the ceiling. He puts a hand over his abdomen, acknowledging that technically the hard part isn't over. But for now, it feels like it is.

He takes himself to the sink. No wonder Stephanie thought he was traumatized! His eyes are puffy and red. Rourke runs the tap and splashes cool water on his face, giving his tired mind something else to focus on. A physical sensation. Easy.

But not for long. He rustles into his jeans pocket for his phone. He had it turned off, so Stephanie and the others wouldn't hear it ring. Pressure builds inside his ears as he waits for the company logo to finish its animation. All that money. Just picturing the graph again makes his head heavy like he could faint. He doesn't know what he should tell her first.

We're rich! I'm leaving! You can buy whatever you want now! I'm going to the moon—tonight! Also, you're gonna be a grandma...

Some version of all that needs to get out. Thank god, the phone takes forever to ring. He thought he'd have an avalanche of missed messages by now, but she hasn't woken up.

When she finally answers, her voice is croaky. "Rourke, what is it?"

He presses the phone with his shoulder and multitasks in getting his jeans on.

"Hey, I left a letter on your chair. I need you to read it."

She's sleepy and slow about getting to it. Rourke finishes dressing and takes a seat on the toilet lid. He rubs his thighs, feeling so nervous.

"What is this? Rourke, are you serious? Did you...?"

"I just had my auction." He covers the phone to direct his voice, not wanting them to hear. If they have secret audio or video of the bathroom this will turn out to be a very stupid mistake. Rourke peers around for cameras and then under the sink really quick, but he supposes that would be a weird place to hide a microphone.

"Your auction?!" she squawks after a very long time to process. "You already sold yourself?!"

"Yeah. And you'll never guess, Mom, I sold for—"

"Get out of there!" she shrieks. "Oh my god, Rourke... I... I need to call the police. I need to... Are you in their building?!"

"Mom, calm down. And don't call the police, they'll get me in trouble. Mom, I signed all the consent forms and everything. I want this."

He hears things knocking over on her end.

"Mom! Calm down! Listen to me!"

"No, Rourke, you made a mistake. They're going to sell you. You're going to lose your citizenship. Rourke, they're going to... Oh I can't even think of it..."

"I know what they're going to use me for," Rourke says calmly.

"And you want that?!"

She's outright crying now. This is going all wrong. He tells her the amount.

"You can do whatever you want now! You go to that fancy hospital and get the medicine you need..."

She makes a choked sound.

"And live in a nice place, and yell at me for the rest of your life. I'm a record breaker, you know, it's the highest bid they've ever seen. And that's your money now. I mean, the society takes like 30%, but the rest is all yours."

"Oh no. No, no, Rourke, no..." she moans.

She's taking this worse than he thought. He knew she'd be sad about him leaving, but surely the shot at doubling her life should make up for it.

"Mom, it's alright. Everything is better, and we're going to see each other again. It just takes time."

"No!" she yells, and her voice coming out of the phone is louder than his. Rourke covers the receiver. "Rourke, you get back here right now! I won't have my boy selling his body to pay for my bills! You get out of that building, and... and... I'm going to call Cory. We're going to pick you up."

"Mom, I'm sold. It's a done deal."

"You're young. You're stupid. I can tie them up in the courts."

Rourke rubs his forehead. He shouldn't have called. He should have emailed her from the moon instead. That was the original plan, but the amount and saving his mother's life diverted him from it. Now he needs to steer her from the rocks.

"Mom, think about the future. You're going to live a long time. You're going to have little blue-haired grandbabies."

Those are his secret weapon, locked and ready to get her approval—or at least her cooperation. He'd never get it on his own beforehand, if he had tried to obtain her consent as required. But now that the deed is done, she has three very valuable 'loser' trophies. Money, life, and cute babies.

That's why she's been so adamant about him getting a girlfriend this year. She doesn't want to leave him alone.

"B-blue hair, huh?" she stammers after a long while.

"Yeah. They'll be adorable."

Someone walks past the door.

I've spent way too much time in the bathroom.

"H-have they already..." She forces the next word out. "Impregnated you then? What's the due date?"

"No! No, don't be crazy! I just sold." And he's not going to be artificially inseminated anyway. That'd be too convenient. Explaining such to his mom won't happen though.

"There's time to back out—" she starts, but Rourke hears another set of footsteps in the hall.

"I have to go. But read the rest of the letter. A nurse is to come visit you, and a lot of other stuff is going to happen. You're going to have interviews and appointments to go to..."

"Bullshit. You better stay here and make sure I reach them, because I can't do it on my own."

She's just digging in her heels now, trying to guilt trip him. Rourke hates knowing it, but she's probably going to walk to the corner store and buy some booze after this. Even though she's not supposed to with her medications.

"Mom. We have the rest of our lives to argue. You're welcome. Just keep your phone charged, alright? I'm going to be calling and emailing you."

"When can I say goodbye?"

Her question catches him off guard. Suddenly Rourke feels lower than his shoe.

"I..." There's no good way to say it. "We can't. The time has already passed. I'm getting on a shuttle in a few hours."

"I'll be there."

"I don't think you can, Mom. It's a done deal already. I... should've said goodbye this morning, but I knew you wouldn't let me go through with it. I'm sorry."

"How can you do this to me?!"

Very quietly, because there's definitely a shadow under the door now, he says, "I'm sorry. But you're going to live a long time now..."

"How?! I don't get the money for a year!"

"I'm working on it. I have a plan." He hangs up as someone knocks softly.

"Ready to take your picture for new ID?" asks Stephanie on the other side.

Rourke hits silent just as his mother's incoming call comes up. He holds the power button as he opens the door. "Yeah. How do I look?"

"Amazing, you big faker."

He's been caught.

But Stephanie wears the usual smile as she grabs him by the elbow.

"Thanks for the promotion by the way," she says with a wink, guiding him forward.

"Heh. Anything I can do to help..."

Three months later...

He texted her. Don't worry, Mom. I'll see you soon. Then, so it wouldn't sound final, This is fun! He snapped a quick picture before the pilot caught him and told him to put his phone away.

That was launch. Traveling through space is quite boring, like being on a bus that never moves, that you can never get off. Rourke just sits in his room all the time. The process of becoming an omega makes him so sick and weak, he's like his mother, only moving when he needs the bathroom.

They travel to the hidden side of the moon, where the alpha aliens have kept their ship since Earth's uprising. Rourke has always known it as 'the space castle', and Rourke has seen pictures of it in history books, floating in the sky beside the moon. The doctor tells him that it's alive with an AI or something. That it found Earth and brought the alphas here to take over.

It emits a signal that messes with his DNA—a gene found in one-fifth of the men in his city, where the ship wreaked havoc when it first landed.

The shuttle doubles as a clinic to help him and four others go through the process. But they've all left and started life on the moon with their new mates. Rourke is the only one to remain. Just him and the staff, for six weeks.

Rourke still feels like shit, but he's gotten better at hiding it. If they can't make him an omega, if the process fails? His mom dies and the future he promised her goes too.

So, for ten days he's flushed most of his food. He's stopped requesting painkillers. He doesn't throw up as often, and he makes small talk when the doctor checks on him.

Everything's worked. He's going to the moon. Today.

"Nervous?" Stephanie asks. They sent her up here at the eight-week mark. It was at his alpha's insistence. His name is Zachri. She had to tell him that since Rourke still hasn't read the binder of portfolios.

"Yeah. Very." He's trying to smile and keep smiling. He can't stand living in this little white toaster box, and his mother needs him so she can get better. Her medical care is free, but her cost of living isn't. Without Rourke's paycheck, the rent on their apartment nearly cuts her dry. She doesn't get the money from his auction until he's married, which can only happen after a mandatory eight month courting period or if he gets pregnant.

Stephanie pulls a little container from her pocket. "This is for you. A little extra dose since we're meeting your alpha today. It'll help with your nerves."

They're giving him the suppression pills four times daily because they think his sickness is from an immediate onset of omega heat. It's rare, but the doctor says it makes sense. His body is already exhausted from the transformation, so the heat is overwhelming him.

Rourke brings his hand to his mouth in convincing, quick action. He follows it up with a sip of bottled water, which she carries for him. But the pills go into his pocket, and Rourke's stomach is worse off for water.

"Let's go buckle up," Stephanie says, taking his hand.

They may have become great friends, but it's hard to tell since she technically gets a paycheck for looking after him. And he doesn't say much due to feeling ill all the time. She has listened to him talk a little bit about his mother though, and that has helped a lot.

Rourke has barely had the energy to fill out all those forms he promised his mom, much less hold long conversations and text on his phone. They don't contact each other much since there's nothing new to say. They're both sick every day. They sleep a lot. And that's about it.

But today that's going to change.

While they walk to the pilot deck, Stephanie's tablet dings. She hooks her thumb in the corner to hold it with one hand, and her fingers on the other side operate the interface. The familiar profile pic of his alpha appears on the screen.

"He's anxious too," she says, squeezing his hand. "He's asking about how you feel."

The alphas strongly believe in love at first real sight—and first smell—and they believe that conversation before meeting can muddle one's instincts. So, Stephanie has been talking to Zachri about Rourke.

"Tell him I'm great. Excited. Can't wait." I want to hurl.

Rourke swallows and focuses on maintaining his steady breath. He hopes part of his sickness is the claustrophobia from living in this space toaster. Regardless of physical health, he'll feel better getting his feet on solid ground with a sky above him.

Stephanie finishes tapping on the screen and puts it away as they come on the pilot deck. There's a row of seats along the wall, and the attendant helps them both secure the straps over their shoulders and waist. The moon's docking station is up on the huge window monitor.

"Your new home..." Stephanie says with a little sigh, taking up his hand in both of hers. Rourke is grateful for the comfort.

What if the worst thing imaginable happens? What if I smell wrong and he rejects me?

Maybe not taking his pills wasn't such a smart thing...

The seats start shaking with turbulence and Rourke closes his eyes. He has to fight very hard for mental peace and the inner stability not to hurl.

What if my mother dies and this is all for nothing?

Stephanie hasn't let go of him. Which is good because Rourke could keel over at any moment. His insides are shaky and hollow, ready to spew out of his mouth. Stephanie takes his pallor and trembling for nerves and she's full of soothing words.

"He's going to love you, I just know it. Even if he doesn't—which would never happen—he won't be rude to you, you know. That's, like, unthinkable to them. They haven't handled omegas well in the past, with regards to free will and all..." She chuckles. "But they are reverent. I promise. You have nothing to worry about."

All he can manage is, "Yeah. Uh huh. Okay," while he's thinking about retching in the corner of their pristine cargo deck. But if he did that, they'd haul him back into the clinic. They'd declare him unhealthy and revoke the whole deal. He underwent several physical examinations and a genetic history evaluation just to qualify. Health is of the utmost importance for producing alien offspring.

So, he can't fuck this up. He has to keep it down and maintain a handle on it somehow.

The door makes a squeegee sound as it parts. The boarding bridge is a red carpeted hallway at a downward slant and another pair of doors waits at the end of that.

"You ready?"

Rourke nods.

"Poor thing. You'll laugh about this memory later, alright? Let's go meet your dream man!"

She starts off, but quickly discovers that Rourke's pace won't match hers. Fortunately, she's patient and doesn't let go. Rourke has to lean into her a bit too to stay standing, and she doesn't say anything. Good ol' Stephanie.

The downhill slope isn't helping. The hallway wobbles, but actually it's him swaying.

"Are you alright, sweetheart?" she asks, and Rourke rights himself quickly. He's so close to getting off this space toaster and starting a new life for his mother and him.

"What if he doesn't like me?" he whispers, to throw off her suspicions.

"He will, sweetie," she says, and frees one hand to brush the hair back from his forehead. But Rourke's stomach makes a dangerous lurch, and there's no pulling through now. His breakfast is coming up, immediately.

"Oh god."

He lets her go and runs for it, hitting the door fast, scanning the room for a toilet or a trashcan. He sees a smear of chairs and a big window with the shuttle visible outside. There's a few people standing next to him, but time has run out and Rourke hones in on the one useful object. A potted plant.

He's feels bad inside and out for more than physical reasons. But it's better than puking on Stephanie's nice high heels, or the glossy marble floor. Despite his misery, he's well aware that the building is nice.

"I'm sorry," he tells Stephanie, or whoever is listening.

"It's alright," he hears, but it's a man's voice, soft and smooth.

Oh no. This is a disaster.

He looks up before he can stop himself—and before he can wipe away a wet spot under his lips. But another lurch seizes him and he has his head in the plant before he can even begin to stammer out a second apology. Or whatever he's supposed to say to fix this.

Zachri touches his back. Rourke feels disgusting and ashamed, but there's nothing he can do about it.

When his stomach seems to be done, he just hangs over the mess, wishing he could disappear instead of face the man.

"What's wrong with him?" that smooth voice asks.

It's over. Rourke isn't in perfect physical health, not nearly. Love at first sight is certainly impossible now.

He drags himself out of the plant, but he can't bring himself to look at his alpha. He keeps his gaze fixed on his feet. Stephanie's high heels are clacking somewhere, and she arrives with a paper towel. The masculine hands take it from her and pass it over. Her water bottle arrives the same way. Zachri holds onto it for him until he's ready.

Rourke rinses his mouth and spits it into the plant. He figures he can't make it any worse. And he can't save this situation, so he just waits.

The alien alpha still has a hand on his back. And the other is cautiously touching his arm. He's standing entirely too close for someone who should worry about getting puked on. So, Rourke slowly brings his gaze up to the alpha's face.

His eyes are narrowed at Stephanie.

"You and your society are in charge of his care. You've had him for three months in your clinic, and you did not make him well?"

Stephanie clutches the tablet in front of her chest as if she wishes she could shrink behind it.

"Uh. Well... I... I think it's just nerves. He was very anxious about meeting you."

The alpha looks at him, and Rourke can't hold his gaze. Not even for a moment. His eyes are a lovely brown, but there seems to be subtle hint of inner golden light. As far as his body, alphas are exactly like humans, with wildly dyed hair. But looking in their eyes reveals them to be creature-ish and otherworldly. Not human at all.

His hands are perfect though. Big and neat, every nail trimmed.

Maybe he had a recent manicure.

That thought goes quiet as the alpha steps closer. One hand touches the back of his head. The other goes around his back as the alpha pulls him gently toward him. Rourke's cheek touches the smooth, silky fabric of his shirt, feeling his warmth and chest underneath.

Rourke's face is hot from blushing.

"Is that all?" the alpha asks Stephanie. "Should you not examine him again?"

"Well..."

The thought of walking back into the clinic fills Rourke with dread. He just knows that If he goes back, they're going to find something wrong. They're going to send him home, and the alpha won't want him anymore.

"I was just scared, I'm sorry," he says quickly and quietly. Somehow, he must fix this. But he doesn't see a way. So, he goes to his last resort, clutching the alpha's shirt carefully—he would never do anything uncarefully regarding these beings, which are above the law and rule over Earth as royalty.

"Please keep me," he pleads. Again, he can't meet his eyes. The alpha's expression is displeased. He settles for looking at his shirt collar instead. "I'm not sick. I won't puke again. Don't send me away. Please."

For a long time, he does nothing, which makes Rourke slowly let go of his shirt. But after a while, the alpha's arms become firmer around him. The alpha inclines his body forward a little. It takes a moment, but Rourke realizes he might be getting hugged.

"Your organization is responsible for his wellbeing," the alpha says over him to Stephanie, and his tone is not nice. "Either your procedures were insufficient or you—personally—have failed."

"I... I mean, we—"

"Your excuse is inconsequential. A review will be made."

Rourke can hear her gulp from here. He feels bad for her, but the important thing is that he might not be out of the running yet. He subtly wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, just in case there's any gross flecks.

This has to be alright. First sight, first smell... God, he's bombed them both.

He tries again to meet the alpha's eyes. He's tall, the top of Rourke's head only meeting his chin. Rourke lasts a whole two seconds before he drops his gaze.

"Shall we go?"

"Yeah." Rourke can't talk too loudly either. It feels wrong to do so. "Uh, I just have to wait for my things."

He has a small suitcase of personal items that someone was supposed to bring off the ship for him. The alpha stares at Stephanie again, and she snaps into action in an instant, running as fast as she can in her heels toward the sign that reads Baggage Claim.

"There is a courtyard that's open to the sky," says the alpha, stepping away from Rourke and taking his hand. "Let's go there. Restrooms are on the way."

Zachri walks straight and regal. He's taller and broader than the humans, who are mostly security guards. They pass a janitor pushing a cart and Rourke feels bad, knowing it's because of him.

Zachri doesn't walk quickly, but he also doesn't slow down or falter in pace. Rourke has to push himself to keep up. The restroom is a thankful pit stop.

"Do you prefer if I wait or follow?" he asks. He's exactly like Rourke expected an alpha to be. Aloof. Perfect too, as in above everything. Humans like to sneer about alpha superiority, but never to their face.

They're ruthless.

But Rourke didn't sell himself for fancy dinners and roses. He knows that he's chattel and only necessary for babies.

"Wait, please. I'll only be a minute."

And in his head, he counts the literal seconds. He washes his face and brushes his teeth with his finger. He'd shank a guy for a stick of gum right now. He can't be disgusting, he has to pass this first impression thing.

Squaring up his shoulders with twenty seconds to spare, Rourke puts together everything he knows about alphas. They like omegas to seem meek and vulnerable but also healthy and capable of bearing children.

He needs to be a damsel in distress, essentially, and not barf anymore. Simple.

"Ready," he says when he returns to Zachri. By the man's calm expression, Rourke expects him to pronounce his 'grade' at any moment and give his decision to Stephanie.

Take this one back. He's unfit.

But he presents his crooked elbow, and Rourke slips his hand into it. Then it's back to walking down an escalator. Stepping on in sync with him is the greatest test to Rourke's reaction timing he's experienced in a while. He tries to hold back his emotions too, and be serious and calm.

Zachri's other hand covers his.

"How was your trip?"

"Um..." Rourke winces internally. He doesn't want to seem slow or imperfect. "It was very pleasantl."

He seems to frown, but it's hard to tell.

"It took a long time."

"I'm sorry."

Now he's definitely frowning.

"I wasn't scolding you."

Oh.

Rourke swallows, not sure what to say.

He is good looking, at least.

His hair is baby blue and matches nicely with his dark grey suit. He's wearing human attire, which alphas often do nowadays, but there are little embellishments of his culture. Such as the toggle buttons up to the collar and some subtle embroidery in dark thread around his shoulders.

His hair lays perfectly, no flyaways or frizzies or anything. And it's shimmery.

Will I get to touch it?...Maybe not.

He expects that baby making will be as romantic as bringing a stallion and mare together.

Those topaz eyes suddenly slant towards him and Rourke properly ducks his head. Just in time to see the ground arriving and step off the escalator with him.

"Am I what you expected?" he asks.

"Uh, yeah." Damn it. He did it again.

"Really?"

"Yes. Your hair is... blue." Rourke's mind is panicking as he hears his own words. "I mean that... I like it. Um..."

Mayday! Mayday! Think of something, asshole!

"I'm sorry. I wouldn't be so loopy if I wasn't sick. I mean, I'm not sick. I'm nervous. I'm..."

Zachri chuckles. But it's not happy chuckles, like from a normal person. It's deliberate and polite, though the subtle quirk on his lips seems genuine.

"Humans have odd reactions to meeting us. Omegas especially, since we don't train you first. Do not worry." He pats Rourke's hand on his arm.

Rourke doesn't know what to make of that except that the alpha must think of him like a pet. Which he kind of is, so it's fine.

They leave through two sliding glass doors and into a garden area, and Rourke nearly forgets about the alpha as his eyes first take in the sky.

"Oh, wow." He cranes his neck back and turns a little bit. As much as Zachri's hold will allow. He's seen a lot of space on the shuttle, of course, but he was always in that little box with its low ceilings and narrow halls. This is the first time he's been outside in three months. Anywhere would be amazing. And this sky has more stars than he's ever seen in his whole life put together. Even better, there's a huge blue and white crescent in the sky.

"It's magnificent," he says under his breath, and Zachri chuckles again.

"We agree."

The implication dampens Rourke's spirit a little bit. The alphas consider Earth to be their property, even though they don't belong to it. And Rourke has only fueled that belief by selling himself. His city holds deep resentment for the alien invaders, and Rourke has betrayed the people he used to be a part of.

Cory hasn't sent him one message since he left.

But it is beautiful.

"Wait... are we? We're in the open air?! Or is that... glass?"

"Most places will be covered with unbreakable domes. Since this is a temporary home, we don't invest a lot of energy here."

This statement is laughable, given the whole damn kingdom they've built here.

"But this airport and a few public parks are an exception. There's an energy forcefield that dispels light and holds in oxygen. And occasionally we'll generate atmosphere for a little rain. It's nothing like what you have on Earth, but we play storm noises on speakers throughout the park—the main park, not here—and there's a little convincing mist. The people love it, it's a big event."

"Huh." It seems funny that a pretend storm would be entertainment. The sky is incredible.

"Do you want to sit with me?"

Zachri nods towards a bench. It's under an oak tree that looks to be thriving but also out of place under the space sky. The path is mostly white silt, but there's dark soil around the tree's base.

"Yes!" That came out a little too eager. "Uh, yes. I would."

"Good. I am glad." But Zachri's smile does not look as natural on his features as the little quirk of his lips. Rourke is guessing that he's mostly serious in nature.

The simple wooden bench seems unaware that's in a space city, the only one of its kind. It's normal and innocuous. They sit, and the nervous pit in Rourke's stomach grows. He got excited over the space garden. This is the first time he's enjoyed being off Earth. The shuttle views were awesome before he got sick, but he was mostly worried for his mother and distracted by assuring himself that this was a good plan.

Then he got sick. Evidenced by a poor potted plant and a beleaguered janitor.

The view of Earth is amazing, but now the good times are over. The alpha lets go of his hand as he sits and Rourke notices that his fingers are pulling at the material of his pant leg over his knee. He's bracing himself. About to deliver some bad news.

Rourke holds the edge of the bench and looks at the sky. The blue crescent is gorgeous and huge in the sky, but such an exotic view wasn't really meant for him anyway.

Maybe someone else will take me.

But he can't count on it. When he gets rejected, the Omega Society is going to know he can't go through the transformation.

Rourke is appreciating the open sky with no white ceiling low overhead when the alpha speaks.

"I am sorry."

"It's alright," Rourke says automatically.

"I do not think you know what you're agreeing to."

This makes Rourke look at him again. The alpha's hands are in fists atop his knees now. His eyes are narrowed, looking at the ground, and his lips are set in a frown.

"I have taken the suppressants. And when you were scheduled for landing, I became anxious, so I took some more. And again when I was waiting for you to appear. I've had at least twice the normal dose, but it is not working."

"What do you mean? What suppressant?"

"It is like the one you take to control your urges, but ours is much stronger."

"Oh." Rourke recalls the pamphlet he read about his medication. "But that doesn't make any sense. Why would you need to take birth control? Unless... it lowers your sperm count?"

"No, Rourke, the suppressant isn't birth control. It controls instinct and emotion. We invented it so that we could have free will. So that your kind would not be 'raped' when you came to us."

He says these words like they're syllables he's practiced, like they don't mean anything.

"But mine are not working. I must call for the girl to come collect you."

"Wait!" Rourke can't work out if he's being rejected or not, but if the pills are the problem, he might have a lifeline. "I have some extra. Here, see?" He pulls the two pills from his pocket. "Please don't send me away. I really want this to work out."

The alpha is slow in taking the pills from his hand. "Why would they give you extra?"

Yes, why? Rourke can't think of how to answer that question. He stalls for time, scratching the back of his neck. "Ummm..."

The alpha chucks them both into his mouth and swallows. Water is apparently unnecessary.

"It does not matter. They will not work." He reaches into his inside pocket for his cell phone.

"No, wait." Rourke takes over Zachri's hand before he can stop himself. He would never dream of touching an alpha without permission, not in a million years. But he's pulling Zachri away from his phone, and he talks fast. "Why do you need the suppressants? Just be without them. Tell me what happens."

"I will 'rape' you."

"O-okay..." Rourke lets go. That sounds like a pretty good reason to get Stephanie in here now. But sex is what he came here for, right? "Well, where would you do it? Here?"

"Yes. At first. Then I will take you home."

"Um... Who else is out here?" He did notice that everyone in the shuttle port was an employee. But it doesn't seem like the shuttle port gets much traffic. There's only one docking station.

"It's just us and the staff, but they will not bother us. The garden is specifically for acquainting new omegas with the moon."

Ah. That explains all the normal stuff.

"I'm sorry. I must call the girl immediately."

Rourke needs more time to think about this, but it simply isn't allowed. The alpha has his phone. He only pushes the button once and puts it to his ear.

"I would be okay with it," he says quickly. "As long as no one sees us. And as long as it isn't... you know... violent or anything."

And as long as I don't throw up again. His stomach has started trembling, but hopefully that really is nerves this time.

Zachri stares at him. He pushes a red button on his phone screen, just as Rourke faintly hears Stephanie's voice. He lowers his hand and the phone simply drops from his grip. Forgotten. While his eyes are affixed to Rourke with intensity.

"Um..."

Rourke holds onto the bench edge very tight. He forces himself to breathe as the alpha leans in very close.

Then a bunch of rambled words tumble out, as he's afraid he might be kissed. Or smelled.

"You probably shouldn't right now because I just threw up and I'll taste really bad, but Stephanie has my bag, and I could go brush my teeth really quick, and get... get ready and—"

He's very close now and not stopping. Speaking of smells, Zachri's breath has a hint of mint.

He presses their mouths together. Rourke adjusts his head to accommodate him, but he doesn't dare part his lips to let him in. That would be gross.

It doesn't matter anyway, because Zachri grabs the back of his head and kisses him regardless. Then his lips are on Rourke's jaw, on his throat, and his teeth nip near Rourke's clavicle. His heart races like scared rabbit. His head feels heavy and floaty all at once.

He's not sick anymore. He makes a little noise of want and surprise.

He's never done anything like this before. He should be worried about being out in the open, but when Zachri's touch gets under his shirt, he wants to lose all his clothes immediately.

He's forgotten about alphas being dangerous and alien. Rourke has never felt more powerful, or as sensitive. He crawls into the alphas lap immediately, though the bench is hard on his knees. He straddles Zachri's lap and presses into him, his fingers diving immediately for his hair.

Gorgeous, blue, and exotic and oh so fine. Rourke takes big handfuls of it, messing it up on purpose. He doesn't want to pull or hurt, but he holds the strands to his face to feel them on his cheek.

Zachri's eyes are startling. They're definitely glowing now, and they bring Rourke back to himself, down from his high. He's panting on the alpha's breath, having forgot all about hygiene. Zachri has his hands up his shirt and feeling up his back. Rourke curls his spine as his nails drag down.

I'm doing this.

Everything is according to plan. Alphas, babies, his mother—it's all happening. But it's not the great burden and self-sacrifice he thought it would be. Rourke can't wait to bend over for him.

A woman's voice kills everything.

"Hey! What are you doing to him?!"

"Rourke, get away from him now!"

Stephanie stands before the closing glass doors, his suitcase at her feet. She has her phone in one hand, and she points at them with the other.

"He has not consented—"

"He has," Zachri says, in usual calm voice. But his eyes are still bright, and he doesn't look happy at all.

"Consent can't be given for a minimum of eight months!" She holds up the phone, and their image is on the screen, the camera recording button lit up. "Alpha Zachri, you are in violation of Omega Society laws! You will release him from bondage immediately!"

Bondage? The word seems strange. Rourke isn't tied up or anything.

"He consented before bondage. Leave, human, I won't tell you twice." He kisses Rourke again, his mouth possessive. His hands under Rourke's shirt travel into his jeans and grip his ass. Rourke should be ashamed of doing this in front of Stephanie. He should get off this man's lap, at least!

But he wants the alpha's hands all over him, and he forgets that Stephanie is there. He forgets about the space sky overhead, or the fact that he and alpha are strangers. He wants to cuddle with him. And get naked for him. And most importantly, he wants to smell his hair. So, he does, quite lavishly, burying his nose in it and nuzzling his neck.

Stephanie's voice is annoying.

"Rourke, you have to plug your nose and hold your breath. Just trust me on this one, alright, he's messing with you."

Her footsteps crunch lightly on the silt path.

Rourke makes a little crooning sound. He understands what she's saying, but she's wrong. He wanted this from Earth, he just didn't know how enjoyable it was going to be.

As for telling her, well...

It doesn't seem like something he should bother with. The alphas are the rulers of Earth. Zachri has the authority.

"No closer, girl. Unless you wish to test me."

His voice is loud for her, but his eyes are only for Rourke. And Rourke finds that it isn't so difficult to meet them after all. His whole face is easier to stare at, and Rourke runs his hands over the sides of his temple and down to his jaw. It's a weird thing to do, but Rourke is curious and too lost to care. He puts his nose near the alpha's lips and sniffs.

Mint. Sweetness.

Candy...

His kiss is deflected, however, and the alpha moves Rourke off his lap and onto the bench space next to him. Rourke whines because it's hard and unwelcoming here. He wants Zachri.

But the alpha stands to address Stephanie.

"What did I tell you? Do you think you can keep ignoring my warnings, girl?!"

They aren't far apart. Rourke might be a little short compared to Zachri, but the alpha positively towers over the girl, outmatching her in every aspect. Her outstretched hand wobbles, the alpha's angry snarl mirrored on her phone screen.

"I'm in charge of him," she squeaks, hunching her shoulders, bringing the phone in front of her face as if to hide behind the small device. But she's not running, and Rourke thinks she should be. "Consent has to be addressed to me, and only after eight months. That's the law."

"I am your king."

King is the English word alphas first taught humans to address them as. It fits well, but the singularity of the title never occurred to them. Every single alpha is 'king' to the humans.

Rourke clutches his forehead. What is wrong with me? Was he just straddling this guy? An alpha that could technically blast him to smithereens with energy that he emits from his hands?

I was just... Oh god! I messed up his HAIR!

The silky strands seem inclined to go back into perfect place, but the evidence is there.

She's right. He did do something to me.

Rourke covers his nose and holds his breathe like she said. But he wishes he could help Stephanie, and he doesn't know what to do.

"Y-you are the king. But Rourke is an omega. I... I am sworn to protect him from you by both Earth laws and—"

He tosses his head back and laughs. It's real laughter this time, his voice a lot deeper with it.

"You think my kind is held to our laws? Laws are human things we made to make you feel safer."

He raises a hand to her and her clothes ruffle as if the wind is blowing. But the air is still around Rourke.

Rourke tries to remember when he first scented the mint, which must be the source of this feeling. It was after he gave Zachri the go ahead, wasn't it? Or was it before...?

He's not sure. But it doesn't change the plans he made ages ago, before the auction. He covers his nose with his shirt, so that hopefully Stephanie will believe him, and comes to stand next to Zachri. Out of arm's reach, because he definitely doesn't want to get in his way right now.

Maybe the lust effect hasn't worn off. Rourke's skin tingles just thinking about those hands touching him again.

"Stephanie," he says, his voice muffled by the shirt, "I told him it was okay. I know I'm supposed to tell you, but it was kind of sudden..."

Behind her glasses, her brows lower. Instead of placating her, Rourke seems to have reinforced her resolve.

"It was sudden because he's using you. Alpha Zachri! As an Omega Society member, I am temporarily taking custody of your omega! I am acting in regard to his own safety because you have broken our laws—both yours and Earth's!"

She takes one step toward Rourke, her hand outstretched presumably to grab him. But instead she goes flying back several feet landing on the path, thudding painfully.

"Stephanie!" Rourke rushes for her, but finds himself trapped. He forgot to keep his face covered, and the sweet smell of mint is in his nose again as the alpha cradles his head to his chest. Zachri's clothes are soft. Rourke flushes, all the goose bumps coming alive on his arms again.

He trembles with fear, not pleasure, though. What will Zachri do if he tries to help? Or if he says no?

He must be silent. Alphas are deadly, and his mom is counting on him, but he wishes he could help her.

Stephanie is only just getting her breath back. Rourke looks down, and the silt path is awfully narrow under their feet. The top of the oak tree is now visible to him, and Stephanie is far below him, moaning with pain as she gets to her feet.

We've levitated.

Rourke clutches tighter to the alpha, but he doesn't feel like he's dangling in the air. It's no different than being on the ground except he can't feel it under his shoes.

"Your Society is the only reason I put up with you, girl. But you will leave now, and I will have Rourke alone."

She pushes her glasses up her nose. That expression means that she hasn't quit. As far as alphas go, Zachri has shown saintly patience. The next blast won't be so kind. Rourke knows from school that they can snap each individual bone in your body. Or just slam you really hard against the ground, effectively killing a human the same way you'd squash a bug.

Rourke has value to him though. While his heart is slamming against his rib cage and his toes wiggle to find the ground, Rourke presses his lips to the alpha's chin. It's all he can reach without being able to rise on his toes.

It works. Those bright eyes fix on him. But Rourke can't look him in the face anymore.

"Please ignore her. She's just doing her job. Don't hurt her because of me."

Zachri's knuckles touch his cheek. His anger softens, but his brow remains creased. "Did I make you afraid of me?"

Rourke gives him the answer he seems to seek. "N-no."

The sound of many boots on the ground pulls Zachri's attention.

"Ah, hell..." he curses, and a bright light bursts next to them, a slight breeze gusting over them as if the air was a curtain pulled open.

Portals cross time, dimension, and defy all logic. It's how the alphas got their spaceship to Earth, and it's why the beings were called gods and angels when they first appeared. But it's supposedly not magic, and the alphas despise when it's called that.

The breeze is flowing into the portal, Rourke going with it. But the boots belong to many soldiers in black armor, their faces obscured by helmets. They run in front of Stephanie and take a knee, their rifles coming up.

Several pops emit from their guns and Rourke makes a small cry, hiding his face in the alpha's suit. For what little good that would do.

It turns out not to matter because Zachri turns to take all the bullets into his back. Except they aren't bullets. Rourke's fingers touch blood, and he looks around the alpha in horror, unable to believe what they've done. Only to see several syringes sticking out of his back.

"Alpha! Lower him to the ground or you risk your omega's safety!" calls one of the soldiers.

"A fall like that will shatter his bones!" yells another.

"He'll break his neck or attain paralyzing injury!"

Zachri cusses, first in English, then another language. Like a great wind pushing against them, a force seems to be pulling them into the portal. But the solidness disappears under Rourke's feet. He screams, clutching Zachri for real, to stay in the air.

The alpha's teeth bare in an expression of pure malice directed at the soldiers. But the portal disappears, and gradually the ground gets closer. Rourke doesn't let him go, terrified of slipping away.

"Ugh... This should not have happened," the alpha says under his breath. Then they're on the ground and four soldiers shoulder their rifles to run at them.

"Rourke..." The alpha tries to hold onto him. Rourke doesn't resist, not sure what to do in this situation. Everything has gone crazy. Two soldiers grab Zachri's arms and physically pry his fingers out of Rourke's clothing. The other two seize Rourke and pull. Thus, he and the alpha are separated, and he can't keep his feet under him as he's carried away.

"Oh my god, let me through!" Stephanie squeals in frustration, then appears in front of him, throwing her arms around him. "I'm so sorry I lost track of you! I should have never left you alone during the first meeting!" She's crying openly.

Though she cares about him, Rourke can't stop looking back, to where the alpha kneels, with so many guns still pointed at him. Despite all that's happened, he's hungry for that sweet scent again. He wants to go to him and check on how he's doing at least.

"What's... happened?" he asks slowly.

Stephanie lifts her tablet, which she had in her jacket coat. The screen is tinted red and there's the words, Wait safely until help arrives. Do not speak, yell, or scream.

"Panic button," she says. She swipes across the screen and her fingers put in a complicated code. "Sorry I took so long to hit it. I just knew he was a nice guy, you know? We've been talking about you for a long time... I thought I could get through to him."

"A nice guy?" Urges or no, Rourke doesn't think anything Zachri did was nice. He made a mistake getting into this. He carefully read everything he could on alphas, and the websites said that alphas don't harm their omegas—anymore—but it doesn't seem like Zachri is the good type.

"Yeah. It's hormones gone crazy." She shakes her head, then winces and touches the back of her neck. "Ow. I need to see a doctor. And you probably need to be detoxed. Come on. Back to the shuttle. Crap, I'm gonna have so much paperwork..."

Rourke looks back as long as he can with Stephanie yanking him forward. The glint of Zachri's eyes meeting his is like an animal, and he looks demonic with his teeth bared at the soldiers approaching him. Rourke hunches his shoulders and hurries with her.

He did this for his mother, but he shouldn't have. No wonder they showed pictures of cute little babies and happy human men on the website. It's advertising for gullible victims. He wouldn't be surprised if all the information he read was planted.

If it's true, then Zachri himself is violent and terrible.

Rourke lays sideways in bed, facing the wall. He's back on the space toaster. They had him in the clinic at first, but since they can't find anything wrong with him, they sent him to his room.

It's all backwards. Stephanie, who was actually hurt, had to wait until after the doctor was finished examining him. Rourke tried to protest, but that quickly got shut down.

He is glad to be in his room so soon anyway. He's jacked off twice and will likely be going for a third round soon. His goose bumps always come back, and then he can't help it. He puts the blanket over himself, squirming in the bed, feeling the sheets over his skin.

The effect that Zachri had on him hasn't quit. The doctor gave him a whole bottle of suppressant pills and told him to disregard the label and swallow them as needed.

Rourke broke the seal and flushed four, so they wouldn't be suspicious. He doesn't have eight months to wait to give consent, and then several more after to get pregnant. His mother doesn't get the money until he conceives.

He assumes his sensitivity is a good sign that he might be going into heat. He just wishes he hadn't blown it with his first alpha. He has the binder open over his legs, reading the damn profiles already. His phone lies next to him with his Omega Society account up. All but one of his bids are still active.

The others just aren't... ideal.

The pink-haired dude looks like he could bench press Rourke's weight. His neck is thick and bulky. The yellow-haired dude looks like he got a cheap dye job. He didn't—all the bright hair colors are natural to alphas. But the thought of having his kids makes Rourke cringe.

Purple-haired dude looks like a schmoozer. And his likes are 'social gatherings'.

Rourke constantly has Zachri's profile marked with his thumb, and he keeps flipping back to it. Rourke never read his profile before. It was unnecessary since Rourke was only in it for the money. But there's a lot there that he likes.

Not so bulky or loud-seeming. He's well built, but on the slimmer side. In a suit, he looks like candy dressed as a man. His personal likes include human history research, which Rourke imagines is boring as hell, but he seems bookish and quiet. There's a picture of him in an arm chair, his legs crossed, and a grey tabby in his lap. Under requirements, it says, 'No pet allergies.'

Rourke likes cats.

He sighs and flips to the green haired-dude. His hair is short and sticks straight up. Rourke can almost envision turning him over to highlight something with his head. He's dressed in cargo shorts and a t-shirt, but his smile is genuine and friendly. He likes human cars, and the machine he's leaning on is very sexy indeed.

He'd prefer the quieter type though. Someone simple who doesn't bug him so much. He sighs and closes the binder. The sensitivity is coming on again. His skin gives a shudder as Rourke lays against his pillow, rubbing against it a little.

But before he reaches for his waistband, there's a ping on his phone.

How are you doing, sweetie?

Alphas have perfected texting algorithms so that almost everything ends up with perfect grammar.

He starts with Fine. That's every answer he's given his mom when she's asked for the last ten years. But Stephanie is his friend, and the only one out here in space. He erases it and amends, Worried. Are you okay?

I'm great! No worries, hon :)

That's a relief. Rourke starts typing and deleting, trying to work out what sort of apology to make. Nothing feels sincere enough on the phone, especially given that he still isn't taking his medicine. This is going to happen again. But he'll make sure Stephanie isn't around next time.

Before he's hit submit, the phone dings again.

What are you doing?

Looking over profiles, he responds.

Picking another one? You seemed pretty sure about Zachri all this time...

Then, on another line: OH MY GOD, did he pull his bid???

Rourke refreshes the website just to make sure. For some reason she's faster than him.

No. It's still there. So why?

That part should be obvious.

I puked in a plant. And got you in a car wreck.

She responds, :P This definitely goes down as the worst ever 1st meeting. Congrats, Rourke. Another record! XD

On another line: But don't give up on him. We'll talk about it, alright?

So he doesn't keep Stephanie hanging, he types, Yeah and hits the send button. Then he discards the phone in the little drawer that opens out from the wall.

Rourke doesn't see any salvageable aspect. He's not sure that he should give the meeting another chance after Zachri harmed Stephanie. He might have killed her!

He doesn't know if doing this was such a smart idea in the first place. He could end up with an abuser that could literally toss him into walls...

He misses home and his mom.

They're at a park. It's daylight, but the sky is pitch black and the stars aren't visible. Stephanie explained that other garden had a special forcefield to deflect light. The sky is always black on the moon, except for the Earth which is huge and beautiful. It's weird to look up to a pitch black sky and have everything be sunny and bright around you.

The park is dome covered and full of grass and trees. If he keeps his eyes off the horizon, Rourke can almost believe he's back home again. Except the air is perfectly still. To the point that it's kind of annoying.

He never realized one of the great things he's taken for granted was Earth's breeze, no matter how slight.

The park is full of people; human and alpha both. Stephanie decided that it would be healthy for him to see alphas and omegas behaving peacefully. And they are. Rourke always imagined that the humans were kept in towers like he learned in school, but here they mingle like regular people. Far off, there's a playground, and little rainbow-colored heads are bobbing around, climbing slides and a swing set.

Rourke wishes they were seated closer to that area, so he could see the kids. Where they're at is away from the paths and close interaction with the people. Stephanie had the guards drag a picnic table out here. Once again, it's wooden and ordinary, as most things are in the park. Rourke thought moon furnishings would be more exotic.

No one is to disturb them, and guards are posted all around to redirect traffic if someone wants to share the shade.

Stephanie is wearing a neck brace. She insists she's fine and the get up is really just to make Zachri feel worse, but Rourke suspects she's lying so he'll stop apologizing.

One thing about a guy with bright blue hair—Rourke can spot him a mile off, carrying a bouquet of white roses. Wearing another gray suit and lightly tinted shades. He tucks them in his jacket pocket as he arrives.

"Hello, Rourke." He smiles, perfectly civilized and friendly, but Rourke wishes he would have left the shades on. His eyes are so strange.

A moment later, his attention is all for Stephanie.

"These are for you. I'm so, so sorry..."

He passes over the roses, which Rourke finds a little disappointing. But he should have expected it, he supposes. Everything bad happened the other day.

"I would have brought you a gift as well, Rourke," he says, sitting down across from him and Stephanie. "But after my behavior, I couldn't think of anything that would be suitable. I have completely ruined the opportunity for trust in me. So, I must earn that back. Then I will shower you with gifts appropriately."

He clasps his hands on the table like this is a business deal.

It kind of is. Rourke can breathe a little easier.

"How is your health?"

"Good," Rourke answers.

"Be more specific, please."

Though the request is demanding, his tone isn't. Still, Rourke can tell that he expects to be answered.

"Um, I... I haven't puked since you met me."

By Zachri's silence, Rourke assumes that he wants more.

"I feel fine. A little tired maybe. But very good."

Does he know about the lust? Rourke supposes that he must. The effect did wear off, but he can feel the ghost of it just by looking at Zachri's hands. They fidget, then rub together. Zachri puts them under the table.

"I am glad then. Stephanie has told me that you might reject my bid, and I hope that you don't do that. I would like to convince you to give me two weeks to prove myself to you."

He smiles, but it seems stressed. Rourke is about to respond, Yeah, okay. He doesn't want to reject the bid anyway. The other bidders haven't become more appealing. But Zachri continues to speak.

"However... It seems my dose is still insufficient. Stephanie, please inform your guardians that I'm affected by Rourke. I don't think I will be overwhelmed. But it is best to be safe."

"Christ, Rourke. You must really have the hots for the guy, huh?"

Rourke gives her a look of embarrassment and horror. Stephanie winks, reaches into her pocket, and pulls out the pill bottle. She gives it a little shake for him to take it.

"Pop a couple. Cut the guy some slack."

Zachri chuckles politely. The dangerous, uncontrollable villain Rourke made of him doesn't fit with his gentle voice and present demeanor.

"You can have two weeks. Longer, if you want," Rourke mumbles and rolling two pills into his palm.

Zachri's grin is instantly big. He masks his enthusiasm soon enough, but Rourke can tell that he's made the alpha happy. He must really want me.

That's good.

"We're moving you into Society headquarters," Stephanie says as Rourke mimes taking the pills. "I hope you don't mind, Rourke. I asked them to bring your stuff during this meeting. I know how much you hate the 'space toaster'."

Rourke takes a sip from her water bottle as she giggles.

"You two will have public, supervised visits until the medicine takes control. The board is still reviewing the incident, but likely they will allow you to continue to date so long as you maintain civility for a set period. They probably won't allow touching for two weeks."

When neither of them say anything, Stephanie looks between them. The alpha's grin has disappeared, and the man hasn't stopped staring at him. Rourke is afraid to meet his eyes. He has the feeling he's been caught.

Awkwardly, Stephanie continues, "There is a small chance they'll block the bid. Rourke, a statement from you about your preference for Zachri and how you felt while the incident occurred would be helpful."

He definitely saw. Though Rourke has been fooling Stephanie and the doctor for months. The alpha's expression is blank but intense, his eyes never moving from Rourke for a second.

"Hello? You guys?" Stephanie waves a hand between them. She addresses Zachri. "Is this code red? Should I ask them to shoot you?"

That gets his attention and Zachri blinks several times, checking over his shoulder where the guards stand.

"No... No, it'll be alright. I think... Rourke and I very eager for this mating. Would you agree?" he asks, looking at Rourke directly.

"Yes." Somehow, Rourke meets his eyes when he answers. And he doesn't whisper. The goose bumps are waking up on his skin, and he's finding his nervousness taking a backseat to something else.

Alphas look different when he feels like this. Technically Rourke knows he could throw him into a wall and he's basically ruler of the Earth and everything, but he isn't intimidating. Anymore.

Rourke is sitting up straighter, leveling his gaze on Zachri directly.

The alpha shifts his eyes to Stephanie. "You will be impressed with me leaving of my own determination. You will recommend the board let us move in together immediately."

"He's not ready, he hasn't even—"

"You will recommend it. He and I are 'soulmates'. Wouldn't you agree, Rourke?"

Rourke nods immediately.

"You barely know each other's names!"

Zachri stands from the picnic table. "You will recommend it. Rourke—if you want this, make sure she follows through."

As he leaves, Stephanie gapes after him.

"You've barely known each other for two minutes."

"But he's right, Stephanie. I feel a connection with him."

Not as soulmates though. It was funny how Zachri said it, like he was parroting a sound and not a word. Alpha culture doesn't seem to support the idea of soulmates, and that's fine by Rourke.

What he has with Zachri is better called 'a purpose' than a feeling. Rourke is fine with that.

"That guy definitely wants to get with you."

Rourke watches him walk away.

"Christ. You want it too, don't you?" She sighs and shakes her head. "You and blue guys, huh?"

"Yes, please," he says to make her smile. I don't have a lot of time.

The End

Next Episode >>

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Author Bio

Eileen Glass lives amongst the sounds of sirens, car stereos, and the yowling of stray cats. She commands two minions of destruction, slobbery beasts that eat power cords and wall plaster. While she enjoys cafes and urban life, she's known to be a bit of a hermit, shutting herself away on weekends to write and being bad at noticing her phone. She likes m/m romance with sweet, protective heroes and paranormal creatures.

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Also by Eileen Glass

Chapter 1

Skye hooks his thumbs in his backpack's straps. At least he got through the summer in an air conditioned apartment before reality kicked him back to the road. That was nice. If he times it right, maybe he can hide out for the winter too. Fall and spring aren't so bad for hitchhiking.

A big truck passes, roaring, kicking up a whirlwind. Skye drifts further off the road, into the dirt and weeds. A little later toward the evening he'll stick his thumb out, and likely one of those truckers will stop for him. Skinny boys like him get rides pretty easy. They don't find out until the end that Skye isn't their kind of pleasure. Too many teeth.

He smirks, remembering such a run in. But not for long. In his mind, the trucker transforms into an alpha, and suddenly the tables have turned.

No human could ever rape him unless he was mightily drugged first. Not so for the assortment of rogue wolves on his tail.

Each new home holds new acquaintances and friendships, and for awhile, safety. The chance to live like a stranger with a normal life. He really liked this place, but he's already stayed about six weeks too long. That's when the wolf attacks started showing up on the news.

He's sorry about that. As an omega, violence doesn't come naturally to him the way it seems to do for the others of his kind.

The unranked aren't too bad. They're typical, generally easygoing. All want to impress the alpha, of course, but that's just normal for wolves.

Betas are pretty bad, the second in command, always sucking up while looking for an opportunity to take the lead.

But alphas? They're ruthless. Just thinking about it creates a painful pulse in his chest, makes a tightness like tears form around his eyes.

His mother was the alpha female of their pack. She went through three males, each more vicious than the last. He can't remember much about the first, his father, except that he missed him when he was killed and replaced. It doesn't matter. Likely, his father would have abhorred and exiled him just the same.

Omegas are a sin. Irresistible yet always male, meaning they're a genetic dead end. There's nothing his people revere more than their pups, few as they are, so nobody wants an omega in their pack. He's useless, except for rutting.

It's not his fault. He can't exactly change the way he smells. Hiding out in the city worked for awhile, keeping the other wolves at bay, but it was only a matter of time before they became impatient. Once they realized he wasn't leaving, they started creeping in. And sure enough, mangled, half-eaten pets began showing up on the news, along with the occasional midnight mauling.

Blood thirsty, violent, wild. Alphas just can't help themselves.

The actual sky, the blue for which he's named thanks to his eyes, is vast and cloudless in all directions. No place to hide.

Eventually, they're gonna catch him.

Skye looks back at the interstate, all the cars flying at him.

It was nice to walk for awhile, but it's time to find a new place. Maybe the place for once, if the rogues decide he isn't worth it.

They'll know which way to look.

He's thinking he should stick his thumb out now, best to get up the road, get a few towns between him and the mutts gunning for him...while a sight as terrible and inescapable as the grim reaper rides up over the crest of the hill.

Not that one, he thinks, but he knows it is. The one who found him in the first place, who went right into the heart of the city and staked out where he worked downtown. The one that got too close. He rides a big black motorcycle, a cruiser, wears a leather coat and sunglasses. Skye remembers how his body bulges with muscles that could break him in half.

There's nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. He can't shift and run in broad daylight, not with this traffic. Some small hope sparks when the bike rides on past him, but of course, that's stupid, it's already showing brake lights, already slowing down, and it pulls off the side, kicking up a cloud of dust and gravel.

He comes to a stop, boots landing down to steady the machine.

He stares at Skye hard in the review mirror, eyes hiding behind sunglasses. His hair is just long enough to reach the tie at the base of his neck, several dark strands loose and wild from the wind.

He'll smile any second now. Smug prick.

I got you, say the eyes behind the sunglasses. Skye can sense the words even if the distance prevents them from speaking just yet.

The dust settles.

The alpha doesn't smile, doesn't speak, doesn't change expression really, his face worn in a permanent frown. Doesn't take his eyes off Skye either. The wind pushes lightly at Skye's back, and though his nostrils don't flare and he doesn't tilt his head back, the way alphas do when they sense a bitch in heat, he has to smell it. It's been getting worse lately. All the alphas coming around probably have something to do with it.

Though Skye has a fully functional human mind, his biology is built for a creature far more primitive and cutthroat.

His legs want to run. And boy, can they. He could be across the field and out of sight in about fifteen seconds, and that's saying something in this treeless landscape.

God, what a mistake it was to pay his rent instead of getting a bus ticket. Stupid, stupid move, a decision made by his soft heart. Ruth, his generous old landlady, relies on social security and his rent check each month, so he couldn't leave her in a lurch like that, especially when she took a chance on him with no references, no credit, no nothing except a job and a promise.

Idiot. Self preservation should have taken priority. He should have bought the bus ticket.

Unbidden, a thought comes.

He'd just follow the bus.

The alpha shuts off the machine and sits there, watching while Skye stands still and thinks.

His silent gaze seems to say, Well what's it gonna be?

The alpha's hands leave the throttle and clutch to fish some chew out of his jacket. Disgusting habit.

Though he seems relaxed and patient, waiting him out, Skye knows an alpha doesn't put up with much, and he's pushing it already. There really was never a choice to run to begin with. He should have known the second this alpha showed up at his work that he was done.

The constant moving was wearing on him, and he'd met good people this time around. He'd wanted so badly to stay. He blew it.

A dragging step carries him forward. There's no choice. The alpha knows it, that's why he hasn't bothered to even give the order. It's a done deal. The only question is whether Skye will refuse. The alpha might want him to run just for the sport.

Small, shuffling steps carry him forward unwillingly. He's a chained dog and that blank gaze reels him in link by link. Better to show obedience and wait for escape than to get a vicious beating for being stupid. Skye can't fight, and he can't run fast enough. So forward is the only way.

Thoughts fly by faster than the cars, asking if he's nice, asking if he drinks, if he'll have a pack, what they'll think of him.

He knows the answer to all of that, and none of it means anything good. Humans have it so easy, their minds completely obliterating whatever animal instinct they might have possessed once. Skye is a sex slave thanks to a goddamned pheromone and a glitch in the programming.

He hesitates. He doesn't want to get so close.

Yet, he already accepts his fate. His arms shake, and he's too aware of each step to balance naturally, but a tiny unknown part of him relaxes with relief as his toes touch the alpha's shadow. Finally, that part of him thinks and regards the bigger man with hope.

Through all this, the alpha just sits, chews, puts the tobacco back in his jacket pocket. Even when Skye gets very close, he doesn't react much. Now it's Skye's turn to wait.

A blue sedan comes coasting by, not in any hurry apparently, a couple of young twenty-something girls peering as they pass. Wondering what's up, Skye thinks at first, until he notices that the alpha is stretching and reaching around to get an itch on his back shoulder. His t-shirt can't hide the six pack. What they find so alluring makes Skye cringe in fear.

Will he be nice?

He hopes so, but it's too good to be true.

The alpha settles. Looks forward at the interstate going north, then back at Skye.

"You ever been on a bike before?"

"Yeah."

The only vague memory of his father he has is of a motorcycle, sitting on the front with his little hands braced on the gas tank while the engine rattled his joints and sockets. They rolled around the camp where they were staying while the pack cheered for him. He'd grinned ear to ear, full of love and admiration for his daddy.

It's almost impossible to believe, but once he was precious. Something happened around the age of eleven and that all changed. He was on Dad Two at the time, and he went from being ignored to being punished.

Skye hugs himself. Motorcycles and werewolves go hand in hand. The feeling of flying down the road is as close as it gets to running. Definitely beats the sweaty, smelly bus any old day, but there's nowhere else Skye would rather be.

"You're a lot of trouble, you know that?" The alpha leans forward on the bike, showing off his abs without really trying to. "You put us at risk, playing human when you're reeking of heat. And each time you jump ship, you cross another territory and get another sonofabitch after your ass."

He smirks like this is funny.

"I bet it was just a matter of time before the ladies came after you too. You're depriving a lot of good women of some good men right now, ya know that?"

Yeah, as a matter of fact, he does.

Skye turns his angry glare on the ground before it gets him hit.

"Well..." The alpha puts his hands on the bars and rests his boot toe atop the gear shifter. "Get on, Trouble. You're mine now. I won't let anything happen to you."

All of Skye's muscles are painfully tight. Move, he urges his limbs and gets only trembling for a response. He realizes he'll have to touch the alpha to get on, and suddenly his brain forgets how. Which leg to put over? What to grab onto?

It's a small relief that the alpha doesn't seem to be in a hurry, sloshing the chew, scratching the back of his hand. Then twisting around to pull out the pedals for him on each side.

His only sign of impatience is a simple, "C'mon. Let's go."

So maybe he's nice. For an alpha that doesn't mean much.

Skye's ass clenches tight to think of what's in store for him now. A barren bitch. A cum receptacle. A pleasure fuck and never anything more.

Hate for himself is marginally easier to deal with than fear. He gets his right leg over the seat, slides into place. Jostling the bike, but the alpha steadies them easily. With a timid, hovering hold, he rests his hands on the alpha's waist, the thick coat preventing them from touching overly much. He has to keep his mind on the pleasant smell of leather. Otherwise it'll go to his thighs, which can't opt for a less intimate position.

The alpha leans over to spit, taking the center of gravity with him, and Skye's whole world shifts from the simple action. It's an uncomfortable foretelling of the future to be. Skye swallows, tries to scoot back, but the alpha grabs his hands and pulls him forward, wrapping them in place like he's putting on a seatbelt.

"Hold tight," he says, and Skye can feel the words reverberate in his stomach. "Don't go thinking stupid on me, alright? You think I won't shift and run you down in broad daylight, you're very mistaken. I'll take you right there in the field with the humans watching and all, understand? I don't care if our mating ends up on the six o'clock news."

That would be bad. Murder and rape for his kind are a part of survival, but exposing oneself to humans brings the death penalty. Some packs go on great hunts to bring down an offender, no matter how small the infringement. Fear takes root in Skye's spine, makes all his nerves come alive while his body goes very still, his gaze dodging the alpha's as he utters a submissive whine, nearly inaudible to humans but not to them.

The alpha reaches back and pats his thigh, twice, and gives him a squeeze too. Like praising a good horse, a beast of burden but not without its uses.

"Nah, I probably wouldn't. But you ain't gonna test me, right?"

Skye wants to whine again, but this time he forces himself to clear his throat and speak. "No."

"That's good."

The bike comes on with a loud roar, the alpha twisting on the throttle to rev her up the instant the engine catches. That's all the warning Skye gets. For all his patient sitting and waiting, the alpha takes off like a bat out of hell, only checking the road once before peeling out, leaving their dust behind and flying down the lane.

It's been a long time since Skye was allowed on a bike. He forgot how scary free they feel, like he could blow away and go rolling back in a bloody mess, road kill for the next car to swerve around.

What'll happen to him now?

Skye clings tight and hunches into the alpha's back. Closeness be damned, the alpha's makes a good shield from the brunt of the wind. Unfortunately, he can't stop his crotch from pressing into the guy's butt, like a coy female playing scared.

Pain awaits in his future. But right now isn't so bad if he stops thinking for awhile.

The alpha doesn't look back, doesn't grab his hands or make any other gesture of comfort, just rides on like Skye might be an extra saddlebag on the back. He's so big that Skye is willing to bet the alpha can hardly feel the smaller boy behind him, clutching to him like a frightened pup.

They come up on a big truck, and he swerves into the passing lane. Skye ducks his ear to the leather, shutting his eyes against the imagined sensation of getting crushed under the wheels. He holds tight and lets the alpha guide him ahead of the danger, until the monstrous machine is behind them and harmless.

It's relatively quiet, easy cruising.

Skye looks back at the city.

How did he let this happen?

Omega: Liam & Skye >>
All rights reserved. No parts of this publication may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior permission of the author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

© Eileen Glass

Published by Glass Fiction

www.eileenglass.com
