Page 22 of Puck Your Charity

Her words feel like a slap to the face.

She treats quitting a career like a luxury prize. She misses the point. I loved my job. I spent years earning my degree and fighting for that position on the pediatric floor. I never wanted to be a kept woman relying on an Alpha for survival.

I look at my sister. The chaotic noise of her house fills the silence between us. She chose this loud, dependent life. I curated my existence to avoid it. Now, the state forces me into a box I never wanted.

"I don't want a pack." I wrap my arms around my waist. "I want my life back."

Chloe offers a sympathetic sigh. Her tone makes it clear she views finding an Alpha as a magic cure for all my problems. She fails to see the reality. A pack bond seals the coffin on my independence.

"Get some rest." Chloe stands up and scoops Rose off the floor. "I need to go make sure the twins haven't destroyed the kitchen. Rick gets home from his shift in an hour. We'll order some pizzas for dinner."

She walks out of the room, pulling the door shut behind her.

The thin walls offer no soundproofing. The shrieks of the kids and the blaring television bleed right through the wood. I lie back on the cheap mattress and stare at the popcorn ceiling.

The stale air in the room makes me feel sick. I feel like a stranger in my body. I depend on my sister for a roof over my head. I have a ticking clock inside my pelvis, waiting for the suppressants to wear off and plunge me back into an agonizing heat.

I pull my knees up to my chest. Closing my eyes, I try to block out the noise of the house. I try to block out the memory of Finn standing in the parking lot. The devastating reality of my new life settles deep in my bones, leaving me feeling hollowed out and alone.

The noise in the house dies down around midnight. The kids pass out in their rooms. The television turns off, leaving a ringing silence in my ears.

I lie awake on the lumpy twin mattress. The suppressants twist my stomach into relentless knots. A dull, throbbing headache pounds behind my eyes.

I kick the thin blanket off my legs and swing my feet onto the carpet. I need a glass of cold water to settle the intense nausea burning in my throat.

The floorboards creak under my bare feet as I creep down the dark hallway. A single bulb illuminates the stove in the kitchen. The rest of the house remains cast in deep shadows.

I step into the kitchen and reach for a clean glass in the dish rack.

"Can't sleep?"

I jolt. The glass slips from my fingers. I catch it against my chest right before it shatters on the linoleum floor. I turn my head to look over my shoulder.

Rick sits at the small dining table in the dark corner of the room. He holds a half-empty bottle of cheap beer. He wears a stained gray t-shirt and loose gym shorts. His Beta scent lacks the overwhelming power of an Alpha, smelling of stale sweat and cheap body spray.

I set the glass on the counter. "I just need some water. The medication messes with my stomach."

Rick takes a slow drink from his bottle. His eyes drag up and down my body. I wear an oversized, faded t-shirt and cotton shorts, but his gaze lingers on the exposed skin of my thighs.

He sets the bottle down; the glass clinks against the wooden table.

"Never pictured you as an Omega." Rick smirks. He leans back in his chair, spreading his legs wide. "You always acted so stuck-up. Always looking down your nose at people. Acting like your fancy hospital job made you better than the rest of us."

I turn the faucet on. Cold water fills my glass. "I never looked down on anyone, Rick."

"Sure you did." He scoffs. "You judged this house. You judged me. But look at you now. Fired and living in my spare room."

I take a long sip of the water. I ignore the bait, finish my drink, and plan to retreat to my room. Engaging with his petty insults wastes my energy.

Rick leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. The smirk on his face turns dark.

"You look flushed." Rick stares at the red patches on my neck. "The fever still burning you up? Chloe told me you took those suppressants to kill the heat."

My skin crawls. His interest feels invasive. Discussing an Omega's heat cycle with a Beta brother-in-law crosses every boundary of basic decency.

"My medical decisions are none of your business." I grip the cold glass in my hand.

"I'm just saying." Rick runs a hand over his mouth. His eyes gleam with a sick, predatory fascination. "Those pills wear off. Unbonded Omegas are wired to submit. It's your new designation. When that fever comes rushing back, you'll need relief."