Page 4 of Hidden Fates

An attendant leads us to a private changing room where we slip into soft robes and store our phones in lockers. I text our packmates letting them know where we are if they need to reach us.

“What would you like to do first, darling? Massage, mud bath, mani-pedis?”

Skye twists her hair up into a messy bun, the tie pinched between her teeth. After she slips it onto her wrist and secures the platinum blonde strands, she grins.

Mud baths it is.

The concept isn’t something I’ve ever found appealing, but she enjoys it, so I don’t complain.

Sun-baked sandstone floors complement the textured cream walls, but the real focal point of the room is the massive terracotta tub. Hanging her robe on a wall hook, Skye groans as she steps inside, slowly sinking into the thick gray mud. I quickly join her, keeping her pressed close to my side in case she starts to doze.

Weight wraps around my body as I settle on the tub’s bottom, like a weighted blanket that smells earthy and sulfuric. It isn’t suffocating, but I don’t relish the pressure the way my mate does.

After a long stretch of comfortable silence, she whispers, “I lost three pounds this weekend.”

Releasing a long breath, I press my lips to her head, trying to find words to reassure her. Nothing I can articulate will cut through the worry clogging her thoughts.

Her weight is a battle we’ve faced for years now. Special diets, nutritionist visits, rigorous gym programs to build muscle, therapy—we’ve tried it all, but nothing helps. No matter how hard she tries, she can’t gain and keep any weight.

At first, she laughed it off. Blaming her stage routines and hectic lifestyle as she emerged in the music world. Then the anxiety started. The binge eating and wearing baggy clothes to hide her body. She spiraled hard, making herself sick enough to require tours to be rescheduled.

When she met the rest of our pack, I had hoped they could help her learn to love her body, but their efforts have been fruitless.

She doesn’t see a petite woman in the mirror.

She sees a number on a scale that refuses to move.

“We can find a new doctor?” I suggest.

Her head shakes, hair tickling my chin. “I’m exhausted, Q. Tired of trying to be comfortable in my own skin. I have to accept the truth: I’ll never love myself the way other Omegas do.”

The defeat in her voice breaks my heart, but I don’t argue with her decision. It isn’t my body, and I won’t force her to continue searching for hope when she believes there is none.

That doesn’t mean I won’t stop researching. An answer awaits her somewhere; we just haven’t found the right clue to lead us to it yet.

“I’m ready to rinse off now.” She slowly pushes her way up through the mud and glances down at me. “Separate showers, or would you like to join me?”

Keeping my eyes locked on hers, I grit my teeth and pull myself out of the mud. “I will gladly join you, but I cannot promise⁠—”

She presses her lips to mine, silencing me with a quick kiss. “You know I never expect anything from you, Alpha.”

Following her into the attached room, I help her rinse the mud from her skin. This would be the perfect opportunity to slide my fingers between her thighs and bring her pleasure. Any of her other mates would do exactly that, but there is no spark of desire within me.

Arousal is different for me. Most times, all I feel at the thought of sex is indifference. There’s no biological need to breed to send me into a rut or urge me to drag my Omega off to lock her on my knot.

When Skye first expressed interest in me, I thought she would balk at my asexuality. What Omega would willingly accept an Alpha who might not be able to service them during their heat?

Yet my tiny star never blinked when I explained it. She was interested in me, not what my body could offer her.

After we are mud-free and redressed in our robes, we find our attendant and head into another room for massages. We don’t speak, enjoying the feel of our already relaxed muscles losing their remaining tension.

Seeing her sleepy-eyed on the table next to mine brings a smile to my lips. Despite the worry in her bond, she’s not nearly as stressed as she was this morning.

Gliding my fingers along her shoulder blade, I guide her to the front of the salon for our next treatment. Today has been good for her, but I believe a long break is necessary in my Omega’s future.

Our pack leader, Onyx, calls as we get our mani-pedis. “What happened?”

His gruff voice rattles through my phone, and I’m glad I decided not to put it on speaker. Skye would feel bad if she heard his concern. It’s natural for him to worry as her Alpha, but convincing her of that is difficult.