The Arrangement (Omegas of Hunter's Point Book 1)

Chapter 8

Damian followed the lovely Siobhan, marveling at his luck and praising the gods that, for once, their fickle natures played perfectly into his hands. How else would he have located this golden needle in a haystack of seven million people?

Gods, the sway of her full hips was almost hypnotic. He hoped her mate understood just what a lucky bastard he was. But, wait...the dean had called her Miss Ahern. Was it possible that this unicorn was unmated? How was that even possible? A family as prominent as the Aherns would have done what any other family did with its omegas: lock them up until it was time to mate them off. How had Siobhan slipped through the cracks? He knew Legislator Ahern had several brothers. It was possible that as the daughter of a lesser-well-known Ahern, Siobhan would have been provided greater freedom. But a job? And teaching required a university degree. He knew of no alpha that would allow an omega offspring that much time to get an education she'd never use when she could be legally mated at eighteen, unless she was being prepared to mate much higher on the social food chain. Even if that were the case, she sure as the hells wouldn't be working.

Maybe his initial assessment had been wrong, and she wasn't an omega. Beyond the light perfume she wore, he couldn't scent her. Nothing of that delectable sweetness omegas were known for lingered in her vicinity. That didn't necessarily mean anything. He'd heard stories about omegas masking their scent by eating certain foods and using scented bathing products in order to pass as betas. Occasionally, there were more tragic reports of omegas procuring black market medications in order to both hide their scents and suppress their heat cycles only to have the meds fail somewhere public and find themselves set upon by alphas.

The idea of any alpha putting his hand on Siobhan caused an unaccountable lightning strike of anger to shoot through him.

"This is the primary wing," Siobhan said, pointing to the building on the other side of an expansive quad.

Siobhan. That name was a symphony, a concerto.

He jogged a few steps ahead and opened the door for her. Her eyes flicked up to his as she passed him, then dropped back down.

She was wound so damn tight she was about to snap. He couldn't help but revel in it.

"Should you choose our institution, your son will be assigned either to Mrs. Shelley or Mr. Delacourt's kindergarten classrooms."

The frigid iciness in her voice at the word son did not escape his notice. He was struck by the inexplicable need to correct the misunderstanding before it soured her opinion of him. "Nephew. Michael is my nephew. His parents passed away unexpectedly last year. He's living with his grandmother for now, but I'm hoping to adopt him."

She gazed up at him again, gears working behind her hazel eyes, reassessing him, he hoped.

"In the meantime," he continued, "I'm overseeing Michael's education."

She nodded, almost absently.

They stood at the door to a classroom and shared the rectangular window. The children inside were seated in a half-circle on a brightly-colored carpet, their little bodies focused in respectful attention of the dark-haired beta woman seated at the center, holding open a story book.

"I would suggest requesting Mrs. Shelley's class," Siobhan told him. "She's very good with children your nephew's age. They adore her."

He thought he heard a bit of wistfulness in her tone.

"We'll head over to the intermediate wing next," she said with a smile that seemed to him to be less forced.

As they emerged into the bright spring sunshine, Damian squinted. "Are we going to ignore the 600-pound gorilla?"