Chapter 8: _ Blew Her Cover

She can’t believe herself. She really, honestly cannot believe herself. Of all the dumb things to do in a school crawling with Alphas who sniff out weakness like bloodhounds, kissing one of them... kissing Darien Bellamy, of all people, has to be the pinnacle of idiocy. A glittering trophy atop a very tall, very unstable tower of poor life decisions. And yet, her lips still tingle. Even now, crouched behind a room behind the dusty bookshelf, wedged between what smells like old book and moldy wood polish, the memory replays in her head on loop. Darien. His hands were gripping her arms like he wasn’t sure whether to shake her or pull her closer. His scent, which was like pine and petrichor, enveloped her until she couldn’t think. That low, growly voice growling "Mine," like he meant it, like her existence pissed him off and enthralled him in equal measure. And then she kissed him. She kissed him. Her heart does a backflip just remembering the way his mouth felt. It was hell of hot and demanding, like he’d been waiting for an excuse to ruin her since he set his eyes on her hours ago and finally got it. And the worst part? She kissed him back like a starving girl fed her first real meal. God. She’s doomed. Because it wasn’t just Darien. It was them. All of them. Grayson’s lazy smirk. Morgan’s wide-eyed fascination. Amias’... cold, and blank stare. Every glance, every twitch of their expression... each of them got under her skin and stayed. She didn’t want to want them, but something about them felt drawn, like metal to a magnet. It was crazy considering how much of a bully and jerk they were. And now here she is, curled in a dark room behind a bookshelf like the world’s worst spy, forced to listen to a conversation she really shouldn’t be hearing. Except she can’t help it. Because once they started talking about her, about that impossible word... mate, her hair stood on end. Mates. Four of them. Four Alphas and one Omega. Her. "What are we now? A boy band? Sharing one mic?" Grayson’s sarcastic voice makes her press a hand to her mouth to stifle a laugh or a sob. She’s not even sure anymore. Because... that’s not possible. Is it? Four Alphas, one Omega? Mates? The Moon Goddess must be laughing her divine ass off. Who would have thought she’d be looking forward to Ms. Vesper’s class now? She really can’t wait for it since the woman mentioned she was going to be taking them on mating and stuff. Come to think of it... Being their mates would explain the heat crawling under her skin, the awareness that spikes when they are within breathing distance. It would explain the phantom touches, the way her stomach twists whenever she catches their scent now. But then... ... Then she remembers. She remembers the courtyard. The first time she saw them was earlier. They looked at her like she was nothing. Like she was dirt under their shoes. An Omega, she’d heard them scoff. The words weren’t even whispered. They were launched like grenades. And then the others turned on her. All because the Bellamy brothers looked at her. Or maybe, because she dared to exist in the same airspace. She curls tighter into herself, knees to chest, as the conversation continues. "She’s an Omega, Darien. A pretty one, sure. But we can’t be seen..." Heidi stops listening. The words throb in her skull like a migraine. We can’t be seen with her. Because she’s a mere Omega. The lowest of the low in this school. She’s one of the doormat species. The afterthought. The one people assume exists just to be claimed, used, and passed around like an air freshener in a stinky room. And now they’re arguing over her like she’s... what? A bone? A curse? Her fingers clench into fists. Screw them. Screw all of them. She doesn’t care if they’re her mates or if the Moon Goddess herself descends from the heavens with a halo and an official decree. She won’t be some Omega charity case they squabble over in their little Alpha echo chamber. Darien said she was his. The others said they felt it too. And yet not one of them—not one, considered asking how she feels. They talked about her like she wasn’t a person. Like she was a complication. A glitch in their pristine Alpha programming. She presses her forehead to her knees. Why does it sting? She should be angry, and she is. She’s furious. But buried beneath the rage is something colder. Something that whispers: You can’t resist them. You need them even though. The air is starting to get stale in the little hidey-hole. The bookshelf doesn’t open from the inside, and she’s not exactly eager to burst out now. Not after all that. She shifts slightly, wincing as a floorboard creaks. And then... "She’s been hiding there since before this whole conversation started." Her blood runs cold. Everything inside her freezes. No. No, no, no. He didn’t just... He did. He just sold her out. Fuck. Fuck her for even thinking she can trust him! The bookshelf creaks, and four voices fall into a heavy silence. And then: footsteps. Oh gods. Oh goddess. Oh, whatever higher power is currently toying with her life. Darien Bellamy of Duskwind just blew her cover. She stays perfectly still, her body screaming with tension, muscles locked like she’s facing a predator. Which technically—she is. "They’ll kill me. They’ll kill me." She shudders. Her breath rises as a shadow blocks the fraction of light under the bookshelf. She can feel it. The weight of four pairs of eyes. The judgment. The realization. The panic. Darien speaks again in a low voice. "Heidi... come out." Three soft words that mean death. She doesn’t move. Not because she’s trying to be dramatic. But because she genuinely can’t. Her limbs have turned to stone. Behind the bookshelf, her heart thunders like a trapped animal. She doesn’t even know which emotion is screaming loudest: shame, rage, or fear. Or maybe it’s heartbreak. Because somehow, even after all their cruel words, all their indifference and pride and dismissiveness... she still wanted one of them to fight for her. Maybe even all of them. And that makes her feel stupid. She is still crippled with fear when she hears...