Chapter One
Jethro
It was too hot to sleep, so I’d thrown all the windows open and stripped the bed of blankets. It was just my luck that we’d be in the middle of a heat wave during my two weeks of leave.
I drifted in and out, getting some relief in the early hours when a breeze started up. Before the break of dawn, a glow woke me. Groaning, I reached for my phone to knock it off, only it wasn’t my phone, it was me. I felt along my wrist for my watch, belatedly remembering I’d taken the damn thing off because my skin was sweating under it.
That had me awake enough to sit up and stare. If it wasn’t my phone, and it wasn’t my watch, then what the hell was glowing?
It was me. Or, rather, my arm. Not, not my arm, my Alpha mark.
It had finally happened.
I stared more closely at my mark, running my fingers along it. I’d had it since I was born, a scattering of tiny black dots. Now, some of those had changed color to a silvery white, glowing like someone had drawn a cluster of stars on my skin.
My next step was clear and I picked my phone up from the bedside table to snap a photo of the glow and sent the picture to the Alpha-Omega Allocations Center. That done, I lay back on the bed, contemplating the ceiling.
Somewhere, out there in the big bad world, my Omega had come online. Of course, there was one huge potential barrier. Rathlin State was right on the southern border.
The statisticians had done the calculations, years ago, which was why I knew that the chances that my Omega was here with me in the North were slim. And if my Omega was in the South, that was it. He and I would never meet. The South had a very different approach to managing their Omegas. Conscription as soon as they came online, harsh penalties for anyone found helping an active Omega avoid their duty.
My phone beeped, the Center acknowledging receipt of my mark image and confirming no active Omega had yet checked in. That didn’t mean anything, not yet. It was early and there was every chance my Omega hadn’t woken yet to notice their mark. Maybe they had air conditioning.
It was hard to keep my optimism up as the next day crawled along with no news from the AO Center. I gave them a call late evening, hearing them confirm verbally what I already knew. No Omega had notified them. The only good point was that the South hadn’t confirmed an active Omega either, which they often did as a courtesy to the North, to save fruitless searching on behalf of our Center.
My phone was still in my hand, and I mentally cycled through my list of people to call. There were a handful of names I skipped through because I didn’t want to get anyone's hopes up. As for the rest, Wyatt was out of contact and Heath’s wife had just had a baby. That left Roman and Blaise, both on leave just like me.
Blaise answered on the first ring.
“Hey, man. You watching the game?”
“No, watching my phone. My number’s come up.”
There was a long pause.
“Shit, really?”
“Yeah.”
“When?”
“Early this morning.”
“Any sign yet?”
“Not a thing, but the South haven’t registered a new Omega either.”
“Good, then there’s still a chance. It would be great, Jet, so great. We could finally get the clan started.”
I had the fortune of being born an Alpha Prime, making me one of the few Alphas who could head an AO clan. Only to do that, I needed an Omega. None of the Alpha Primes in Rathlin had one, and the last bonded Alpha Prime had died before I was born. The clan house remained empty, just waiting for someone to step up to the plate.
“The odds aren’t on our side.”
“The odds have never been on our side. But there’s been a clan here in the past.”
“That was before the South closed their borders and put all their Omegas into bonded labor.”
“I know it’s hard to stay positive, but you have to try.”
“They locked Wyatt up, Blaise. For months, until his mark shut off.”
“Because he lost it with the AO Officers. He was going to cross the border and raise hell over there. The South would have locked him up, or worse.”
Blaise was right. The South weren’t above shooting trespassing Alphas, especially when they threatened the South’s supply of Omegas.
“Right, I know. I just… I’ve seen this go wrong so many times.” Every unbonded Alpha Prime before me had lost their Omegas to the South.
“That doesn’t mean it’ll go wrong for you.”
I wanted to believe that, I did. Because I was it, our last chance to have a clan in this generation. It would mean everything, a different life for the Alphas and Omegas of Rathlin. Recognition, community, family.
By midnight the temperature had dropped finally and I fell asleep, my phone cradled in my hand. It stayed silent.
It was starting to look like the only thing I’d achieve during my two weeks of leave was extended phone watching. I called the AO Center the next morning, but they had no news for me, promising again they’d call as soon as they did.
But when my phone did ring, it was Blaise.
“You near a TV?” A man of few words was Blaise, but only when it mattered.
“Yeah,” I replied, staring at the blank screen in front of me.
“Turn it on. Channel Six. You need to see this.”
Blaise’s voice was quiet and intense. I didn’t question him, flicking the TV on and changing the channel. They were showing a broadcast from the South. I watched, my phone pressed to my ear, and knew immediately why Blaise had called me.
Every few years, the South did some new publicity exercise to encourage their Omegas to do their duty and report to Intake Centers when they came online. The official figures were never released but Omega Rights groups claimed up to ninety percent of Omegas who came online made some attempt to evade the authorities. There were even rewards for the public for reporting active Omega sightings and turning in people they suspected of assisting Omegas in avoiding conscription.
On the screen, the news anchor was smiling and talking excitedly about the statement just released by the Omega Intake Center.
“We’ve just been informed that, as of this morning, Miles Benson, the Omega son of General Thomas Benson, has become active. And we are all going to share in the excitement of this day, following this brave and dedicated young man as he says goodbye to his family and makes his way to the Omega Intake Center. In a moment we’re going to go live to General Benson’s residence, where both he and his son will be making a brief statement.”
My eyes were glued to the screen and I sat forward as they cut to a scene outside a large residential house. General Benson, recognizable from the uniform he wore, marched from the house. Behind him was a young man with dark, unruly hair. He wore a dress shirt but the sleeves were pushed up to his elbows. It might have looked untidy to the casual observer, but I knew it had a purpose. To show off the Omega mark on Miles’ arm. The camera caught on a moment later, zooming in on it as Miles slowed to a stop, standing just behind and to the left of his father.
I looked from his mark to my own. There was no mistaking that they were mirror images of one another. My Omega wasn’t just from the South, he was the South’s latest role model, their new darling boy whose every move today would be televised. I would get to watch, in colors so crisp you could almost taste the air around them, as my Omega was forever taken from me.
Distantly, I noted the camera panning back as other members of General Benson’s family joined them. The General was talking, but I didn’t hear the words. It was only when Miles stepped forward that my ears instantly tuned in, desperate for some connection to him.
“I’m proud to be standing here before you, in preparation to fulfill my duty to my country…”
“Jet. Jet? Jethro.” Blaise’s voice jerked my attention away from Miles.
“It’s him. He’s mine.” He would never be mine.
“Well, fuck. There goes that then.” Blaise sounded as defeated as I felt, and for good reason too. Without an Alpha Prime, most other Alphas in the vicinity would never form an Omega bond. Those living on the periphery, caught between two clans, were sometimes lucky. But the Alphas of Rathlin City and its surroundings were sweet out of luck. And so was I.
Except giving up had never been my strong point.
“Can you call Roman? I think I’m going to need some help.”
“Why? What are you planning?” There was a hint of hope in Blaise’s voice.
“Just a commiseration drink.”
Couldn’t be too careful. You never knew who might be listening in on a call. And the words ‘border crossing’ might trip a few alarms somewhere coming from me right at that moment.