Chapter 5

If I were going to need an alpha, then logic said I should start by finding one.

Logic, it turned out, was wildly optimistic.

The first man I met smelled like expensive soap and entitlement. He had chosen the restaurant, the wine, the conversation topics, and by the time my drink arrived, he was already telling me what kind of omega he thought I was.

“You’re lucky,” he said, smiling in a way that suggested he’d mistaken himself for a prize. “Most alphas wouldn’t be this patient.”

“Patient with what?” I asked.

“With you,” he said, as if that settled it.

My body went cold, a quiet withdrawal I didn’t have to think about. Something in his presence felt wrong, not dangerous, just… grating, like a frequency that never quite resolved. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up.

I finished my drink and told him I had an early morning.

He texted me twice before I got home.

The second alpha was better on paper. Polite. Wealthy. A good reputation. His scent was mild, almost pleasant, and that somehow made it worse. It didn’t repulse me, but it didn’t excite me either. My body kept waiting for something to happen that never did.

We slept together.

It was technically fine. Clean. Predictable. Like following instructions you didn’t care about.

I had been expecting something different with my new omega biology. I didn’t get slick or overwhelmed. There was no rush, no loss of control. It was just… okay.

Afterward, I lay there staring at the ceiling while he breathed heavily beside me, and all I could think was that my skin still felt restless, like it had been promised something and then given a substitute.

I did not go back.

The third alpha talked about bonding before he asked me what I studied.

“I could give you stability,” he said earnestly, leaning across the table. “You wouldn’t have to worry anymore.”

“I’m not worried,” I replied.

He looked at me like I had misunderstood the premise.

My body reacted before my mouth could soften it, pulling back slightly, skin prickling. Not fear. Discomfort, like a warning bell ringing somewhere behind my ribs.

I stood up.

“I don’t think this is a fit,” I said.

He looked offended.

So did my instincts.

After that, I stopped bothering with politeness.

One alpha was too possessive, his scent thick and cloying, his attention sticky in a way that made my shoulders tense. Another was distant and uninterested, which should have been perfect, but somehow left me feeling hollow instead of safe.

Every time, my body responded the same way.

Wrong.

Too much. Too little. Too sharp. Too dull.

I went home alone each night with my nerves buzzing, my thoughts circling, a low ache under my skin that no amount of logic could soothe.

Compatibility, the pamphlet had said.

It hadn’t mentioned how humiliating incompatibility could feel when it happened in your bones instead of on a page.

By the end of the week, I was tired in a way that sleep didn’t fix.

My body wanted something.

I didn’t know what it was yet.

But I knew this wasn’t it.