Fight or Fly (PAPERBACK, LGBT)

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ONE

Leona

IN RETROSPECT, doing vodka shots with an alpha might not have been the best decision I’d ever made. Though in my defense, there were times when vodka was, without a doubt, the right response to a situation. This was, I felt pretty sure, one of those times.

A copy of The New York Times lay on the table between us, the front page dominated by a candid photo of me taken at the bilateral summit a mere couple of weeks ago. I looked harried and exhausted. Probably because I’d been, well… harried and exhausted.

“It’s not even a good picture,” I said, listlessly dragging my refilled shot glass toward me.

HIGH-LEVEL MEMBER OF UFNA FOREIGN OFFICE ARRESTED, the headline screamed. UNREGISTERED OMEGA ESCAPES POLICE CUSTODY.

Alex gave me a narrow look as she refilled her own glass with a hand that seemed way steadier than it should be. “Would it improve the situation if they’d used a professional headshot instead?”

I lifted my arm in a sloppy wave. “I’m vain,” I told her. “Kam’s vain. We’re both vain omegas, and if I’m gonna be plastered across every single front page in the country, I’d rather look good doing it, damn it.”

On the positive side—if there was one—the article made absolutely no mention of Kam, my fellow omega-in-hiding. Rhys Beckett got about an inch of dedicated column space, since he’d signed his own name to the forged paperwork he’d used to get me out of Montreal police custody. Alex’s boss hadn’t exactly been subtle when he’d strode in, utterly shameless, and wielded his status as a federal security agent like a bludgeon.

Ex-federal security agent, now. He was a fugitive like the rest of us, though he appeared largely unconcerned by that fact. I got the impression Beckett had cycled through a few different identities over the course of his lifetime. Like me… like Kam… he was an omega hiding in a beta-dominated world. But first and foremost, he was involved in the underground—the shadowy association of alphas, omegas, and beta allies that helped hide and protect our people from persecution in a world ruled by beta supremacists.

He’d helped Kam and me, even if I still wasn’t totally sure why. He said he wanted us to join the underground. He said we could still make a difference there. And his alphas… they wanted to court us. To join our packs together; maybe to mate. At least, Jax and Flynn did. I got the impression my current drinking companion would rather chop off her right hand than get emotionally tangled up with a pair of fugitive omegas.

She gestured at me with her shot glass and tipped it up, swallowing the contents with a sharp tilt of her head. “Bottoms up,” she said, setting the now-empty glass firmly back on the table and reaching for the bottle. “You’re not nearly drunk enough yet.”

I peered at her through bleary eyes. “How do you know?”

“You haven’t asked me the question you want to ask me,” she replied.

And… fair.

I tipped the vodka down my throat, coughing a bit at the burn. Once I’d recovered, I slid the glass across to her. She filled it and slid it back.

“Right,” I said, a bit hoarsely. “Okay, here it is. Am I making a huge mistake here?”

Alex fiddled with her glass, spinning it in her fingers. “About the heat contract? The fact that you’re choosing to ask me makes it sound like you want someone to tell you yes.”

I threw back the next shot—my fourth—wincing as it went down. “Cut me off after this next one, please,” I said, pushing the glass toward her. She nodded and filled it. I sighed, trying to find the right words. “I don’t think it’s that. I mean, if I ask Jax or Flynn, they’ll say they think it’s a great idea to spend my heat together. If I ask Kam, he’ll give me that sad-eyed smile and tell me it’s my choice. At least if I ask you, you’ll have an opinion that’s not full-steam-ahead.”

She nodded and knocked back another shot. A small furrow formed between her brows. Alex was dark-haired and sharp-featured—built like a cheetah, and with the same green-gold eyes. All of the fine lines around her eyes and mouth were unhappy ones.

“Would the situation be a lot simpler if my packmates hadn’t fallen for you?” she said. “Yeah. It would be, for sure. In fact, if they weren’t pining for you and Kameron like a pair of blushing schoolgirls nursing their first crushes, I’d probably tell you to go for it and enjoy the alpha horse cocks. No question about it—heat blockers suck and riding out an unfulfilled heat without blockers sucks even worse.”

“But?” I prompted, feeling the alcohol begin to hit properly, loosening my muscles and probably my tongue.

She shrugged. “You already know. They’re settling for a heat contract because you would have said no to anything more. That doesn’t mean they don’t still want more. And…” She gestured around, indicating not just the remote safehouse, but the entire situation. “… realistically, how would that even work right now?”

I saluted her with my shot glass and drained it. “That’s what I said,” I agreed around a cough.

“Here’s the thing, though,” Alex said. “The fact that my packmates are idiots doesn’t change any of the rest of it. I’ve heard the horror stories. Unaccompanied heats are the worst. And Jax and Flynn may be idiots, but they’re honorable idiots with really big dicks, who apparently know how to use them.”
I choked on an unattractive snorting laugh, my hand flying to my mouth to cover it.

“If you’re trying to argue on the against side, no offense, but you might want to brush up your debate skills a bit,” I suggested.

She only shook her head and poured herself another shot. “Nah. See, as long as you’ve got it straight in your head, it’s not your responsibility if a pair of alphas are thinking with their little brains instead of their big ones.” She hesitated. “At least, as long as no fertile sperm get anywhere near fertile eggs.”

I nodded solemnly, aware that I was finally reaching the stage of proper drunkenness. “A-fucking-men to that,” I said.

“Honestly,” Alex went on, “if you want objectivity, go talk to Beckett. He’s been managing this kind of omega shit for longer than either of us have been alive… god alone knows how.” The last few words were a low mutter.

“Huh,” I said. “Y’know, that’s a good idea. I’m shtill… still wrapping my brain around him being an omega. And mated. Shit.”

I’d never had an older omega to help me navigate the minefield of estrus cycles and mate-bonds. My parents were both betas, and while I owed them my life and my freedom after the sacrifices they’d made to protect me from the Committee’s tender mercies, they hadn’t been much help with the nuts and bolts of my body and its responses. They’d tried, but… knowledge about alphomic biology was tightly regulated. You couldn’t just run to the library and check out a book. They’d pretty much all been burned decades ago, back at the beginning of the Purge.

“I’ll do that,” I decided. “But maybe not till I sober up.”

Alex snorted in amusement, her steady parade of downed shots finally starting to outpace alpha alcohol tolerance.

“I’m gonna do this,” I told my empty shot glass. “I mean, since you’re not dead shet… set… against it or anything.”

“Not dead set against it, no,” she said.

I studied her, taking in her straight spine and tight shoulders, even after eight shots, or nine, or whatever it had been. “Do you ever…” I made vague, waving motions with my fingers. “Like, at all anymore?”

She blinked at me without comprehension.

“Sex,” I clarified, confirming that I’d reached the brain-to-mouth filter failure stage of drunkenness. “Do you ever have sex, since Irina died?”

“Oh.” She poured yet another shot and drank it. “I mean… yeah. Not often, but when the circumstances line up, sure.”

I frowned. “With omegas?” I asked, because she’d seemed, like, really against that idea after talking about how she’d lost her omega mate and pups.

But she shook her head quickly. “No, with beta men. No uteruses, see? They’re safe, and usually okay with one-night stands.”

My frown didn’t smooth. “Beta men? You enjoy that? Really?”

Alex shrugged a shoulder. “I enjoy the ones who like to take a knot up the ass.”

Comprehension dawned, and I made an exaggerated ‘oh’ shape with my mouth. “Gotcha.” I tapped the side of my nose. “I did that for Kam once, you know. With a…” I trailed off, trying to describe the shape of a dildo in the air. “Thingie. I think he got close—to coming, I mean—but he still couldn’t get there.”

Suddenly, this seemed like the saddest thing in the world. I met Alex’s catlike green eyes, convinced that she would understand. I wasn’t sure why, but I felt we’d connected somehow. It was different than the way I’d connected with Jax and Flynn. Less complicated in some ways. More complicated in others.

“He’s got a huge crush on you,” I confided. “He talked about how he’d like to tease your clit out of its sheath with his tongue and ride it all night long.” I paused, remembering the night we’d spent exploring each other’s bodies. “You should let him. He’s got a really nice tongue.”

Silence reigned for an uncomfortable beat.

Wait, had I really just said that out loud? Based on the perfectly blank expression on Alex’s face, I had. It was just possible I should have stopped after four shots instead of five.
The alpha cleared her throat and gave the vodka bottle a long look—one that said she was thinking about foregoing the shot glass and going straight to the source. But the idea was stuck in my head now, and I couldn’t let it go.

“No, listen though. If I’m doing this heat… thing, and you’re going to be there to keep an eye on the others, you could, maybe… try to help Kam?” It was perfect. Why hadn’t I thought of this before? “He’s safe for you. He doesn’t have a uterus anymore. And you’re both so sad all the time. Maybe you could make each other less sad?”

Alex seemed to be holding her face very still. I couldn’t tell what she was thinking, so I gave up and asked. “Well? What do you think?”

She blinked. “I… think we’re both pretty drunk. Beckett should be back in a few hours with the contraceptives and other supplies. Maybe you should go sleep it off for a bit.”

While I tried to interpret that with a brain that felt like it was slogging through molasses, she rose from the kitchen table and headed deeper into the house, taking the bottle with her. Once she’d disappeared, the ghost of Flynn’s voice echoed in my head.

She didn’t say no.