himself a reprieve.
Until the next bit of bullshit comes along, anyway. And with the current pack Alpha of the Carolinas a dictatorial imbecile, he's certain that the next bit of bullshit won't be long in coming.
"I - I need to go. The oven. Casserole," Dylan babbles, and his father looks like he wants to make him stay and talk about it, or hug it out, or something - but Dylan just can't. He's been ducking creeper Alphas for years now, and he knows what a mating run means for him. Just the thought of one of those lechers getting their knots inside him makes him want to vomit, and he retreats to the kitchen on shaking legs.
Get it together , he thinks to himself. There's still time to get out of this. But his knuckles are white where he's holding on to the countertops, and his teeth are gritting together so hard they hurt.
*
The dog days of summer are upon them. It's already early September; the mornings are beginning to get cooler while the heat and humidity still stretches out into the evenings, sort of. It won't be long until the crisp air of fall takes over entirely, but until that happens, Dylan and his friends are taking advantage of the remainder of the summer heat in order to buy out the frozen yogurt shop.
The conversation swirls on around him as they sit in the lime-green plastic chairs. The group is large enough to push two of the tiny round tables next to each other - Dylan sits facing Hannah and Eric, an alpha and omega bonded couple. Jewel, a beta, sits at the second table along with Ivan, an alpha, and his beta mate Rusty.
Hannah reaches across to him, grabbing his hand and squeezing it tightly. "I'm sorry, Dylan," she says. "I know how scared you've got to be."
He squeezes back, but he can't look at her yet. He looks at the huge pile of yogurt in front of him instead - it's drenched in hot fudge sauce and marshmallow crème and sprinkles and graham cracker crumbs. Focusing on the way the sprinkles don't make any sort of a pattern at all helps him to retain control over the surge of anger he feels when she speaks.
He gets it, he does. She just wants to help. But she doesn’t understand. "No, you don't,” he says, and looks up at her. His words aren't harsh or accusing; he's merely stating the facts. His eyes slide over to Eric. "You can't know, Hannah," he says. "You've got Eric, and he's good to you. You're happy. You love each other. You might have been a little apprehensive before you mated about who you would choose, but this is something so…" he sighs. "This is something so fucking different. I could be stuck with someone for life.”
Sometimes he forgets that Hannah didn't grow up in the Carolinas. Her old pack was a lot more progressive. His friends are, too - but there are some old ideas at play about what a pack ought to be, and unfortunately what some people think omegas ought to be is just a step up from a slave.
"Aren't there any loopholes?" Jewel asks. She's smart enough to know that the only reason Betas aren't being targeted yet is because they've historically always had lower fertility rates than Omegas. Depending on how the next few years go, she could be subject to a similar Decree, and she doesn't like it one bit.
Dylan shakes his head. "I've read the thing backwards and forwards," he says. "I'm not disabled or mentally deficient. I could choose exile, but how far would that get me without any of you or Dad? I don't have a preexisting fertility problem, and I'm not younger than eighteen or older than forty. The only possible way out would be a prior claim, and we all know that's not going to happen."
"Hey," Ivan says, and lays a hand on his shoulder. "There's still time. We can try to find you someone before the run. It might not be ideal, but better than - " He breaks off abruptly and scowls at the doorway.
Dylan turns to look and suppresses a groan. He doesn't want to give the man coming into the shop the satisfaction of hearing him complain about him, so he stares moodily
Until the next bit of bullshit comes along, anyway. And with the current pack Alpha of the Carolinas a dictatorial imbecile, he's certain that the next bit of bullshit won't be long in coming.
"I - I need to go. The oven. Casserole," Dylan babbles, and his father looks like he wants to make him stay and talk about it, or hug it out, or something - but Dylan just can't. He's been ducking creeper Alphas for years now, and he knows what a mating run means for him. Just the thought of one of those lechers getting their knots inside him makes him want to vomit, and he retreats to the kitchen on shaking legs.
Get it together , he thinks to himself. There's still time to get out of this. But his knuckles are white where he's holding on to the countertops, and his teeth are gritting together so hard they hurt.
*
The dog days of summer are upon them. It's already early September; the mornings are beginning to get cooler while the heat and humidity still stretches out into the evenings, sort of. It won't be long until the crisp air of fall takes over entirely, but until that happens, Dylan and his friends are taking advantage of the remainder of the summer heat in order to buy out the frozen yogurt shop.
The conversation swirls on around him as they sit in the lime-green plastic chairs. The group is large enough to push two of the tiny round tables next to each other - Dylan sits facing Hannah and Eric, an alpha and omega bonded couple. Jewel, a beta, sits at the second table along with Ivan, an alpha, and his beta mate Rusty.
Hannah reaches across to him, grabbing his hand and squeezing it tightly. "I'm sorry, Dylan," she says. "I know how scared you've got to be."
He squeezes back, but he can't look at her yet. He looks at the huge pile of yogurt in front of him instead - it's drenched in hot fudge sauce and marshmallow crème and sprinkles and graham cracker crumbs. Focusing on the way the sprinkles don't make any sort of a pattern at all helps him to retain control over the surge of anger he feels when she speaks.
He gets it, he does. She just wants to help. But she doesn’t understand. "No, you don't,” he says, and looks up at her. His words aren't harsh or accusing; he's merely stating the facts. His eyes slide over to Eric. "You can't know, Hannah," he says. "You've got Eric, and he's good to you. You're happy. You love each other. You might have been a little apprehensive before you mated about who you would choose, but this is something so…" he sighs. "This is something so fucking different. I could be stuck with someone for life.”
Sometimes he forgets that Hannah didn't grow up in the Carolinas. Her old pack was a lot more progressive. His friends are, too - but there are some old ideas at play about what a pack ought to be, and unfortunately what some people think omegas ought to be is just a step up from a slave.
"Aren't there any loopholes?" Jewel asks. She's smart enough to know that the only reason Betas aren't being targeted yet is because they've historically always had lower fertility rates than Omegas. Depending on how the next few years go, she could be subject to a similar Decree, and she doesn't like it one bit.
Dylan shakes his head. "I've read the thing backwards and forwards," he says. "I'm not disabled or mentally deficient. I could choose exile, but how far would that get me without any of you or Dad? I don't have a preexisting fertility problem, and I'm not younger than eighteen or older than forty. The only possible way out would be a prior claim, and we all know that's not going to happen."
"Hey," Ivan says, and lays a hand on his shoulder. "There's still time. We can try to find you someone before the run. It might not be ideal, but better than - " He breaks off abruptly and scowls at the doorway.
Dylan turns to look and suppresses a groan. He doesn't want to give the man coming into the shop the satisfaction of hearing him complain about him, so he stares moodily
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