The Omega Chase, page 1
Hannah Haze
The Omega Chase
Copyright © 2021 by Hannah Haze
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
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Acknowledgement
A big thank you to my beta readers Hannah and Casey for all their brilliant advice and input, and, as always, to Mr D too for continuing to support me with this crazy writing thing.
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Chapter one
The Omega
The first time I learn about the existence of The Chase is on an internet chatroom. One for Omegas. The type of chatroom that you get invited to and vetted for. The type of chatroom with information that would have your eyes popping out of their sockets if you’re not an Omega. It’s not for the fainthearted.
I’m scrolling through it; bored. Because if I’m honest my life is boring; has been for what seems like forever, and I’m just waiting for something to happen.
And so those two words, The Chase, buried among so many others, causes my hand to freeze and my eyes linger over the letters.
I hover my cursor above the author’s name, OmegaCherryHeart, and click to send her a private message.
Me: The Chase?
OmegaCherryHeart: You haven’t heard about it?
Me: Should I have?
OmegaCherryHeart: Depends if you are interested in that kind of thing.
Am I interested in that kind of thing?
Okay, I shouldn’t be. I am an independent woman in my mid-20s, with a good job, making my own way through life. I may be an Omega, but in the twenty-first century that really means fuck all.
Maybe one hundred years ago it meant I was prey to every randy Alpha within a five-mile radius, at least until one mated and bonded me, and even then I would have been a slave to my hormones, popping out babies like no tomorrow. But modern medicine’s changed all that.
Now, I can meet an Alpha when I want to and on my terms. If I want to at all, because, let’s face it, modern technology has also advanced in the last one hundred years and the Alpha dildos on offer today are pretty much as good as the real thing. Heck, they might even be better seeing as they aren’t attached to some dickhead arsehole who’ll only break your heart.
Still, the idea of being chased, chased and claimed by some hulking great Alpha, sets a thrill tripping through my body and my nipples harden. It’s the secret fantasy I take to bed with me every night. It’s how things used to work before the advent of the new medicines and the new technology. We’re not meant to want those things anymore. We’re meant to want our rights and our freedoms instead.
The other Omega sends me the link, but it takes me a week before I’m brave enough to click on it and another two weeks before I venture along.
* * *
I have to book an early train because the place is out in the countryside in the middle of nowhere. Which makes sense. It’s secretive and exclusive, and I feel like I had to sign my life away just to get my hand on the coordinates.
I’m not allowed to get a taxi and, since I own no transport of my own, they send a car to collect me; some black sleek thing with darkened windows that looks like it’s come to pick up a film star, not me. I’m not surprised. They’ve been wooing me ever since I picked up the phone and called the mysterious number on the website. Being an Omega, they want me to come. I bet the numbers of Omegas signing up for this are few and far between and they want to hang onto the ones they have.
It’s late afternoon and mellowing sunshine spills across the lush green landscape as we drive away from the bustling country town and get lost down dizzying lanes, among dense copses, and fields of golden corn and between sprawling hedgerows. Above us in the clear blue sky, a kite spirals, his wings spread wide, the tips a rusty red against the dimming light.
The driver sits in the front seat with a cap and matching jacket. His flat, dull scent tells me he’s a Beta and the only words he’s said to me was to confirm who I was. Then he opened the rear door and ushered me onto one of the tan leather seats that smell faintly of other Omegas, a sickly sweet aroma that irritates my nose. It’s been silent since then, apart from the low tones of some wistful classical melody I’m sure is meant to put me at my ease.
It works until we swerve the bend and the outline of a disused military building comes into view; a squat box of concrete crouching low in the grass, yellowing moss creeping up its sides. There are no signs, no logos, nothing to announce the place’s existence. From the outside it appears completely abandoned; the tracks of recent tyre marks the only clue this place has entertained recent visitors.
The driver pulls up alongside the building and comes to open my door for me, pointing out the steel door and informing me he’ll collect my suitcase.
I take a deep breath in, a kaleidoscope of aromas tumbling through my nostrils; petrol and rust; grass and pollen; Omega and Alpha. The gland at the back of my neck prickles with interest, and I know the decision to turn around and leave is no longer an option. I’m nervous, sure, the contents of my lunch churning in my gut, my throat dry with apprehension, and my palms damp with sweat, but I’m not bored. I’m anything but bored. My curiosity is piqued and I just pray curiosity won’t kill this cat.
The steel door slides into the wall as I approach, my hand outstretched ready to push it away, and I blink as I step through, my eyes adjusting to the gloom of a smartly kitted out reception area, in strong contrast to the building’s exterior. This looks more like the sleek website. The one you can’t find by googling. The one that you can’t find unless you have the link and the code to let you in.
A woman in a tight blue uniform, her hair swept into an immaculate bun, greets me from behind a polished desk, her lips a blood red that matches her nails.
“Welcome to The Chase, may I take your name,” she asks me with a competent smile.
I clear my throat and she slides a glass of water over the surface of the desk towards me. Returning her smile with a grateful one of my own, I take a long sip. It’s ice cold and tastes of lemon.
“This your first time?” she asks and I nod. “Perfectly natural to be a little nervous, but I promise you, you’ll have fun.”
She doesn’t smell like an Omega, so I wonder how the hell she could know, but I nod again anyway and place the water back on the desk.
“My name is Cassie Small,” I say.
The woman’s eyes flick over my figure, which is the usual response my name elicits, because yes, I am petite, barely 5ft and slim, same as everyone else in my family, which I guess is how we earned our name.
I’d considered giving them a fake identity. This place is legal, just about, on account of all the precautions they take, and on account of how you have to sign a bunch of forms agreeing that you do not hold them accountable or responsible for anything that may go wrong. I don’t want my friends or my family to know what I’m doing, though. They wouldn’t approve. And I’m not sure it would do my professional reputation any good. However, with all the background checks required, a fake name hadn’t been an option.
The woman behind the desk punches the keys of her laptop.
“All your paperworks seems complete and signed and you’ve already paid, so I’m not sure there is anything else to do here for now.” Yes, I’d paid, but the fee was minimal. I bet it’s the Alphas that are the ones paying through the nose to keep this outfit in business. The receptionist swivels around. “Let me just get the key to your room, 429. Your suitcase is already there. You can get changed and in 30 minutes someone will come to collect you for the pre-brief. There are some snacks and tea and coffee in the room, so help yourself. Just to remind you, though, no alcohol or mind-altering substances allowed on site or to be taken prior to the event.” She hands me the key. “We want to keep everyone safe.”
I swallow. “Erm …”
“Yes?” she tilts her head, her eyes swimming with amusement despite her best efforts.
“What should I wear?” This had been one of the few details the instructions had failed to cover.
“Whatever you want.”
“But … what does everyone else wear?”
“All sorts. Some like to dress up. Some prefer to dress down. I’d advise you wear whatever you feel most comfortable in. It’s due to be a warm summer’s evening.”
I nod and chew my lip. In my suitcase is an assortment of outfits. I wanted to fit in.
They clearly decorated the room to appeal to an Omega; the colour scheme dusty pastels and the fabrics plush and plenty. I pace around the room, flinging open the drawers and doors, examining the expensive collection of toiletries on offer and the spread of food laid out on a tray. I’m too riled up to sit, too jittery to eat. In the end, I strip off and take a cooling shower, letting the water wash away the grime from the journey. The soap is odourless and, as I towel myself dry, I remember not to bother with deodorant or perfume. Nothing that will interfere with my own scent.
What shall I wear?
I lay out the clothes on the bed, aware of time ticking along, and scan my eye over the outfits. I want to look nice, but I also want to be able to run and to breathe, not hindered by heels or tight clothes. In the end, I pick my arse-hugging jeans and a thin ribbed tank top. It’s hardly glamorous, but it shows off all my curves. I may be small, but I’m perfectly packaged. A typical little Omega. I’ve hated that most of my life, but now as I peer at my reflection, it sends sparks igniting in my belly. This is what they want, right?
My long dark hair still drips down my back as I drag a comb through it, but there’s no time to use the hairdryer, it will dry quick enough in the warm air. I glance at my watch. Three minutes, just time enough to smear my lips with lip gloss and apply some mascara before there’s a knock on my door.
“Ms Small? Are you ready?”
“Coming,” I call back, slipping into my plimsolls and rushing to the door.
As I draw the door open, I nearly fall down on my backside. A man the size of a tank stands the other side, dressed in combat trousers and a tight camouflage t-shirt that clearly displays his pectoral and bicep muscles.
“Whoops sorry there. Didn’t mean to spook you,” he says with a surprisingly posh sounding voice. Ex-army, clearly.
As I step forward, I see the deep lines in his face that suggest he’s in his fifties and another flat scent of a Beta.
“I’m Matt. Head of security here. I’ve come to escort you to the briefing room. Once the briefing is complete, the event will begin, so do you have everything you need?”
I’m not sure what he means by that. The instructions made it clear there was nothing I was allowed to bring out there with me. Perhaps he means my bravery. Or my pussy.
“I’m good,” I say.
“You certainly look it,” he responds in a way that sounds more fatherly than interested.
The briefing room reminds me of the changing room of an expensive gym with its polished floor, low lighting and lines of benches, already full with what I quickly count as about twenty other Omegas. Some sit in pairs whispering excitedly to one another, some sit alone chewing their nails or staring stony-faced towards the front. There’re all sorts of women here. Some young like me, some much older. Some dressed in light floral dresses, others in tight-fitting leather trousers.
The smell of them all gathered in this room is pungent, like walking into a hothouse of blooming flowers, the perfume overwhelming, so strong my nose wrinkles automatically and I try my best to breathe through my mouth as I follow Matt into the room. He gestures to the benches and strides towards the front of the room, joining three other similarly dressed employees; two men, one woman.
I slide onto a seat next to an Omega with thick blonde hair cut about her shoulders. She’s gorgeous, like a real life barbie doll, her flat abdomen bare and her ample bosom threatening to burst from her crop top.
“Hi,” she whispers to me and I squeak a hi back.
“Welcome to The Chase, ladies,” Matt says, taking a remote control from one of his colleagues and pointing it towards the blank wall behind him. A multi-coloured map springs up onto the canvas. “Hopefully, you’ve all had time to study the rules and the procedures we have in place to keep you all safe here, but, before we begin tonight, we want to take you through these again and give you the opportunity to ask any questions.” He points towards a box in the middle of the map. “Right now we are here at the Clubhouse. Shortly, we’ll be taking you to the holding pen before releasing you out into the game grounds. We will do this fifteen minutes before we release the Alphas.” The word elicits several whimpers from Omegas in the room. I can smell how wound up they are, how desperate they are to get started.
“You’ll see the grounds include a variety of features for you to explore: the woods here, the meadows, the lake, and the abandoned village.” He points each of these out on the map. “Antonia will be coming around now to print a copy of this map on each of your forearms and to give each of you a GPS tracker that you can wear around your wrist or ankle. This will allow you to know where you are on the map, so please keep this safe.”
The woman with a closely shaved head and broad shoulders makes her way along the rows of Omegas, each one holding out their arm for her to scan their skin with a gadget the size of a mobile phone.
“Remember,” Matt continues, pausing to express his sincerity “You are free to return to the Clubhouse at any point. You are not in any way obliged to remain in the grounds for the entirety of the games. However, you must return to the clubhouse by five am. A horn will sound at this point to remind you to return. We will also be tracking your movements to ensure your safety.”
Matt holds his hand out to a man with dreads who passes him a small silver button. Gripping it between his forefinger and thumb, he lifts it up to show the room. “Which brings me to this little safety device. This is your personal alarm and your protection out in the grounds. Antonia will fit a button to each of your thumbs.” Matt fiddles with the button and then holds up the pad of his thumb to show the silver disc stuck there. “If you feel unsafe at any time and would like to bring this to the attention of the security staff, you hold the button down like so for five seconds.” He presses the button with his finger and begins to count. After five seconds, a red flashing light blinks into life on the map. “One of my staff will come and pick you up immediately. This button will also protect you from Alphas.”
He pauses, looking out sternly at the room. “Now, I want to be quite clear, what you do and do not choose to do out there is completely up to you. We are all adults and we’re here of our own free will. The Alphas here tonight have all been thoroughly vetted. They know the rules around respect and consent. Under no circumstances, and I stress no circumstances, are you compelled to do anything you don’t wish to do. If in the very unlikely situation an Alpha was to make you feel unsafe, you can press down this safety button — a short and sharp press — and this will zap any Alpha in a ten metre vicinity with an electric shock taking them out of the action. It will also alert us at the clubhouse and we will come and deal with the situation.”
The woman, Antonia, stops by my side and I look up into her fierce blue eyes. She jerks her chin and I offer up my arm. She grips it roughly with her left hand, then sweeps a beam of green light over my flesh with the gadget in her right. The beam is hot and burns my skin, but it’s over quickly and leaves the imprint of the map. Then she passes me the GPS device and I hook it around my wrist, tightening the cord so it sits tight. She takes my hand in hers and presses a small silver button into my thumb. It pinches a little, but, when she draws her hand away, the disc is stuck firmly onto my digit.
“Shake your hand please,” she barks and I do as she says. The button doesn’t move and she nods in satisfaction.
When I draw my attention back to the room, the other Omegas are standing and gathering around the door. Matt quietens them with a sweep of his arms. “Remember, please use the safety device sparingly. Excessive use of this feature will result in a future exclusion from our events.” Some of the Omegas murmur their consent. “Any last questions?” he asks.
I’m sure I have about ten thousand, but I can’t recall a single one. The excited whispers of the others, the peaking arousal of their scents, have my heart thumping in my chest.
“First time,” asks the blond next to me as she rises to her feet.
“Yes,” I stutter, unable to control the nerves racing along my limbs, inhibiting the movement of my tongue.
“Well, enjoy yourself, babe,” she winks at me with a cheeky grin, her gaze sweeping down my body as if she’s assessing my chances.
Nobody seems to take Matt up on his offer to answer any questions, they’re all bustling for position by the door. On shaky legs, I step towards the group, hanging towards the back, wrapping my arms around me.
