Wyatt: The Unchained Omegaverse: M/F Alpha Omega Romance Read online

Wyatt was full of surprises. Darlene had been wondering how the books had ended up on her shopping list. She couldn't imagine any alpha reading either one, especially not this surfer-boy black sheep.

  "The Myth of the Boundaryland: Breaking Subaltern Confines by Dr. Cassidy Carr? Is that the one you mean?"

  "Yeah. Also A Deconstructive Material-Ethnography Study of Transition by Brandon Cheung, Ph.D."

  Darlene tried not to show her skepticism. "Sorry, the guy at the bookstore says it takes longer to get academic titles in. He put in a special order, but he says it'll be at least another week."

  "Damn. Well, at least there's a silver lining." Wyatt gave her a full-fledged smile this time, and Darlene felt that same unsettling flutter—only now she didn't have her comfort object to hide behind. "I'll have to come back to see you next week."

  "Better if you just check with Sarah and Archer," Darlene said automatically. "My schedule is up in the air, and I don't know exactly when I'll be back."

  Wyatt's grin widened. "Don't worry about that. I'll know when you get here."

  The flutter turned into an all-out electric assault on her senses. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

  "Let's just say you have a distinct singing voice. I love that a-ha song too, but the high E gives you trouble every time."

  CHAPTER TWO

  Not much of a truck, Wyatt thought as the pretty little beta tore out of the drive, leaving a rut in Sarah and Archer's newly seeded lawn. It was riding low enough to suggest the shocks were past due for replacement, and the engine sounded like crap too. The body was a patchwork of mismatched panels and amateur paint jobs—some to cover up dents and dings, others hiding fresh scratches...and also graffiti, if he wasn't mistaken.

  The thing belonged on a scrap heap, not serving as the sole supply wagon for a fast-growing community.

  "Damn," Wyatt muttered and jammed his hands in his pockets. Still, he didn't turn away from the road…or the scent of the woman who'd been staring daggers at him only moments ago. Wyatt had never been much good at lying to himself, and eight years in the Basement had made him a lot worse.

  The truth was that he didn't give a crap about the truck. He'd been hoping to hear Darlene sing again, but she didn't even switch on the stereo.

  Wyatt should never have mentioned it. He knew how self-conscious betas could be. She really was a terrible singer, positively tone-deaf.

  But he wasn't looking for a diva…it was the joyous, carefree quality of the badly mangled lyrics that had kept him entertained for the better part of a month.

  The first time he'd heard Darlene’s approach, Wyatt had tossed down his scythe in alarm, convinced that one of the local omegas was being attacked by a bear. A few minutes later, an old truck whizzed by, and he caught his first glimpse of her.

  Her long blond hair was loose around her shoulders, flying in the breeze. Her dainty little hand tapped the wheel out of time with the song. Her scent hit Wyatt as fast and hard as that beat-up junker of hers, a much too familiar mixture of joy and sadness, hope and pain.

  Wyatt knew that scent. Just as he knew those emotions. Sensing them in another person, in a woman, caught him up short. Cracks started fracturing his carefully maintained, easy-going façade, as if the mortar that held him together was crumbling.

  That was when he knew he had to meet her. It had taken a couple of weeks, but today, fortune had smiled on him.

  And it wasn't the only thing that was smiling. Now that he'd met her, seen her face, stood close enough to feel the heat radiating off her skin, Wyatt was more sure than ever that she was the one.

  Wyatt was taken by surprise because he'd assumed he'd never have anything worth smiling at again.

  Oh, he'd learned to fake it. It wasn't a lie, exactly…just the most efficient way to get along when everyone else in this place seemed to be thrilled with their new lives. Wyatt had learned that if he rearranged his mouth into a decent facsimile, his brothers didn't bother to read his underlying emotions. More importantly, they didn't check up on him with the pretense of offering him the extra trout they'd caught that day as an alpha named Rowan had done.

  What Rowan really wanted to know was whether Wyatt was losing it. He wouldn't have been the first prisoner of the Basement to do so.

  Somehow, his smile managed to reassure Rowan—and everyone else.

  Wyatt’s jovial attitude might have made him an oddity among his brothers—he knew for a fact that Archer wasn't overly fond of him—but Wyatt had never minded being a black sheep.

  In school, he'd always been the class clown, the kid who did impressions of teachers when their backs were turned. As a teenager, he wore bowling shirts and gas station uniforms with names like 'Earl' and 'Big Steve' stitched on the pockets. Off-center enough that people left him alone, but not so out there that he became a pariah. The muscle memory of being that kid came back easily enough, even if the happy-go-lucky part was gone forever.

  At least Wyatt had thought it was...until that silly, prickly beta girl showed up.

  Behind that terrible singing voice and eighties hits, he could sense the particular kind of pain that ran through her veins. Deep, dark, powerful grief...just like his own.

  Something had happened to Darlene to turn her into the guarded, snappish girl who was quick to grab her gun and aim at imagined dangers, and Wyatt wanted to know what it was.

  That was the real reason he'd come out to Archer's house today. Sure, he was looking forward to reading the books he'd requested, but that could wait. Spending eight years of his life trapped in a ten-by-ten foot transparent cell had a way of putting minor inconveniences in perspective.

  Wyatt hadn't been expecting Darlene to be attractive. Archer and a few of the other alphas who'd met her in passing didn't have anything positive to say about her. But her ability to take such joy from the little things in life fascinated him, even while it made him feel all the emptier because he couldn't. Maybe it was like picking a scab—you knew it was going to hurt, but somehow you couldn't help yourself.

  And then, bam.

  Wyatt would have thought at least one of his brothers might have mentioned she was a knockout, with her pale blonde hair and pouty lips and that long, long stretch of legs between her shorts and combat boots.

  Sure, he understood that her style might not be everyone's cup of tea, but her beauty was at least worth a mention.

  On the other hand, every one of the residents of the new Ozark Boundaryland had survived the hell of the beta government's research facility they'd called the Basement—as if an innocuous nickname could disguise the horrors that went on there. His brothers could be forgiven their wariness and even hatred of betas.

  All except Wyatt.

  It wasn't that he'd been excused from the torture. It's just that his wounds were different. Hidden. Impossible to heal.

  But it was those same old wounds that made it impossible to hate betas even if he wanted to. That kept him from being angered by Darlene's contempt and scorn or even the rifle she'd aimed at his head, her finger twitching on the trigger.

  Wyatt breathed in the scent of her alarm and panic…and understood. He'd experienced firsthand the pain and violence she feared and didn't blame her for taking the precautions she had.

  Trying to explain this to his brothers would be a waste of time. They just didn't see things the same way. They tolerated Wyatt, but it was pretty clear that he would never win the title of pack leader.

  He didn't mind. Once a misfit, always a misfit. It was true out there in the beta world, and it was true in this new Boundaryland.

  Even so, a restless feeling took root in his belly, knowing that he would have to wait a whole week just to see the beta again. She was hot, sure, but that wasn't the only reason he craved her.

  That spark of connection he'd seen in her eyes—that was the biggest lure. It proved that the pull he felt toward this stranger wasn't just some wishful thinking on his part. It was fate.

  And no one could stop fate—not ev
en a beautiful, surly beta, no matter how hard she stomped around in those combat boots trying to prove otherwise.

  Wyatt was still grinning as he walked back to the pile of supplies Darlene had dumped on the lawn. Baking powder, nails, a couple sheets of backer board, canned goods, butter, eggs, flour, a set of bench clamps, and tires for the wreck of a motorcycle that Diesel was restoring. Everything the community needed to keep up with its rapid growth.

  Alphas were fiercely independent, and in time Wyatt and his neighbors would grow or build or craft more and more of the things they needed. But it would be a while before this boundaryland became as self-sufficient as the established ones on the Pacific and Gulf coasts.

  Wyatt was still checking out the stash when Archer and Sarah pulled up in their SUV.

  Archer started yelling even before he got out of the vehicle. "What the hell? You make this mess, Wyatt?"

  Wyatt only chuckled, not bothering to stand and greet them. Keeping his head down seemed the best way to diffuse his brother's irritation. While what he'd said to Darlene about having an open invitation on Archer's property was technically true—all the alphas did, in order to pick up their supplies—Wyatt was hardly a cherished guest.

  As for Sarah, she was an odd match for Darlene. Sarah was petite and feminine, with a sweetness that wasn't diminished by the calluses and muscles she'd built up working on houses. She wore a ribbon in her hair, very little makeup, and her pink blouse and flowered skirt were just this side of prim.

  "Wasn't me," he said. "But you just missed the one who did."

  Archer stood over him as Wyatt picked through the pile, looking for the cans of tomatoes and chicken broth he'd ordered, as well as a DeWalt drill to replace the old broken one at the cottage. He ignored Archer's low growl. It was all the same to him if Archer wanted to waste time trying to intimidate him.

  Instead, the younger alpha suddenly deflated. "Shit. Is it Saturday already?"

  "Oh, God, I forgot all about the delivery," Sarah said in dismay. "Darlene is never going to forgive me."

  "She'll just have to understand," Archer said shortly. "Explain to her that we've been busy with all the new arrivals and things fell through the cracks."

  "Or…you might want to make her a pie or something," Wyatt offered. "She seemed pretty worried about you, Sarah."

  Archer wheeled on him. "We pay the woman for her services, brother. If she wants a pie, she can damn well buy it."

  Sarah ignored her mate's comment. "Hang on. You were here at the house when she came?"

  "Yep."

  Sarah gave a slight shudder. "I'm almost afraid to ask...how did that go?"

  Wyatt got to his feet, both out of respect for the omega and as a reminder to Archer that he had him beat by a couple of inches. "It went about like this," he said, dipping his chin at the disorganized mess on the lawn.

  Archer surprised him by laughing. "You're one lucky son of a bitch, bro. I would have expected Darlene to put a few bullets in you."

  Wyatt shrugged. "She may have aimed at me at one point."

  The scent of Sarah's fear spiked. "Oh God, Wyatt. Please tell me you didn't do anything to her."

  Wyatt tried not to be offended. "Like what? Why would I do anything to someone I just met?"

  "Because of that damn alpha temper. Archer threatened to tear Darlene's head off when she took aim at him. And trust me, he would have done it if I wasn't there."

  Archer was well known for his antipathy toward betas. Whatever those bastards in the Basement had done to him, the scars ran deep.

  "I didn't touch your friend," Wyatt said carefully, hoping to reassure the omega. "I didn't do anything but talk to her."

  "Thank God," Sarah said with noticeable relief. "But do yourself a favor and wait until she leaves before coming over next time. Darlene isn't fooling around with that rifle. She made the state finals in target shooting when we were kids."

  "Don't worry, Sarah," Wyatt said. Hefting his purchases, he started walking down the drive toward the road. It was time for him to take his stuff home to his empty house and let Archer and his mate get on with their day. "Your friend won't shoot me."

  "How can you be so sure?"

  "Because I'll never give her a reason.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Any hope Darlene had that her firing would satisfy the internet trolls and anti-alpha zealots was dashed when, a few days later, someone threw a beer at her as she was walking to her car in the grocery store parking lot.

  She'd been lost in thought, trying to figure out what she could sell to cover the light bill, when someone shouted, "Fuckin' traitor!" A split second later, something hard and heavy smashed against her face. The blow was so intense that she staggered, nearly falling to her knees.

  After that came the sound of squealing tires, but by the time Darlene's vision cleared, all she caught was the blurry outline of a jacked-up truck disappearing into traffic in the distance.

  The bag of frozen corn Darlene had bought for dinner ended up serving as an ice pack that night, the puffy mark near her temple already giving way to a dramatic purple bruise.

  Which was fine, because she’d lost her appetite when she spotted the red eviction notice taped to her front door.

  Ten days. That was all the time they were giving her to pack up and move out before they called the sheriff.

  The following day, Darlene woke on the couch, which was concerning because she couldn't remember falling asleep there. For a moment, she wondered if she ought to see her doctor since she was pretty sure memory loss was a concussion symptom. But then she remembered that she'd lost her health insurance when she'd been fired.

  So apparently her memory wasn't that bad.

  Or at least it wasn't any worse than it was before the beer can incident. She'd been so pissed off at that stupid alpha Wyatt that she'd forgotten to take the new order list from the clipboard.

  It looked like Darlene would have to guess what they needed, because taking a week off wasn't an option. Not only did Sarah and the rest of the Boundaryland residents depend on the delivery, but Darlene needed the money—especially since it was her only income at the moment.

  Of course, she could always just take an advance. After all, the debit card they'd given her was in her wallet, and Darlene had seen the size of the bank account to which it was registered. Sarah had explained that one of the alphas came from money and had generously offered to use his eye-popping trust fund to keep the new community afloat.

  Darlene rejected the idea two seconds after it floated through her head. People had accused her of being a lot of things—especially lately—but a thief had never been one of them.

  There had to be another way.

  Darlene made a pot of strong coffee and called the apartment building’s management company. She was transferred twice before being connected to an unfriendly woman who said that the person she needed to speak to was out of the office.

  Darlene knew a brush-off when she heard one.

  "Wait," she said. "I think there may have been a mistake. I've been renting from you for almost two years, and I've never been late. I've never received a violation notice."

  "As I said, the person you need to speak to—"

  Darlene hung up. If she hadn't, she would have started yelling or crying, something her pride couldn’t bear.

  But she also couldn't wait for a return phone call that probably wouldn’t come. Darlene pulled out her ancient laptop and searched 'pro bono lawyers.' The long list of results that filled her screen gave her the first bit of hope she'd felt in days.

  An hour later, that hope was dashed.

  Of the dozen attorneys Darlene had called, four didn't do real estate law, two sounded interested until they realized she was the woman who'd gone viral, and the rest either claimed to be too busy or cited conflicts of interest.

  Only one took the time to explain that the media attention and threats Darlene had reported to the police could be considered disturbing to her neighbors,
and thus a violation of the nuisance clause in her lease.

  "But what am I supposed to do now?" Darlene blurted. "I can't afford to move, even if I could find a landlord who'd overlook the eviction and the rest of this bullshit."

  The line was silent for so long that Darlene was afraid the lawyer was offended by her language, but when the woman finally spoke, she sounded sympathetic.

  "To be honest, your best bet is to call the legal aid clinic. You might find some law student willing to take your case for the experience. Still, between you and me, no one else is going to gamble their reputation on this, Miss Coates—especially since you're almost certain to lose."

  After that, Darlene stopped trying.

  If she didn’t figure out her situation by Monday, she'd visit the legal aid clinic. But with the weekend looming—and those ten days down to eight—she needed to start looking for an apartment and figure out where to get the deposit and first month's rent.

  That, and shop for the next delivery.

  The trips Darlene made to the big box store and the home center provided a much-needed distraction. A baseball cap and a pair of sunglasses went a long way to hide her identity, but she still couldn't help feeling like she had a target on her back every time she left her apartment.

  After a restless Friday night, Darlene rose early. She took longer than usual with her makeup, layering concealer and foundation and setting powder until the bruise was nearly invisible. It took several trips to load the truck, but she still managed to get on the road before the first protestors showed up.

  Once the lights of the city had faded from her rear-view mirror, Darlene breathed a sigh of relief and tried to focus on the day ahead. She desperately hoped that Sarah would be home when she arrived this time, instead of away helping another alpha get settled in his new home.

  A home he would never be evicted from. One that required no deposit or mortgage or payment of taxes. A house to live in for the rest of his life, for which he didn't pay one goddamn cent.

  Darlene couldn't help bristling at the unfairness. Yes, the alphas had gone through hell during their imprisonment, but it wasn't like her own life had been a cakewalk.