The Unicorn's Dearest Omega

by Marilyn Black

  The Unicorn’s Dearest Omega

  Brooks Creek Omegas Book 1

  Your Author: Marilyn Black

  Short summary: An Alpha unicorn shifter falls in love with a battered Omega cat shifter in a late ‘90s town in the Pacific Northwest, resulting in a quickly blossoming romance that leads to the birth of a cute baby as well as a confrontation with the Omega’s abuser.

  If you are nostalgic for the late 1990s “Y2K” era, you will enjoy all the little references and period pieces scattered throughout.

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  Neil

  Blind Melon's "No Rain" started playing right as the morning clouds drizzled down.

  With it came a heavy voice spouting something real weird: ‘Whenever you're feeling under the weather, get some steam to clear you up. And whenever you're starting before seven, scratch a steam cup.’

  "What?" Scott laughed and extended his arms. "Dude, you ever heard of KISS?"

  I grinned. "Like the band?"

  "No. K.I.S.S. Keep it simple, stupid!" He rubbed my hair and pat me on the back, and we both went in. Scott's my brother, a beautiful man who scored a gorgeous omega. Though it sounds gloomy, I've told others that he's my shadow. Wherever I go, he's there with me. But that's also how I knew I was the chief alpha among us-- he followed me, rather than the other way around. And this was where I led us: Steamy Cups. 524 Duke Lane, Brooks Creek, Oregon.

  That morning, I wanted to spice things up a bit. Get a good jingle going, something that could become an ear worm. It was okay to fail.

  And it's not like Scott was dropping Confucian wisdom. "How about, 'Come for the steam, stay for the friendship?'" I stared at him for a couple seconds, in awe of the sheer cheesiness. "No? Well what about 'Steamy beans in your jeans?’" That one was so awful that even Scott's son, Michael, nearly fell over laughing. That’s why I loved Scott.

  Michael turned back and couldn’t stop giggling, undoubtedly hearing the same innuendo we did.

  Michael sat at a table near the windows, and before his dad's attempt at a jingle ruined him, he was hammering away on a bright yellow Game Boy Color. In theory, sitting near the windows would help him keep an eye out on the school bus, but more often than not, he had been too engrossed in a video game to remember that the outside world existed, and that schoolbus would sneak up on him. Scott always said, "I'm not going to drive you either-- you miss that bus, you're screwed." And he never meant it because he was a big softy. And then the schoolbus would come and he'd take a hot chocolate chunk cookie with him.

  As the bus passed, I took the moment to watch it ease behind the trees.

  Steamy Cups was nestled in an odd spot: at the base of a mostly undeveloped hill in the middle of some oaks, pines, and junipers. There was that strip mall just passed us and once you passed the woods, you’d find a subdivision where Scott and Michael lived. Across from us was a sparse area of woods where the trees were scattered all around. We had an old shed in the back yard. Go further back and you’d be ascending this old magical hill that Chinook legends going back 1,000 years say is home to werewolves and wolf shifters alike. Just before us was a snake-like swerve in the road and another building I never went to. This was pure Cascadia, a slice of our suburban lives.

  I looked the part for the setting too: tight jeans, red flannel, and a grizzled face-- it gave me pleasure to hear the alternative girls call me a "lumberjack Kurt Cobain" in that derisive tone, as if by being myself I was mocking the man. At least I understood where they were coming from, considering every new guitar-driven boy band coming out on the radio for the past four years was fronted by Cobain clone, probably mass produced at some mad post-Soviet biologist's lab over in Aberdeen.

  The radio DJ said something I didn't catch, something about a washed up 80s band trying to stage a comeback as well as rumors of a new album from the Spice Girls despite the fact one of their members left a few months ago. I didn’t follow the Spice Girls—I’d been more into that Oasis group that had grown huge in recent years, while Scott admitted to listening to some new indie group called Belle and Sebastian. Either way, we still preferred the old stuff. Also either way, we’d both bob our heads whenever “Wannabe” came on and lament that this ear worm had burrowed inside our brains forever to the point that I often caught Scott asking customers, “Tell me whatcha want, whatcha really, really want.” The reactions were either ‘What?’ or they’d bust out into the rest of the song.

  I went into the back to grab extra paper cups, lids, and napkins in order to set them out by the main brewing machines. A new batch of pastries were about to come out, and by God, the aroma alone was worth the life. Cinnamon rolls, blueberry muffins, little almond cakes, towers of buttery bagels, flaky croissants, coffee cakes, fruit cups, oh man. If I were a unicorn with less self-control, I'd have downed everything myself. Alas, seeing the bill for all these goodies was always more than enough to keep me in line. Scott never said if he liked sweet things, but I'd known him long enough to notice those few microseconds of hesitation and constant eye passes over the chocolate-cinnamon coffee cakes. He always had slightly weaker self-control than me, and that resulted in a few of the cokes mysteriously vanishing every week. Never enough to be a concern, of course-- I always liked to see him try to play it off.

  That was our typical morning. The usual rush peaked at around 9 to 10, and there was always a big lull by noon. To keep myself awake, I'd always down a nice double-shot of espresso.

  On days like that day, I'd think about how much I wanted a mate and a child, always envying Scott for his luck. That whole saga could've had a book written about it because of the drama, but it ended with him mating with that little cat shifter, Jasper. Like everything in this town, there was one particular family responsible for most of that drama in trying to keep Jasper from Scott. I didn’t need those bad vibes crushing my day, so I let it go.

  At some point, we started talking about Michael himself and how he was growing into a big boy. Michael's never shifted in front of us, but most of the time that was only something that would appear at puberty anyway—only in the worst circumstances would a child be able to shift, and Michael wasn’t the kind of kid who would find himself in those circumstances. Since his coming of age was still a few years away, Scott and I would talk about what we thought he'd be.

  I'd say that, "He's got a cat's disposition."

  He retorted with, "That dreaminess and love of video games is pure unicorn. And he's as stubborn as a mule to boot. I bet he's going to grow a horn early."

  "I didn't start growing mine until I was 14. It's possible that being an early bloomer makes you more of a follower." I wanted to punch his shoulder and say, 'Like you,' but I held my tongue because I respected my brother too much. We were never the catty sibling type. Maybe a few scuffles and disagreements now and again, but the whole trope of the sibling rivalry never really applied to us and we always felt like we were doing something wrong by having such a good relationship, as if not following the clichés made us lesser brothers. At the same time, it was true that Scott used to flaunt being able to shift fully at a relatively young age, and yet he never became a great leader. You didn't need to be a supervirile leader all the time, and I had faith in him that he'd be able to step up if a situation ever arose. But maybe those extra years of prepubescence were what gave me the talents I had. Either way, we both expected great things from Michael.

  "What game is he into? Pokey-something?"

  "It's Pokémon. This Japanese game. I haven't played any of it, but it's real popular with everyone on the block." Scott lived in the town suburbs, where he had mor
e of a pulse on the youth than I did-- though I worked on the ground floor, I lived in a little suite on the second floor. Even though he wasn't more than five minutes away, he was still so much better at pop culture than I was. "I was actually going to get him a red Game Boy to match the game he got, but they only had yellow and I didn't want to wait. Yeah, apparently they made two colored versions of the game? I don't really know what that's about."

  "I mean, I used to play some video games back in the day, so maybe I could help you out with that."

  "Dude, that was the Atari. Kids these days think that's old shit."

  I laughed through my teeth, but it also stung to consider my age. Yeah, I was getting old compared to these fast kids. What were they talking about on the street? Using slang, calling things phat, saying things are whack, all that fun stuff, and I couldn't follow any of it. When I was a kid, we still said things were groovy and heavy (though that was still pretty archaic). But times changed, and I wasn't complaining. Unicorns know well that you can't stop a tide; only ride it to the shore and back out to sea.

  The shop would go idle by about 11, and there would be another wave of customers after another half hour. That was the noon rush-- predominantly the middle-aged mothers and hipsters who were coming for their lattes, mochas, and hot chai, or something of that caliber. I didn't want to impose my own suggestions on others-- if it were up to me, we'd sell pumpkin spice lattes exclusively. The world had yet to know the craze that was pumpkin spice, I said to myself every day. But one day, it’ll come. Sadly, it was the realm of your auntie's recipe books and the backstreet hipster pads. Its dominance was soon to come, but maybe it was also for the best that no one commercialized it like they did so many other great things in life-- people who were into the pumpkin spice cups were genuinely into them and not following a trend. For me, the only issue was that I wasn’t particularly great at brewing a cup of it myself. My rugged hands were a bit too harsh for something with that kind of finesse to it. But a cup was a cup, and I loved my splash of spice.

  And as I fixed myself a cup of pumpkin spice with extra cream and a spoonful of sugar, I took a swig and saw over the brim of my cup the cutest man I'd ever seen in my life.

  Really, it was that abrupt. Had I been a second too soon or too late, I'd have missed him. He was walking briskly past the front door, holding his arms underneath his pits as if he were flustered. Concerned, I went to the door and looked out to see if I could catch up with him, but to my shock, he had already cleared the lot and was running towards another shop-- a strip mall that was 3/4 law firms, loan sharks, and barbershops and 1/4 vegan food. I didn't get a chance to see where he'd go in particular when Scott called out after me.

  "Whatcha doin' out there, man? Catch yourself, we've got someone on the window."

  "You can get 'em, right?"

  "Actually, I can't-- we've got a call, straight from Artemis. She’s cranky."

  I looked back to the strip mall, my heart heavy. I couldn't see that man, but my unicorn could still sense him. And damn, was it flustered. I'd never known mating signals to be that strong or that spontaneous. There were some popular Old Wives Tales about how you could only mate with an Omega whom your soul forged is perfect bond with, and I wondered if that’s what I was feeling. Then again it didn’t matter how what fairy tales were or weren’t true: as long as my spirit trembled, I was in the presence of someone special. No one could deny Alpha and Omega souls have a weird and esoteric way of doing things, no matter what hokey stuff they attach to it as an explanation.

  As I filled a car-bound patron's cup with a frothy and whipped iced mocha, my mind kept going back to the slender and troubled man from before, hoping that he'd make his way back at some point just so I'd be graced with the chance to see him again.

  To my great luck, he didn't just come back--he came in.

  There he was, walking up to the counter with his arms still hugging himself, pressing against that grey corduroy jacket. His legs fit well in those faded slate-blue skinny jeans, showing off the right shapes as well as accentuating a fairly sizable bulge that looked as if it were trying to break through the fabric. His face was very slightly buzzed, leaving a tiny amount of stubble on his cheeks as if he hadn’t been near a razor in days but still couldn’t grow anything out all that well. The hair on the top of his head was thankfully thicker, having a swirl to it hidden within that rusty blond.

  Scott said, “Hello, welcome to Steamy Cups! We’ve got steamy beans for your jea—” I had to cover his mouth before he bogarted my catch.

  "Don't worry, dude, I got this one."

  He backed up, held up his hands and said, "Whoa, okay, okay. I'll just... uh... Check inventory."

  I watched him the whole way back, making sure he didn't make any sudden moves to interfere. No offense to my brother, but this one was mine.

  "Good..." I looked to the clock. "Noon! Good noon! Whaddya need, my man?"

  He looked like he was going to explode, and he was swiveling his head over his shoulder so many times, I was surprised it didn't come off. The more he did it, the more concerned I became-- just who was he looking out for?

  "Um... Bagel. Everything bagel. One, please. Actually, no, scratch that. I..." He patted his pockets, letting me see those soft fingers for the first time. "I don't have any money on me. Dammit."

  "Don't sweat it, dude. I'll make this one on the house, just this once. You said you needed a bagel?"

  He looked stunned at my generosity. "Oh, y-yeah. And a cup. Straight black, I guess."

  I snickered. "You guess?"

  He kept looking out the window. Whatever I thought was funny must’ve been serious to him, and that was always one of the most cringeworthy feelings in the world: when you laugh at someone’s serious efforts when you didn’t mean to.

  I didn't want to be rude or nosy, but my Unicorn was screaming at me. It didn't need to-- these were basic signs of distress that any functional human being could pick up. I grabbed a sticky note and jotted down a message. As I handed him his bagel, I also slipped him the note and gave him a minute.

  Once he looked up, he leaned in and said, "I got kicked out by my Alpha."

  At first, I was shocked that he said it so openly. Then, for a brief moment, my heart sank. He was already mated? And though he seemed desperate, I couldn't immediately assume anything-- perhaps he had been kicked out for infidelity, or worse. Most of the time, the cheaters would always think themselves to be the ones wronged, so I couldn’t immediately assume anything. But that might not have been the reason either. Maybe he was a criminal, and was robbing his Alpha blind. Maybe there was something between them that just wasn’t working.

  To break the ice further, I said, "That's rough, chief."

  "No, you don't get it." His voice was hushed and trembling. "I was fully mated to one of the Grover Wolves."

  Immediately, I brought my eyes level to his and we maintained eye contact for at least several minutes.

  The Grover Wolves were that aforementioned family of very nasty wolf shifters whose reputation was rotten across the region. They didn't obey basic rules of ABO kinship-- their Alphas did as they pleased, cheated with whomever they wanted, and abused their Omegas and even Betas. The Beta Grovers were often just as bad, if not worse, because they were in a constant struggle to prove their own worth to the Alpha-dominated pack. And the Omega Grovers were kept from society but were apparently a nasty bunch too. We Unicorns sometimes clashed with their rowdier members, and we all feared a more open confrontation with them. With Jasper’s tale now fait accompli, I hoped that this time wasn’t at hand just yet. Most of the Grovers had left Brooks Creek in recent years, leaving only a tiny handful. But their patriarch nevertheless had great sway, especially in media. It was inevitable that they’d print some bullshit in an attempt to provoke people against my own family, but the patriarch hadn’t yet been that petty or stupid.

  This Omega standing before me filled me with great sorrow once I knew he had to deal with actually
mating with one.

  "I was basically supposed to be barefoot and pregnant, and I don't have any money to my name," he went on, "I just started college a few weeks ago, and..." He sniffled and turned away. "I don't know, man. I've just got to find another way."

  I hopped over the counter and grabbed his shoulders. "Hey, man, what's your name?"

  He looked at me and backed off, and I gave him his much-needed space. "Tom. Tommy."

  "I'm Neil.” I extended my hand, and he very tenderly and hesitantly shook mine. “Neil Paulson. Listen, you don't need to worry about those big bad wolves. I'm glad you told me. I know this is going to sound crazy, but I've actually got a bone to pick with those wolves too."

  He pulled himself away. "Sorry, I shouldn't have told you all that." He got his bagel and rushed towards the door. "I shouldn't have burdened you with all that. Sorry. Sorry."

  "Tom! Tom, wait--" I ran towards the door, the bell jingling as we both went out. Scott caught up with me and pulled me back, and I watched him briskly walk off down the pine-lined street.

  I didn't want to see him go. Not only was Tommy cute, he was extremely vulnerable. Making matters even worse, autumn was upon us— the most common time of year when Omegas of all sorts and species entered heat and kicked up a rut. It wouldn't be long until he'd enter heat too. And if he was really in such a nasty situation, I didn't want to imagine how stressed out he really was. When Omegas enter heat, they can barely control themselves and their emotions are often in extreme flux. The sheer amount of pheromones the unmated and hyper-horny ones can give off could cause even non-shifters to enter rut-like states. In his case, if he really was mated—that is, if his spirit and the spirit of his abusive Grover boyfriend had chosen to become mutually bonded after some period of relationship building and a good fuck to cap it—then he was protected from the worst of this for now. But it was going to chain him in the long run if he wanted to escape. Mated Alphas and Omegas had psychic links to each other, and could often feel the emotions of the others’ heart. Falling out of love could eventually cause this bond to decay, but spirits aren’t as fickle as the days or our emotions. Unless he could get a witch to sever his bond artificially, he was going to be stuck with the spiritual bond for years or even decades. His mate could use that to abuse him, and I wouldn’t allow it.