Oxford Heat: A soft and steamy non-shifter omegaverse romance

by Hannah Haze

  He needed to unleash the rage crashing through his body, banging in his head. He needed to hit something, to have his fist connect with flesh and bone. He needed to rip apart anyone who dared to challenge him. Swinging his gaze around, he searched for a target, any target, his rational brain trying to break through, to calm the wolf inside. It dragged him, stumbling with adrenaline, to an alleyway, away from the people and the noise, into the darkness, where the stench of piss and vomit and day-old bin bags pulled him back further to himself.

  He leant against the wall, panting, blowing away the anger. His fingers gripped at the brickwork, and then he allowed himself one indulgence. He drew back his left hand, his dominant one, and hit the wall, allowing the pain of his knuckles crunching to wipe everything else clean.

  Cora reaches over and takes his hand in hers, pulling it towards her and examining the bruising and scabbing. Her hands are warm against his colder ones, and the brush of her fingers over his knuckles is tender. He has a sudden urge to grasp her hand and sit with her holding hands like two thirteen-year-olds on a date.

  He snatches his arm away and removes it from sight under the table.

  "That doesn't look like nothing." She's frowning, that crease between her eyebrows defiant. Behind them he can hear the clink of glasses as the barman continues to replace them on the shelf and a slot machine chirps brightly from a corner, attempting to entice a patron. "That looks like a fight!"

  "That was me avoiding a fight."

  She raises an eyebrow. "Right!"

  He slumps in his chair and folds his arms across his chest, which brings his injured hand into view. Her gaze travels back there and realising his mistake, he tucks it under his arm, wincing a little.

  She glances away, picking up her glass and swilling the amber liquid around in circles. From the corner, the slot machine buzzes with excitement, and the elderly man with the paper scrapes his stall along the floorboards.

  Noah doesn't like these silences between them. He likes when they talk, when she bathes him in the sunshine of her attention. He likes to make her smile and occasionally blush. In contrast, the coldness is bone chilling.

  Eventually she seems unable to hold in her frustration. "You're going to end up getting kicked out of uni." She shifts forward a little on the bench. Her feet are on the ground now. "Or worse, you could hurt someone — shit — you could get hurt."

  "I don't go looking for fights, you know," he snaps.

  "Well, they seem to come looking for you."

  "Yes, they do!" He lays his injured hand flat on the table, splaying his fingers out wide. His coach hasn't seen his hand yet. He's going to get a bollocking and he'll probably be put on the bench for Saturday's match and made to do extra chores. He flicks his hair away from his face. "You don't understand what it means to be an Alpha."

  "Because being an Alpha is so hard! You poor thing."

  "You have no idea."

  That same rage he sees sparking in her eyes on occasion is there now, flickering, catching alight. She leans forward. "Oh, but I do."

  "How?"

  She hesitates, as if caught between wanting to win the argument and not wanting to disclose information about herself. There's very little he knows about her, really. In the time they've spent together, she rarely talks about her past or the intimate details of her life. He's placed his tongue inside her cunt, released his come into her mouth, lapped up her slick, and yet he doesn't know where she lived before Oxford or why she has nowhere to go in the holidays. He doesn't even know when her birthday is.

  "I've been at the receiving end of Alpha aggression, okay?" She says it quietly to the table, her eyes fixed on his hand.

  The room silences. He stills. A chill dances across his skin. The world swoops in merging colours across his vision. His tongue, fat in his mouth, seems to choke him.

  Slowly, his words slurred with the warping of time, he says, "What happened?"

  She says nothing, and he senses her regret at having spoken.

  "Omega!" His voice is firm despite the quaking of his soul. "Tell me."

  Her pupils swim wide and dart up to meet his, responding to the command. She shakes her head slightly, stiffly.

  But he won't let it go. He will wrench it from her, if he has to. "Tell me what happened, Omega!"

  "It's not what you think, there's no need to get all Alpha about it."

  "You just told me—"

  "Yes, I know." She looks away towards the bar and then to the door. The air in the pub is warm and yeasty from the ale. A tap hisses from the rear of the pub and a light on the far wall blinks periodically. "It was a long time ago. When I was small."

  "Who was it?"

  She scrapes her thumb nail down the table like a person clinging on. She opens her mouth to speak. She stops. He waits. Every fiber of his being alert. She swallows. "My father."

  His face is neutral. "Right. That's why you don't go home."

  "I haven't lived with them for a very long time." A white scratch appears on the table top underneath her nail. "He used to take his aggression out on my mother, sometimes me."

  "They removed you."

  She nods. "My mother is your typical submissive Omega. His word, his rule, is everything. She's still with him as far as I know."

  He stares at her. Bile sloshes in his stomach, burning his throat. It's like finally a light has been switched on; the glaring brightness making everything clear.

  "I'm sorry," he mutters, not sure what else to say. He's torn between two primal urges: to gather her up in his arms and soothe away those dark memories, or to hunt down her bastard father and pulverise him into the dirt.

  She sighs. "Don't worry about it. It was a long time ago."

  "I'd never hurt you," he whispers.

  The bench groans as she shifts in her seat. She rubs her eye, grimacing. "It's not... I don't…." Then she looks up at him. "I'm not my mother, not some weak, pathetic girl. I never will be."

  "I know." His heart thumps with the need to say more. He struggles. Should he? Things seem so fragile between them; their every encounter laced with trip wires. "It's what I find attractive about you."

  "Attractive?" She quirks her head.

  "Yes. Attractive."

  "You think I’m attractive?"

  "It's a cliche that Alphas want some diminutive, submissive Omega. I don't want that." A smile flickers across his face. "I guess I enjoy a woman yelling in my face. You know I find you as hot as hell."

  "Yes, I suppose I'd figured it out. From your scent, I mean." She smiles back at him.

  And he chuckles. "Shit! Is it that obvious?"

  "Only to me."

  "Where does that leave us then?"

  She reaches over and traces her fingertips around the outline of his hand. "I'm not sure, but I want to take things slowly."

  He daren't move, daren't breathe, terrified he'll break the moment.

  "I'd like that."

  They hold hands as they walk towards the college together, only breaking apart as they get closer. It’s so pedestrian after all they've done, yet, of everything, also the most intimate.

  Now they are more than friends.

  Chapter Ten

  Noah: I'm watching it

  Cora: Errr watching what?

  Noah: When Harry met Sally.

  Cora: Really?

  Noah: Yeah I thought I'd better check it out seeing as it's your favourite movie

  Cora: Are you studying me?

  Noah: yeah maybe I am.

  Cora: Not sure whether I should be flattered or creeped out?

  Noah: Flattered.

  Cora: But you would say that.

  Noah: I like it so far.

  Cora: Where are you up to?

  Noah: They're watching movies together in bed. In their own beds. It's why I thought to message you.

  Cora: Hang on — pause it — let me watch it with you

  Noah: What were you doing?

  Cora: Watching cat videos and eating ch
ocolate.

  Noah: Are you serious?

  Cora: Yes. I got my period and I feel like crap.

  Noah: Do you want me to get you anything?

  Cora: No, I've got my hot toddy. I'll be fine by tomorrow. Right I got it — let's watch? It's so cute right?

  Noah: Hmmm

  Cora: Okay. I'm calling you. I need to see your face.

  "Hi," she says, as the dark screen of her phone gives way to his image. "Oh." He's sat on what must be his bed, shirtless, his bare chest illuminated blue by the light of his laptop. "Do you always video call girls topless?"

  "You called me." He smirks. "And it's nothing you haven't seen before."

  It's true, and he is beautiful, the contours of his body carefully crafted, but she still finds herself embarrassed, like she's interrupted something intimate. He seems to read her discomfort through the distance of their screens.

  "Hang on then." He reaches down off the side of the bed and she gets a view of the muscles in his back rippling as he stretches away, then sits up, pulling a blue t-shirt over his head. "Better?"

  She nods, suddenly conscious of the fact she is wearing an old t-shirt and pyjama shorts, with her hair scraped up into a pony and no makeup. She must look like shit.

  He settles against the pillows. "I was thinking about the scene in the cafe, you know the famous one."

  "Yeah."

  "You've never done that? Faked it when you've been with me."

  She laughs. "I've been in heat every time, out of my mind. I don’t think I'd be capable of faking anything."

  "That's what I thought, but it got me wondering." He folds his arms lazily across his chest and watches for a moment. "You ever faked it with anyone else?"

  "Is that a sly way of asking about my previous relationships?"

  His eyes flit to meet hers on the screen. "Yeah. I'm trying to work you out."

  "You are?"

  He nods. "All the time."

  "I'm honestly not that complicated." She untwists the elastic from her hair and lets it fall about her shoulders.

  "Yes, you are, everybody is."

  "Most people are very simple," she says, combing her fingers through her loose hair.

  His eyes follow the progress of her hand. "Not to me."

  She chews the inside of her cheek, mulling this over. "Sometimes I faked it, not very often, but there were occasions when I did with my last boyfriend."

  "Why?"

  "It was easier. Like if I wanted him to get on with things or, I suppose, to save his feelings."

  "Who was he?" His tone is a tad strained, jealous even.

  "No one you know."

  Noah shuffles on the bed and switches the phone to the other side. "Was he an Alpha?"

  "No, a Beta."

  "Ahhh," he says

  "Ahh what?"

  "I'm not surprised he couldn't make you come."

  She rolls her eyes. "Because Alphas are such sex gods."

  "No, because sex between an Alpha and Omega is just that way. All the hormones, and pheromones. It's always intense."

  She looks away from him, towards Harry monologuing something cynical on her laptop screen. "I've never been with an Alpha outside a heat." She bites harder on the inside of her cheek. "Actually, you're the only Alpha I've slept with. I've kinda avoided Alphas."

  She can almost sense his hot stare on her, but she can't bring herself to turn and meet his gaze.

  "Right," he says softly.

  Still staring at the screen, she says, "How many Omegas have you been with?"

  "A few."

  "A few?" Now she looks at him and can tell he doesn't want to answer the question. "How many are a few?"

  "None of them were serious. Some flings here, one or two arrangements like we had. Couple of one-night stands."

  "Oh."

  "I've never dated an Omega before." He holds her gaze.

  "Honestly?" She swallows.

  "Yes."

  The blood seems to swim in her head and her skin burns hot. It's a pleasant sensation, even if there's a sense of panic stirring too.

  "You look cute," he says, "when you're thinking."

  She furrows her brow. Outside of sex, he's never complemented her like that before. His eyes return to the movie and he leans further into the pillow, sliding his hand under his t-shirt and rubbing his left pec absentmindedly. The plane of his chest and his stomach are somewhere she'd like to lay her head, to snuggle up with his arm around her, engrossed in his scent.

  She doesn't watch the rest of the movie; she keeps floating back to him, to observe his micro expressions, to see the movement of his shoulders as he breathes steadily. Occasionally, he glances to his phone and meets her eye, and each time the tension grows fiercer.

  "I'm not sure you're watching this movie," he says, when he peers at his phone a fifth time.

  "No, I’m not." She hesitates and closes her laptop lid, curling up on her side. "I quite like watching you."

  "Come round then and see the real thing." He's pinning her down with the intensity of his eyes.

  She shakes her head. "I was serious about taking things slowly. I don't want anyone knowing about us. Not yet." The truth is, she's not sure she'd ever want anyone knowing about this. They'd only jump to their conclusions, judge her, file her away as Noah's Omega. She would be tainted with the same brush as him. All the respect and all the visibility she's built here would vanish into thin air. Poof. Gone. She couldn't go back to that. To not owning a voice, to not being seen or heard.

  No, she'd rather have her cake and eat it. And by cake, she means him. No doubt she wants him very much. The urge to touch herself too strong as he stares at her through their screens.

  "I wish I could smell you, know what you're thinking little Omega." He stretches out his arm and picks up a tumbler of water, taking two large gulps. He replaces the glass and adds, "although you aren't easy to read. You know how with some Alphas and Omegas their scents are so transparent. Like they've tattooed their emotions on their head. You can read them a mile away, even a little shift in their scent, and it's clear. You're not like that."

  "What am I like?"

  He chuckles, rubs at his chest again. "Contradictory."

  "My scent is contradictory?"

  "Yes, not always. When you're in heat, it's pretty overwhelmingly clear what you want."

  "Hmmm."

  "But even then, there are times when there are so many other emotions mixed in there too and I can't get a hold on it. It's… frustrating."

  She nods. Her emotions are such a tangle of contradictions when he's around that she can't even read them herself.

  "How about me?" he asks.

  "Oh, I'm a hopeless Omega, surely you've realised that by now. I'm no good at reading people's scents."

  "I don't believe you. It's intuition. It's a sense all Alphas and Omegas have."

  This annoys her. "Well, yes, some of it I read automatically without even engaging my mind. But other times, I can't or I don't trust it." That's the truth of it. "I don't trust Alphas."

  "We aren't all bad."

  "It doesn't seem that way when you're an Omega. When you consider all the centuries of Alphas using and oppressing Omegas." She hesitates. "When you've seen things first hand."

  He nods. "Things have changed."

  "Have they? Then why do you Alphas sing those songs when you're wasted, why do so many Omegas end up trapped in relationships they can't leave, why do I lose out on pay whenever I have a heat." She's tired. These abuses are exhausting. Noah, there on the other side, listening to her intently, is simply beautiful. Why can't it be simple? Why can't it just be them? Without all the history and complications. "I'm sorry. I'm tired and grumpy."

  "I understand what you're saying."

  She waits for the buts, for the excuses, for him to dismiss her worries and angers. He doesn't.

  "This film is actually good, " he says. "Although Harry is a knob. Sally is clearly way out of his league."


  "Most men are, knobs, I mean." She says it with a smile.

  "Yeah, unfortunately sometimes our knobs do the thinking for us."

  "Ain't that the truth!" She yawns. "I'm going to go to sleep now. This was fun."

  "This was strange, but I liked it. Goodnight, Cora."

  "Maybe we can watch another movie another time."

  "Yeah... or just chat like this."

  She grins. "Goodnight, Noah."

  ◆◆◆

  The next week, he comes to the cafe mid-afternoon when she's working and sets up his laptop on a table by the window. He orders an espresso from her and a granola bar stacked with nuts and fruits. From behind the counter, she watches him throw back the contents of his cup and quickly become engaged in his computer, leaving his snack untouched.

  The cafe becomes busier as the afternoon passes, the students and workers filing in to grab some caffeine or a sandwich on their way home from work. There's only Cora and Susan working and they are both rushed off their feet, Susan manning the till and Cora the coffee machine. Occasionally, she glances Noah's way as she turns around to hand over an order and once or twice she catches a whiff of him over the tangy smell of coffee and the creamy steam of milk blasting into her face as she heats metal jugs of the stuff.

  At six, Susan twists the sign on the door to ‘closed’ and heads off to leave Cora to lock up. There's only Noah and another table of school girls left in the shop. Cora grabs a damp cloth and heads over to the girls, collecting up their cups and wiping down the table surface. They get the hint, collect up their belongings and leave.

  It's late March. The piercing cold of winter morphed to the cool damp air of Spring. Outside, the sun sets behind the tall university buildings and the sky, light at the horizon, darkens to a deep blue, the street lights flickering on. The daffodils that spring from grassy patches around the pavements close their bright yellow heads, ready for the night.