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

by Hannah Haze

  Cora takes the seat next to Noah, their images reflected in the dark window.

  "I'm closing up," she says.

  He looks up, startled. "Wh-what?"

  "It's gone six. I'm closing the cafe."

  "Six, shit. I'm never going to get this finished and I've got practice in an hour." He drags his palm over his face.

  "What you working on?"

  He wrinkles his brow, confused. "This week's essay. What else would I be working on?"

  "Video games." She scrubs at a dried crust of cream stuck to the table. "I didn't really take you for the essay type."

  He rubs his eye with the heel of his hand, still looking confused. "Doing essays isn't actually optional though, is it?"

  She doesn't want to confess to her belief that he'd paid others to write his assignments, so she changes the subject. "I'm going to lock the cash in the safe. Five minutes, okay?"

  Shutting the laptop lid, he grabs the hand she's still swiping across the table top and draws her to her feet, gently leading her towards him. Leaning into his chair, his hands resting on her hips, he waits. There's a tension in the air. That line between them pulled tight, like a rubber band about to snap. His scent peaks, a high-pitched roar in her ears.

  They've been dancing around this, linked together, stretching the line one moment, allowing it to contract them closer together the next. But it's got shorter and shorter, tauter and tauter, and now it's reeling her in. She lowers her head and meets his waiting lips.

  The kiss is so different from anything before. Slow, considered, patient. He caresses first her top lip between his and then her bottom; light, fleeting, tender presses; savouring her as if she were a dish he's longed to taste. She buries her hands into the soft hair at his neck, letting the strands run like water over her fingers, and steps nearer.

  The kiss deepens. They slide their tongues into each other's mouths, along the seams of their lips, over the ridges of their teeth. His canines are sharp and she imagines him sinking them into the skin of her gland. She shudders and her scent spirals into the air. He pulls away, his dark pupils wide and alert.

  "I have to go, Omega."

  She shudders a second time, that word on his lips stupefying every nerve in her body. "Oh," she mutters, unable to keep the disappointment from her voice.

  Leaning in, he kisses her stomach and reaches up to smooth his fingers over her aching gland.

  "I've got practice. I'm already in the shithouse about my hand. If I'm late…."

  She nods, although inside she's wobbling, her frail Omega distressed that he's leaving.

  Later, when she tries to unpick the strange reaction, it frightens her. It reminds her of that dependency she'd once experienced. The way another Alpha had drawn her in.

  She'd been 15, alone, and vulnerable; completely naïve to the new world she'd entered. The Alpha had been older, good looking and charming. He'd said she was special, that he loved her, that he'd take care of her. He made her feel all those things: special, loved, cared for. But there were other feelings too: controlled, trapped, frightened. He had opinions on what she should wear, how she should behave and where she should go, and he’d been angry with her when she’d confessed she wasn’t ready to sleep with him.

  No matter how many times he’d told her he loved her, the accompanying feeling of suffocation didn’t seem right. In the end she'd needed to tell someone and had skipped school to find Jaz, a social worker only a few years older than she was and an Omega herself. Cora had hoped that someone like that could help her understand. Was this how it felt to be an Omega?

  If Jaz had been surprised or concerned to see her there in the middle of the day, dressed in her navy school skirt, white blouse and striped tie, she hadn’t shown it. Calmly she’d led her to a meeting room that the council had tried to deck out in a way that made it seem homely with a small sofa and two armchairs.

  Cora had curled herself up in the chair and tried to explain the situation. It had been hard at first to find the words. She’d always known she was different, that something was wrong with her, and these emotions seemed to confirm it. Shouldn’t she be pleased to have found an Alpha? To have found someone who finally cared about her?

  Gradually Jaz had coaxed it all out of her, quietly asking her questions and prompting her.

  "Does this seem normal to you, Cora?" Jaz had asked, and she’d shaken her head. "How do you think love should feel?"

  She’d considered that for a long time because truly she wasn’t sure. "Safe?"

  "Yes. I think you are correct. You should feel safe with the one you love. Anything else?"

  "I don’t know."

  Jaz had twisted the chunky silver ring she wore on her right middle finger and swallowed. "I’ve been in love a couple of times, Cora. Unfortunately, it didn’t work out for various reasons. But when I was in love, it felt... freeing. It wasn’t confusing. At the time it just felt right." She’d examined Cora’s face. "You’re a smart kid, Cora. I wonder if you already know the answer to all this."

  Cora nodded. "It doesn’t feel right. But does that mean there’s something wrong with me?"

  "No, Cora, absolutely not." Jaz had taken a long breath out and told her then, "This Alpha is known to us. Do you understand what I’m saying? He is known as an Alpha who grooms young Omegas."

  Jaz had shipped her away to another home and another town after that and a couple of years later Cora had learned that the Alpha had landed in prison.

  Is this the same? she thinks. Noah Wood is not a nice person. The grazes on his knuckles are proof of that.

  Chapter Eleven

  It's Rose's birthday, and she wants to go out dancing, to blow off steam and forget about the upcoming final exams and the increasing mess that is her family. It's something Cora hasn't done in a while — she hasn't had the money — but Rose is so keen, she can’t say no.

  Perhaps a night out, drinking and dancing, some time to forget about all the confusion in her heart and in her mind is what she needs. Her growing relationship with Noah, this secret, has been an uneasy burden weighing down on her shoulders.

  Rose knocks on Cora's bedroom door.

  "Which one?" she asks, holding up a red and a black dress.

  "Hmmmm. I think if you wanna make an impression, the black."

  "I was thinking of wearing it with my colourful necklace — the beaded one."

  "Oh yeah — that'll look nice."

  "Hair up or down?"

  "Definitely down." Rose has beautiful thick shiny hair and Cora can't understand why she'd ever choose to wear it up.

  "Fab," Rose pauses, 'what are you wearing — you are coming, aren't you?"

  "Yeah, yeah, it's your birthday, of course I'm coming," she says, shutting her laptop lid. "But I'm not sure what to wear — urgh, I don't have anything."

  "How about my backless top with your skinny trousers?"

  "Really?"

  "Yeah, Cora — you'd look awesome in that with your hair scooped up. And you never know there might be some cute guys there tonight. Joe will be there. I'm pretty sure he likes you."

  Cora's never been bothered about hooking up with guys — it doesn't tend to go well when you're an Omega. Usually she's fighting off lecherous Alphas who think they just have to click their fingers and she'll go trotting off after them.

  On the occasion she meets a nice Beta they either get freaked out when they realise she's an Omega or they think she'll be up for some dubious shit. Besides, there's this thing with Noah. They've not defined it yet, and they've not made any promises to each other. But undeniably something is happening between them.

  Not that she can tell Rose any of this. She won't understand.

  Rose spins around. "Can I grab the first shower?"

  "Sure."

  Later, Cora twists in front of the mirror, wondering if she looks okay. It’s strange having her back bare and her gland exposed. It makes her vulnerable. She runs her fingers over the gland, recalling a certain pair of lips sk
irting over her paper thin skin there.

  "Cora! You ready?" Rose calls from the hallway and Cora grabs her purse and jacket and skips out. "Woah, you look amazing, lady. You're gonna have every guy in there hitting on you."

  Cora rolls her eyes. She really doesn't want that — there's only one man's attention she wants. "Thank you — you look beautiful too."

  The doorman looks them up and down with an appreciative eye and runs his finger over the list, letting them pass when he finds Rose's name. It's already late, and the place is crowded; the air thick with perfume and alcohol. They push their way through the hot bodies, Cora's hand in Rose's, until they reach the table. Their friend Zach is already there with a handful of others, and he leaps to his feet and wraps Rose in a hug.

  "It's the birthday girl! Wow, you girls are stunning." He pulls Rose down onto an empty stool and Cora finds a space on the bench seat. "We already got a couple of jugs of cocktail," he points to the stack of glasses, "drink up!"

  Cora takes the glass offered and whips down the drink, the liquid cool in her throat. It's then that she catches a whiff of Noah, the hairs on her arms rising at that hint of him here, her body automatically reacting to his unseen presence.

  Noah. Here.

  And Rose too. And all her friends. It's too complicated. Hopefully he'll stay out of her way.

  She can’t hear the conversation between Zach and Rose, the deep beat of the music too powerful, and so she pours herself another drink, knocking that one down quickly too, the alcohol hitting her bloodstream and giving her a pleasant buzz.

  She rolls her head from side to side, trying to ignore the unease that lingers somewhere in her mind and hone in on that buzz instead. She takes another drink and leans over the table.

  "Can we dance?" she whines.

  Rose throws up her hands in protest. "I’m not wasted enough yet."

  "I am," says Zach, jumping to his feet and flinging out his hand. "May I have this dance, Madam?" he adds, with a flamboyant bow.

  Cora holds her hand to her chest and flutters her eyelashes. "Why, I’d be delighted!"

  Zach tugs her to her feet and twirls her under his arm. "Follow me then, " he says, pulling her after him as he saunters through the club, hips wiggling, his spare hand waving above his head in time to the music. When he reaches the dance-floor, he spins Cora into him and spirals them around. She flings back her head laughing, her concerns flying away, the other people dizzy faces under the flashing spotlights.

  She stumbles and Zach catches her, slinging her backwards against his arm, and then swishing her onto her feet. Grabbing his shoulder, she leans into him, giggling wildly, until she senses Noah. Without seeing him, she knows he's nearby, hovering in the dark spaces at the edge of the dance-floor. She can almost sense his gaze on her and her skin burns, the Omega inside her skittish and on edge.

  It's not like she's doing anything wrong. Only having a bit of fun. Only dancing with her friend. Yet there’s something in his scent that frightens her. Something angry and possessive.

  "Can we go sit down for a bit?" she yells into Zach’s ear, and his fingertips rest on her waist, pulling her closer so he can hear as she does. Noah's anger spikes invisibly in the air and she forces herself not to jump.

  It pisses her off. He doesn't own her. She's not his. She is free to do what she wants, and, God, if she won't fight tooth and nail to always retain that freedom.

  She pulls Zach away towards the recesses of the bar, wanting to be hidden. But no sooner do they stop, than Noah is there, towering above them.

  Zach looks up at him in confusion, and Noah glares at him. He flicks his eyes to Cora.

  "You want to dance?" he growls.

  She twists away from him. "No." Her anger is as clear as his own, peaking above the stench of sweaty bodies and sticky alcohol.

  "Omega," he barks and Zach’s eyes widen, his gaze swinging to Cora and then Noah.

  "I don't want to."

  "Then let's talk."

  "She said no." Zach puffs out his chest, attempting to position himself between her and Noah.

  The Alpha's scent grows dangerous, and she's suddenly frightened — for Zach more than herself.

  "Fine," she says to Noah, a warning shot in her eyes, and turns to Zach. "Sorry, I'll be right back."

  "Cora?" Zach says with uncertainty.

  She squeezes his hand. "It’s fine. Will you get us some more drinks?"

  It’s clear he doesn’t want to leave her, but she squeezes his hand tighter and gives him a nod.

  When he's gone, she spins to Noah, folding her arms across her body.

  "What was that?"

  "What!?! I only asked you to dance."

  "Bullshit. That was you pissing all over me and marking me up as your territory."

  "And what do you expect me to do, stand back and watch some other guy letch all over you?"

  "He wasn't. Zach is my friend. My very gay friend." She grits her teeth. "I'm not interested in Alpha bullshit, Noah."

  "Well, what exactly are you interested in then? Because sorry if I got the impression you were interested in me."

  It hits her hard in the middle of her ribs. Yes she is, she is interested in him. She wants him. And yet she knows there are people watching all around; judging and condemning her.

  "I told you. I want to take it slow." She digs her fingers into the flesh of her arms, trying to regain some control in her head. "I'm not ready for people to know."

  He snaps his head, tossing the hair from his face, and holds his hands out.

  "Don't you think every Omega and Alpha already knows about us?"

  "How?! You told them."

  "No." He scowls in annoyance. "They can smell it. It's fucking obvious."

  What? What? The possibility had never occurred to her, and yet it's so damn obvious. What a fool she is!

  "Why haven't they said anything?"

  "They're being discreet. They know we haven't gone public. They know what it means to do that, all the gossip, all the pressure. There's an unwritten code between Omegas and Alphas: don't talk about other people's relationships. We get enough shit as it is without our own people adding to it."

  She feels lightheaded. There's a code? Nobody has ever taught her about these things. She's that lost teenager all over again, trying to make her way in a complicated world she doesn't understand. In a quiet voice she asks, "Do the Betas know?"

  "I doubt it. You'd know if they did."

  There's bile rising in her throat; her hands shake.

  "Cora," he says, the animosity gone from his tone.

  But then Rose is there, agitated, aggressive.

  "What's going on?" she demands, positioning herself between Cora and Noah. "Is he hassling you?"

  Cora goes to answer, but she doesn't get the chance.

  "Just because you're an Alpha doesn't give you the right to hit on her." Rose takes Cora's hand possessively in hers.

  Noah shakes his head at her, sneering with feigned amusement. "Go away, will you; this is none of your business."

  "Fuck if it isn’t," Rose says, stabbing a finger towards him. "This is my best friend. And this isn't the 18th century. You don't get to command Omegas anymore." Rose's voice rises, she's winding up for a full on lecture, Cora can sense it. She tries to tug her away, but Rose remains feet planted, her grip on Cora tightening. "Did you know he's been spreading rumours about the two of you?"

  "What?" Cora whispers. Noah looks as shocked as she feels.

  "Yep, been going around bragging that he's sleeping with you."

  "No, I haven't," he growls, his scent spiking. She waits for him to say more, to inform her friend the rumours are true. But he remains silent.

  "You're scum. You know that." Rose continues. "They should've thrown you out after the first term. The only reason you're still here is your family and your wealth. You make me sick."

  Zach joins them, a glass tumbler in each hand, his face drained with alarm. "Is everything alright?"
r />   "No, he's harassing Cora."

  Cora can see Noah's struggling. Rose is like a kid with a stick poking the bear, with every fresh jab, his irritation growing. His nostrils flare as he sucks in each breath and his hands are balling and stretching.

  He paces forward. "You have no fucking idea. Piss off! I was talking to Cora, not you."

  Rose steps forward too. "You were intimidating her."

  "Rose!" Cora cries, but she's too late, everything blows up and despite her attempt she can't smother the spark on the fuse.

  As Rose yanks forward, Cora pulls on her hand and Zach jumps between Rose and Noah, just as Noah attempts to reach towards her. There's a clash of arms and shoulders and torsos, a glass flies into the air, Rose yells, Noah pushes the bodies away, and Zach flies backwards, slamming into the wall, tumbling to the ground, his hand sliced by the broken glass around him as he tries to steady himself.

  Cora dashes towards him, crouching down by his side.

  There's blood. Lots of blood. Rose is screaming at Noah now, pummelling his chest with her fists. People push past them. Someone yells for an ambulance. Another for the police. There're words jumbling in the crowd around them. Assault. Attack. Alpha.

  Noah stands motionless in the centre as people rush about him, trying to reach Zach slumped behind him, his head nodding as blood flows from his arm.

  She meets Noah's eyes, wide with fear and alarm.

  "It was an accident," he says to her, the words clear above the shouting and the deep boom of the base. "I didn't mean to do it."

  She can hear others around them, bouncers pushing through the people.

  "Go home, Noah," she shouts at him, her heart hammering so loudly in her skull she hardly hears her own words, her vision swimming with Zach's crimson blood. "Go home."

  Noah’s hands shake as he forces his way through the crowd, knocking away the arms that try to grab him, ignoring commands for him to stop.

  She takes Zach's injured hand in her own, blood rushing onto her fingers and her palms. The cut is bad, deep and long. She yells for some help and somebody shoves a wad of paper napkins at her, Holding his hand in one of hers, she uses her free hand and her teeth to unwind the serviettes and then wrap them tightly around his injury, attempting to pull the ripped skin back together, and raising his arm above his head.