The Mating Run

Chapter 9

Author's note:

My heart goes out to everyone in Paris and Syria. Stay safe.

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After being examined six thousand fucking times, they finally send me home so I can sleep off the my troubles and my sore legs. I forget all about how Tyrone and the others could be doing until the next day when I walk into class and half of them aren't there. A substitute sits at Mr. Tate's desk, her cold glare silently commanding me to sit down. "And, your name is?" She snaps as I take my normal seat next to Trish.

"Evie Young," I mumble, realizing this mess is mine.

"Speak up!" She shouts at me, almost startling herself. "Dumb Omega." I immediately try to shoot out of my desk and launch myself across the room to wring the old hag's neck, but Trish pulls me back down.

Not worth it, she mouths.

"Well?"

I turn back to look at the sub, my jaw clenching. "Evie Young," I say louder, my anger almost cascading out. "And your name?" I can't just call her Ms. Cunt no matter how much I want to. She rolls her eyes and hobbles over to the whiteboard and uncaps a dry erase marker with shaking hands. She reaches her trembling, sagging arms up and drags the marker across the board, writing her name.

Mrs. Dorris

She caps the marker and returns to the desks, her crooked nose wrinkling. The bell rings, causing her to wince and cover her ears until it finally ends. She stands, staring down all 9 of us. "Mr. Tate," she practically spits his name with disdain. "Is out for the day for health reasons in light of yesterday's events." My heart drops. It's all my fault, my fault, my--

"How badly was he injured?" I ask before my guilt can consume my thoughts.

"You will not speak unless spoken to, Omega," Mrs. Cu--Dorris barks at me, her back hunching over. She straightens her spine and scowls at me. "Mr. Tate was not injured physically." I frown. Why--

Oh.

Oh.

"He had a bad anxiety attack, one of those crazy apparitions your generation has made up to get away with being lazy punks." My claws have a mind of their own and break through my finger tips, digging into the desks. Trish knudges me before Mrs. Dorris can notice with her beady little hawk eyes. "Today, we are going to be learning about the traditional role of an Omega," she says as she turns back to the whiteboard, her hunchback facing us. I can see Trish shrink into her desks out the corner of my eye. "The traditional role of an Omega is to mate with an Alpha, and an Alpha only. Betas stick with Betas and Betas only." She turns and stares us down, silently daring someone to question her word. "The Omega shall stay at home and cook and clean and bare children for their Alpha." My chest flares with anger. I am more than just a warm body to fuck and to order around. Mrs. Dorris begins to pace back and forth, her wrinkled old hands clasped behind her back.

"The Omega may never refuse their Alpha and may never flash their eyes at their Alpha."

I can barely hear Trish begin to growl under her breath.

"The Omega also never disrespects other Alphas."

Trish's claws dig into her desks and she shuts her eyes as they burn blue.

"But most of all," she says, pausing for effect. "An Omega never changes into their wolf form."

Trish jumps from her desk and bursts out the door before anyone can stop her.