3. Chapter 3

Waverly awakes, slipping out of the haziness of sleep and takes her first real deep breath of the day. Hotwired, she first expects the smell of whiskey-spiked orange juice and burnt bacon. Accompanied by the spice of her father’s favorite brand of bourbon and the cloves of his Cuban cigars. The never-ending sound of her sisters at each other’s throats and her father grumbling about wishing for a single day of peace; the grand finale setting the tone of each morning. A staple in the Earp household.

She shoots up in bed as her brain registers the sweet scent of vanilla instead.

The quiet. The dead silence, save for the pounding of her heart beating endlessly against the walls of her chest.

She spent the entirety of the night restlessly tossing and turning, drifting helplessly in and out of sleep until her body finally gave in and her mind followed suit. Somewhat surprised the bed didn’t creak or cry out in misery every time she moved. But of course, it wouldn’t, it isn’t a beat down mattress with a few worn out springs. Instead, a king-sized monstrosity beneath layers of velvet soft sheets made from the finest Egyptian cotton. Pillows like fluffy clouds beneath her head, seamlessly shaping around the curve of her skull. The room is decidedly large: spacious, with a high ceiling and walls painted in a regal shade of white. Windows giving way to a gorgeous view of a rose garden outside with a massive fountain at the center decorating the front of the glorious mansion.

For a moment, she feels like royalty.

A princess, maybe even a queen. But a single glance outside the window tells her otherwise: the sight of her candy red Jeep Wrangler, more than a few years old with a couple of scratches and dents marring the paint job, parked in between a Lamborghini Aventador and an ivory-colored Rolls-Royce Wraith.

This isn’t real.

Nothing about this is real. She half expects it all to be some fever dream that’ll be over as soon as she wakes up. If only she were that lucky.

With a sigh, the brunette heads into the bathroom to officially start the day.

Much like the rest of the mansion, the bathroom, even for a guest, is an extravagant sight to behold. White and gold dominates the décor; outfitted with dark mahogany dressers and alabaster marble tops, large oval-shaped mirrors seated atop of them, a lounge chair is set up against the wall by the bathtub. Amazingly, the shower is separate, its own enclosure encased in glass from the ceiling to the floor.

Beneath the hot spray of the water, the pulsating jet hitting against the aching apprehension between her shoulder blades, Waverly is taken back to last semester. Tired and exhausted from another long shift at Shorty’s while trying fruitlessly to stay awake in class. Her sociology professor droning on and on about older, cultural ideologies that placed alphas on pedestals while the rest were practically forced into being subservient to them. His lecture lulling her to sleep until her forehead hits the desk and a sheet of loose-leaf paper hilariously sticks to her face.

An outdated concept: alphas are scientifically proven to be the “perfect embodiment” of our genealogy, and as such, it is absolute sacrilege to have an alpha glance your way and not glance back. Thankfully, such ideas have long been debunked by those with actual scientific backing. Sure, alphas are the ones commonly stereotyped as strong and virile, but findings as far back as sixty years ago have revolutionized the notion that everyone is the same as the cliché cookie cutter molds society desperately tries to have ingrained into us since childhood.

Born to lead and control, written in the fibers of their DNA, alphas were always portrayed as having positions of power. And yet, whenever there is one in command, a beta or an omega isn’t too far behind them. History books are filled to the brim with stories of alphas going made and waging war at the slightest upset. Sometimes at the behest of their mate. Sometimes because they were offended by another. Competition and bloodshed is strife, but not always at the hands of some snarling alpha looking to establish dominance.

There are stories of betas leading coups and usurping their kings like Catherine II of Russia and omegas starting revolutions, Napoleon being one. Unsung heroes leading the way and dismantling the social order between the three types. Most tales were probably exaggerated over time—it is still hotly debated on the validity of Genghis Khan, the great omega warlord and founder of the Mongol Empire, fathering 0.5% of the world’s current population—but alas, they are still based in truth.

In fact.

And yet, alphas are the ones that are highly sought after by the general public. Creatures of unadulterated sex drives and voracious appetites, especially during their ruts. How an alpha’s own personality, separate from the human’s is commonly characterized as that of an animalistic brute and on some level, everyone strives to soothe and tame like something out of a cliché romance novel.

Waverly never held much stock in alphas. Growing up with two older alpha sisters and witnessing their constant battle for supremacy day in and day out was not worth the trouble. The brunette had paid her dues to the universe by stepping between them when things were seconds away from exploding; getting caught in the crossfire, she rarely came out unscathed.

And yet, the universe must have thought otherwise of her daily sacrifices of trying to keep the peace at home when her father was busy at work to too tired to deal with his daughters’ constant one-upmanship, because here she was, twenty-one-years old, signed away to be some alpha’s toy in exchange for the chance at financial freedom and an easier life. But not just an alpha, oh no, the universe and whatever supreme being laid in wait up above, graced her with the privilege of being a purebred’s whore. The heir to the oldest dynasty in the goddamn country!

She wanted to strangle Chrissy for purposely failing to mention that specific detail. Would’ve done so too if the alpha’s impossible gorgeous wife didn’t step in and take the moment to show Waverly around the mansion and ultimately the room she would call home for the week.

Chrissy stayed over at Shae’s behest and her best friend, overjoyed, gladly took up residence in the guest room next to the omega’s. But for most of the night the beta stays in Waverly’s room, hopping on the bed cheerfully and roughing up the pristine sheets like a child while Jeremy, the alpha’s assistant, happily remained off to the side. Smiling bright and warm as he and Chrissy chatted up a storm, catching up and getting to know a bit more about Waverly. Provided with what she was willing to reveal about herself.

Because really, what amount of privacy did she even have anymore?

None.

Not when she suffered through the embarrassment of having her sexual likes and dislikes, written on paper in black and white, known now to more than just herself. Christ, she wanted the earth to open up and swallow her whole when she signed the papers. Signature a cute little scrawl compared to Nicole’s perfect cursive, only to be matched by her wife’s before the contract was sealed away inside a manila folder to be sent off to their lawyers. The unreadable expression on Shae’s face as she gave one last glance at the list of acceptable acts, the subtle quirk of her brow as mouthed the word Daddy had Waverly going red within seconds. Cheeks inflamed when the alpha’s honey-golden eyes narrow and turn red for several heartbeats, the makings of a smirk gracing her lips.

The memory is enough to send Waverly out of the shower, turning the glass knob and shutting off the water. She towels off and heads out of the bathroom, hair dripping wet, her phone vibrates on the nightstand with a text message.

Chrissy (12:55 pm)Hey Waves! Sorry I wasn’t there when you woke upHad to head back home and Jeremy was nice enough to offer me a rideHope you like the crepes Perry madeHe’s an awesome chef and a really good painter too.

Waverly sighs.

She adores Chrissy like the calm, bright, cheerful and amazingly patient sister she’s never had, but dammit she didn’t want to be left alone with the alpha so soon!

Chrissy (12:56 pm)We still up for tomorrow?And don’t forget to have fun with Nicole!;)

She types a quick message back, assuring the beta that they’ll meet at the Gardner Library in the morning for a quick study session before class starts. Waverly rereads the text before putting the phone back on the nightstand to get dressed. She can only imagine how strange it’ll be sitting in class after tonight.

Putting on a pair of high-waisted jeans, a burgundy sweater with Ghost River University’s logo printed on the front and matching suede boots. Simple and casual. Waverly didn’t want to run the risk of appearing a little too dressed up (or was it dressed down?), and hopefully the outfit was to the alpha’s liking. All that was needed to complete the ensemble were gold bracelets.

If she could find them.

Waverly isn’t as scatterbrained as most, she took care to make sure everything was where it belonged and minimized her messes as much as she could. And yet, on her first day she loses something. Turning the room upside down searching for the damned accessory, ready to give up until—“Meow,”—she spins around and finds her bracelet in the mouth of an ungodly creature.

A massive animal, orange with black stripes, sits precariously on the ruffled sheets of the bed. Bright green eyes stare unblinkingly at the omega. Tail wagging back and forth slowly, tauntingly, as if edging her on in order to give chase. It’s a cat obviously, but the detailed pattern of its fur and size makes it appear more like a miniature tiger than anything fluffy and domestic. Or friendly.

“Hey buddy,” Waverly tries in a voice reserved more for dogs, babies and an emotionally inebriated Wynonna. “Mind giving that back?”

The beast doesn’t move. Neither does the tail, slowing to a stop and curling around its hind legs.

She edges towards the cat tentatively. Fearing that it would either run off or attack her. “I need that bracelet, so if you could just…”

The cat tilts its head mockingly, before quickly hopping off the bed and bolting out of the room. Waverly chasses after the little terror, pretty sure that the universe was currently laughing at her expense. For a large animal, it moves surprisingly quick, bounding down the grand staircase easily; paws barely touching the marble steps.

“Damn cat,” Waverly huffs almost tripping off the last step, catching herself against a nearby wall. But it moves, and the omega jumps back when she notices that it wasn’t a wall but a framed photograph.

A 24x36 inch framed photo of a woman, black and white; hair done up into a tight bun at the top of her head, sunlight streaming through blinds, painting soft lines across her naked back, the supple curves of her shoulders and slender waist and hips. Body partly shrouded in darkness, and despite her face partly hidden beneath the shadows of the background and light of foreground, the come-hither look is unmistakable. The want and lust evident in the model’s mysterious eyes.

“Beautiful isn’t it?”

Nicole appears standing beside her, appreciatively admiring the photo in a simple short-sleeve shirt and black and blue checkered pajama bottoms. Waverly is grateful the alpha is dressed this time and not parading around half-naked in a towel. Nonetheless, it doesn’t deter the omega from taking in the older woman’s appearance whilst she was distracted. Eyes traveling up the toned and fit arms, the tribal armbands inked into the skin curling around her left forearm, to the seven phases of the moon tattooed down the length of her bicep several inches above. The muscle firm beneath the smooth skin, tightening as she flexes for a split second. Upwards, Waverly finds the sharp lines of Nicole’s collarbone, the softness of her jaw, the dimples of her cheeks and the tiny mole seated at the corner of her eye.

But the most startling feature about the alpha is the unblemished skin of her neck. The unmarked flesh of her throat.

Nicole and Shae aren’t mated.

The omega in her shivers at the realization.

“One of my firsts, took me forever to get the lighting right.” The alpha says by way of greeting after moments of awkward silence, not looking at her and breaking the ice. Waverly feels relieved she didn’t have to be the one to do it. 

“One of my favorites as well, can’t imagine how many times I’ve sat on the stairs just staring at it.” Her words are said with reverence, an almost dreamy look in her honey-golden eyes and Waverly can’t help but nod her head. Imagining what it would be like to be captured in such a way for all eternity.

Nowadays everyone thinks they’re a photographer snapping pictures with their phones and adding a filter. But this? To be preserved in a photo of this magnitude, this style? Truly nothing short of magical.

“I can see why, it really is a beautiful piece.”

“There are others, if you’d like to see,” Nicole suggests. “Be advised, most of the models in the photographs don’t have clothes.”

Waverly arches a brow. “Uh… Was that a joke?”

“Not at all, most photographers have a specific subject they like to photograph. Some take shots of nature, or animals, I picked people.”

“Naked ones?”

Nicole smiles. A small laugh, sweet and deceptively smooth. Sheepishly, she runs a hand through her hair, ruffling it up into an impossibly perfect mess. “Yes, naked ones—come, you must be hungry.”

The brunette shakes her head. “Oh no, I’m fine.”

“Thirsty?”

“I’m alright, thank you though.”

Nicole tilts her head, honey-golden eyes bright and almost pleading like a puppy. “At least have one drink with me.”

“Alcohol?”

This time Nicole shakes her head. “I’m not much of a drinker, admittedly I’m a lightweight, closer to a middleweight mind you, but there are a few who will say otherwise.”

The big bad alpha purebred a lightweight? Hardly seems plausible. But Waverly indulges the redhead and follows her towards the kitchen. Feeling more than a little self-conscious. The heels of her boots clicking against the linoleum while Nicole’s footsteps barely make a sound. Much like everything else in the mansion, the kitchen is massive and nothing like the one she knew and loved back on the homestead. Modern and stylish, she doubts the stove has ever gone off the deep end and threatened to burn the house down or the microwave filling with smoke and burning food to a crisp.

Waverly gently takes a seat at the table, the top sleek and she can see her own reflection within the wooden finish.

“Coffee, tea or hot chocolate?”

“T-tea, tea is fine.” Waverly says, quietly berating herself for sounding so unsure. So small.

“Tea it is.”

Nicole fills a kettle with water and sets it to boil on the stove. Doing the same with a small pot filled with milk. She then sits down at the table.

“Waverly, I know this isn’t the most ideal situation for you and believe me, it isn’t for me either. But at the end of the week—the end of my rut, you’ll be paid, and I’ll be… Satisfied.” Nicole starts, sounding a little tortured. “I’m not going to keep you here as some prisoner, you’re free to come and go as you please, as long as you let me know for security reasons, but um, yeah.”

“And the sex?”

“The sex, well, the sex isn’t all that important.” Waverly doesn’t buy it. “It’s not like it’s expected of you to be wet and ready whenever I’m hard, or that we’ll be fucking every hour on the hour, that’s just unrealistic.”

“But we will have sex, right? I mean it’s inevitable.” She hates the way it sounds coming out of her mouth, and by the slight wince of her words, Nicole does too.

“Eventually, we will.” Nicole sighs exasperated, wanting to be done with conversation about the contract.

That only piques the omega’s interest.

“So, how’s school?”

“It’s fine. Great even.”

And it is.

College is the best thing that could have ever happened to Waverly. Granted, Purgatory is a college town, but that isn’t to say she would have enrolled into Ghost River straight out of high school for sure. Like many other residents of the town, she could have skipped out on attending college and continued living life as her forbearers; working off the fat of the modern land, a regular job whether retail or not, up the corporate ladder. From minimum wage to as high as can go until she’s become bored enough to leave for another job or complacent enough to stay forever. Striving for that Canadian dream the way someone would without a college degree.

But alas, with some sacrifices, Waverly attended college straight out of high school. Given a partial scholarship that sadly couldn’t cover all the expenses. Leaving the brunette to work odd jobs here and there until she finally turned twenty-one and her Aunt Gus and Uncle Curtis were finally able to hire her. Since then she’s pulled double shifts at Shorty’s as often as she could. Careful to not let the job take priority over her studies.

All too often do college students forego their education and work at a job where the money seems endless and bountiful in the moment, only to be anchored by and the next thing they know they’re middle-aged and wondering where it all went wrong. Wynonna, had told her as much one afternoon in homestead’s basement. They were busting open storage boxes, searching for some old vintage gun that served as the Earp’s family heirloom. She and Willa wanted it to serve as the cornerstone of their nightclub. They had even named it after the gun: Peacemaker. Upon finding it, Wynonna gets a little misty-eyed and tries hide behind her toughened exterior and blame the tears on something being caught in her eye, but Waverly knows.

She knows that finding the gun symbolized a long-held dream of hers. While some kids say they want to be astronauts, or cool James Bond-like spies, they grow up, changing those childhood dreams into something seemingly more achievable, like a doctor or lawyer. Not Wynonna. She always wanted to own a bar like Shorty’s in Calgary, the big city. And with Willa’s help, she is. But a hint of regret and frustration lies beneath the advice and threats of kicking Waverly’s ass if she ever gave up on college.

“Don’t you dare quit school, baby girl,” she would say, “don’t be like me and Willa struggling to get the club off the ground or like Daddy working as a sheriff’s deputy and risking life and limb every day. You know he’ll kick all our asses if he doesn’t see one us living in a big fancy house like some rich blue-blood by the time he kicks the bucket.” They aren’t kids anymore, playing Hungry Hungry Hippos on the coffee table, chasing each other outside around the barn or playing pranks an unsuspecting Willa. They’re grown ass adults with one too many stresses on their mind to not keep going.

One too many.

Being a college student bars that nightmare from becoming a reality. If anything, she’s a lot closer to it. Able to be free of the timeless curse that plagues most of the Purgatorians born within the Ghost River Triangle.

“I’ve got a presentation for my English 350 class coming up.”

“Oh, on what?” Nicole asks, standing and heading towards the stove.

“On, um, romance in literature. Specifically, the death of it.” Good God, I sound like such a nerd. Waverly mentally groans. Or a pretentious hipster wannabe.

“The death of romance… Quite the topic, are there any specific texts you’ll be using?”

“A few, Romeo and Juliet and The Great Gatsby so far. My professor wants the presentation to be a preview of what our dissertations will be like.”

“Good choices, if I may make a suggestion—how many sugars?—Macbeth would also do great alongside those two.”

“Three sugars, please—and Macbeth isn’t really a romantic story. More political.”

Nicole turns around from the kitchen counter and places the cup of tea in front of Waverly with an amused face, sitting back down across from her with her mug of hot chocolate in hand. “Oh but it is, sure on the surface it’s a tragedy about the damaging physical and psychological effects of political ambition, but it’s romantic as well.”

“How do you figure?” Waverly is more than a little intrigued and impressed. Her omega purring in delight.

“Well, take the relationship between Macbeth and Lady Macbeth. I’ve always believed that while the power balance between them was shifted more towards her, that they loved each other equally. A love that may border on just the need to further themselves politically, is still love. Albeit, a destructive one. Why, the most passionate people are usually the ones willing to go to hell and back.”

“True, but they ultimately get done in by their own selfishness.” Waverly takes a sip of her tea. She tastes chamomile with a hint of honey: her favorite.

“Love is selfish, don’t you think? Who cares about morality when the love of your life is your everything?” Nicole says, "It can also be said that they were mates."

“Same as Romeo and Juliet. Killed by their own lusts and they were just teenagers.” The alpha continues.

“An idealistic tale of star-crossed lovers; not as romantic as most people would think since they practically seduced each other with glances and a few words.” Waverly feels a little breathless, she can’t remember the last time she had such an intelligent discussion outside of a classroom or lecture hall. “Hardly the best example of love. More like seduction.”

“All it takes to fall in love is a little seduction, darling.”

Nicole’s voice is impossibly smooth like silk, eyes turning red for several heartbeats before settling back to their usual gold. Seduction must be easy when the world is at your feet, Waverly thinks cynically. Normal people don’t seduce or get seduced. Much less in Purgatory where everyone knows each other since childhood and relationships are formed because of that familiarity. In high school, hormones are all over the place and puberty turns people into horny mutts. College is a bit different. Dating is a bit more nuanced, the skills you learned in high school, more refined. Still, inhibitions come down after a couple of drinks at party as it would during high school when someone’s parents were gone for the weekend.

“Anything can be seductive, why something as simple as choking can be seductive based on a well-founded and established context.” Nicole says over the rim of her mug.

Waverly shakes her head in disbelief. “I can’t believe this. Not love letters, poems or even chocolates—choking. Christ.”

“Like I said, well-founded and established context.” Nicole shrugs.

“So, tell me, what’s so seductive about choking?” The brunette bites the inside of her lips, pretty sure that this was the alpha’s ploy in letting her know what she likes in bed.

“Submission. Being in control is fun, but letting someone else take the reins is fun too. The freedom to not think and just feel, to let yourself be played and used by someone else. Letting something as essential as breathing be in the hands of another, it’s more about trust than anything else.” The alpha licks her lips.

Waverly feels brazen. “So, what would you do if I choked you?”

A beat.

“Moan.”

Jesus Christ.

“Is there anything else about your sexual proclivities that I should be aware of, because…” Waverly doesn’t even know what to say next. “Because Jesus.” Jesus fucking Christ.

Nicole shrugs nonchalantly.

“I’ve been told that I have a massive appetite, so there’s that.”

The brunette makes a face. “Massive appetite, what are you—”

Nicole licks her lips again. Deviously.

Oh.

Oh no.

No.

No, no, no, no… Her heart starts to pound wildly against the walls of her chest. Palms suddenly slick with sweat, clammy and cold around the teacup. Fingers trembling, her entire body on the precipice of a cliff threatening to fall off at any moment. Biting the inside of cheek, Waverly struggles to keep from falling apart in front of Nicole. But with the taste of blood swelling around her teeth, the pain searing through the fear, the brunette feels faint. Heart ready to burst from her chest.

“We don’t have to do that,” She tries to keep her voice steady. Void of anything that isn’t calm or normal. “I-I mean if we have to it’s fine, I just—”

No. No, no, no, no… No—

“Waverly.”

Nicole is crouched beside her, Waverly hadn’t even seen her get out of her chair. Honey-golden eyes bright with concern. She’s impossibly close, hand warm and soft on her wrist, thumb rubbing soothing circles into her skin. She smells like vanilla dipped donuts.

“Talk to me.” She presses, voice sweet.

“I’ve never, never,” the brunette takes a moment to breathe. “Never had anyone e-eat—”

The alpha quirks a brow. “Never?”

Waverly shakes her head.

“But on the contract, you—Chrissy said that you’ve had boyfriends before, even a girlfriend at one point and you… Never?”

Waverly shakes her head again, a little more than ashamed.

“Did something happen to you?” Nicole growls. “Did someone hurt you?”

“No!” Waverly turns away, pulling her hands away from the alpha’s touch. “Nothing like that, it’s just…”

She doesn’t know why this is happening. The omega had never even told her best friend about this, but here she is about to tell a complete stranger. And maybe that’s why the next few words come out so easily. Some part of her wanting to live in the reality of a world where this secret isn’t something to hold so close to the chest. Like Nicole had said before, they are strangers to each other and by the end of the week, that’s all they’ll ever be. There are no niceties, no abundance of pity and sugar coating to spare her feelings as if it would had she told Chrissy.

“My first boyfriend Champ,” She begins. “He never went down on me whenever we had sex and then one day, I asked him why not and he said it was because it wasn’t his thing. I know it sounds stupid, because everyone has their likes and dislikes and things they’d be open to, but I’d always have to beg and plead with him.”

“Then he finally got over himself and got around to it, but he always treated it like it was something he had to do to be a man. Eventually we broke up, because I realized that he was an all-around asshole and finally realized what everyone was telling me all throughout high school, but sex…” Waverly shudders at the memory, fingers playing with the handle of the cup. “Sex, was never the same. Or was it? Everyone after him, they were nice. A lot better than him. But I just couldn’t do it, it never felt right and then I overheard some girl at party who hooked up with him and—is it me? Am I that bad?”

Nicole doesn’t say a word and Waverly wants to sink beneath the floorboards.

“I-I sound shallow, don’t I?” Waverly asks softly. Small and insignificant. “He said I was.”

Several moments of silence pass before Nicole suddenly stands. Her full height towering over Waverly, pupils dilated until the gold of her eyes is nothing more than a ring of fire. Shifting until the irises are a bright penetrating red, rich and deep—a purebred alpha’s true self. Waverly is a deer in headlights waiting to be devoured, until Nicole outstretches a hand.

“Come with me.”

Waverly stares at the hand, not comprehending what exactly is happening. But she takes the hand anyways, her omega nudging her forward with a simple Go. Nicole’s hand is warm, smooth as she leads the brunette out of the kitchen and down a different corridor from before.

The alpha doesn’t let go, and neither does she.

“I won’t lie, I’ve been around the block one too many times as a teenager. My youth was a haze and quite frankly, there are parts of it I don’t exactly remember all too well.” The redhead says seriously. “But if there’s one thing I’ve learned from all those mindless years, is that the human body is a beautiful thing.”

“That’s why my models are always either half-naked or completely so; far too often people demonize and glorify sex, but rarely is it ever celebrated. People make it dirty with their selfishness and disrespect, Champ being one of them.”

They come to a stop in front of large two-paneled doubled doors, black with a glossy finish, door knobs made of solid gold. Much like the family symbol carved into the stone above the fireplace in the living room, the triple-spiral triskelion symbol is carved into the hardboard. Gold and outlined in silver, the symbol is made of soft, spiraling lines instead of the harsh foot-like endings that is synonymous with the Haught Dynasty. The insignia is easier on the eyes and with a deep breath, Nicole turns to face Waverly, eyes no longer red.

“Now before we go in, we need to go over the basic rules: firstly, what are our color signifiers and what do they mean?” She lets go of her hand.

“Green is okay, yellow stands for slow down and red means pause.”

“What is the agreed upon safeword to stop the session, should you feel unable to continue?”

“Unicorn.” The brunette swallows at the childishness of the word she picked.

“What is my name?” The alpha asks, unable to help the smirk that forms on her lips.

“Daddy.”

“What is yours?”

“Baby.”

Both hands on the door knobs, Nicole rolls her shoulders. “Finally: do you trust me?”

Surprisingly, she doesn’t hesitate. “Yes.” The word is said quickly and firmly, not a shred of doubt that leaves Waverly stunned seconds after it’s said. Eyes drifting from the redhead’s back to the black doors ahead.

“Sex is art, Waverly.” Nicole says. “Sex is art and I’m going to prove it to you here.”

“Where is here?”

The doors open, and they step inside.

“My playroom.”