The Omegas on port 69 were unkind.
Their hostility was masked under the feigned twittering of niceties, snakes under sheepskin. A simple walk to the market for groceries that they needed—salt pork, potatoes, sugar, soap—had led to an ambush.
Rue remembered time spent clinging to the swaying skirt of her mother; hordes of women spitting at their feet. Vulgarities spewing from their lips in thin angry whispers.A woman roared at them for ruining families, her arms full with fat, ugly babies.
But what flummoxed her the most was her mother's reaction to the jest. Because Mama only seemed to grow stronger under their insults. Her purchases were made slower–giving them the time to taunt and stare–and her gait towards home was beautiful in the stinking streets. They gave her a wide berth, as if she were a God.
Her lips—always stained a luscious red—would stretch into a cruel smile. Hair gold in the light of dusk, flung over her shoulder. Mama glowed like the sun in the sea. It was times like that when Rue had thought of her mother as someone great, someone to look up to. Her mother was no generous saint. But Mama was not a demon, nor was she an Alpha.
"Let them scream," she said to Rue as they peeled the potatoes, crisp against dull blades. They fell noisily in a pot of boiling water. "Prostitution is one of the only jobs that an Omega can do, and I am proud to be employed. To raise my family on the money I have earned. It is our business that brings merchants to 69. It is our livelihood that feeds the bellies of those women that think themselves better. And we protect their hides from the hands of their Alphas. They think they are above us, but are they really? Locked in their homes to a husband that will whip them if the babies cry."
"Or if the food has grown cold," an aunty had chimed in.
"Or for an itching ball sack!" Another cried which led to peals of laughter from the women.
Mama turned to her, chewing on stale biscuits that powdered her lips white. "There's no freedom in mated life." The aunties had rotten pickles, salt pork and potatoes for that afternoon, while Rue had boiled potato water. There would be no food for her that morning.
Later that night Rue had stared at her aunties who joked to a bruise purple on Mama's cheek, a gash up her arm, stitched ten times. Her lips were split open–three stitches to the side. But in Mama's eyes—broken capillaries and bloodshot from trauma—there was only joy; a little snort spewed through her jeer. Her fingers were running over the cash. Money flooded her purse, crisp and green. She tossed it to the side for Rue to count.
Twenty thousand credits for a single night. Rue would be allowed a bite of food the next morning. There would be meat in that meal, and it would be warm and filling. This Mama knew, and when Rue met her eyes she grinned.
"He paid five times more for harming my face. Gave an extra tip if I didn't go to the police," Mama told Rue as she penned down the sum. "All the hospital bills were paid for. Our pack Alpha has dealt with him, so you do not have to worry my ugly little girl." Rue had frowned at her words, not for the insult—Mama did that all the time. Mama simply smiled, knelt to her feet, a strange look in her eyes. "People look down on us. They think we are dishonest, filthy women that have sold their souls. But do you think I am weak?" Her eyes had spots of blood in them, but they did not waver.
"No Mama," Rue had replied. And that was the truth.
"That's because I am proud of where I've come. I live with dignity," she'd leaned closer, hair thick and glossy that it shone. The quality was so different from Rue's own stringy locks that it seemed like child neglect. But things were different when it came to Mama and her. Rue was a liability; Mama was an asset. Assets deserved more. "You remember the woman in the streets don't you, Rue?"
"The one with the babies?"
Mama had nodded with a wry smile. "Her Alpha did this to my face."
Rue had gasped then, a strangled exhale that tore out of her throat.
"She screamed at me for ruining her family. Fucking bitch doesn't know that I protect her from this. But I no longer will." Mama had snorted, flung a bloodied cloth on the dresser and leaned back with a long angry exhale. "Without prostitutes, society will crumble. Children and women raped. It's the way of an Alpha's world. Can't keep their dicks in their pants. Without us, they'd fuck each other. The weakest ones will go first, mark my words. It's always the weaker ones. The ones that are just like an Omega—"
"Omegas are weak?" Rue interrupted then, eyes wide. The winds of truth to her house of cards. To this Mama had paused then burst into a laugh, a wicked smile on her lips. She'd stared at her then, seemed to truly evaluate Rue.
"I suppose, that's what everyone thinks," Mama had smiled. "But we can start wars by merely existing. We can have them wrapped around our little fingers. We can control them, squeeze them dry for coin. Omegas are powerful, because Alphas don't think we are.." It had all been so confusing to little Rue.
"But you let them have you." Rue had muttered. "Isn't that a loss?"
"Not at all, not when he's ready for the picking and ripe with cash. When he's begging for me to take him." Mama had thrown her feet up on the table, knocking a couple of perfume bottles down. "It's all about the drag my girl, the slow fucking burn. A little taste. A little kiss. And they'll become insatiable for your affection, ravenous for anything you give. To buy all your time until it's just them that you see. It's even better if they are your soulmates. Why, they'll do anything at that point just to make you happy." Mama's eyes had grown dull, and seemed to stare further than the four walls that they called home. "Until they find a new pretty Omega."
"But I should fall in love with my soulmate—"
"Don't be naïve," her Mama had snapped. "Soulmates don't exist." She'd dragged Rue out of the enclosed space, and stormed to the edge of the railings. There she shoved her tiny body against the rusting metal. Rue gasped, the coldness suffused her skin. "Look Rue. Look! Look at the Alphas with the tattoos and marks, their little red strings. Their transformations because of their fated ones. They are here with their claiming bites, their soul marks that should lead them out of the door. And yet they find solace in our arms."
And Rue did, stared with her heart pounding at the group of men below, smiling and laughing. She stared at the deep marks on the nape of their neck. The mark of their fated mate was plain for the world to see and yet they stayed in the arms of her aunties.
"A soul mark is merely a sign of biological compatibility for aliens that do have them. Allow your soulmate to give you his heart, and when you have it in your grasp. Milk it dry and throw him away. That's how your Mama made a living, and that's how you can rise higher in the world. A well coaxed Alpha will do anything for our affection—always remember that. And never ever trust your soulmate."
"But Mama, what if I'm afraid? What if I am weak?"
"You can't show it,' Mama insisted fiercely. 'You must never fear them. Always stand up for yourself and live with dignity, or else no one will respect you. Not even yourself."
Rue licked her lips, her mind drawing back to the present. To Altair who was draped around her body, eager for a quick fuck and a broken heart to feed his demonic appetite. The memory of her mother solidified her resolve, her erratic breathing muted into gentle puffs.
But her heart remained thundering in her chest, horse hooves and drums against the bones of her ribcage. But there was peace trailing through her veins, strength in her bones—serenity that she received quickly as a curious calm pumped through her veins.
This had distress spinning in Altair's features, but he tried not to let it show, his tentacles fluttering over her skin. The feathery tails meandered over gooseflesh eliciting a soft giggle from his lips. His hands wrapped around the back of her neck, closing quickly preventing escape.
The aphrodite was gorgeous, his dissipating illusion revealed that he was decked in jewels that jingled across his neck, bell-like with each twist of his body. His ears were hooked with the prettiest of silver, and his fingers were cold with rings. But his body was all heat, and he made that clear, pressed himself so tightly against her that she felt him burning between his legs–a rod of quivering molten heat.
Altair's eyes were half lidded and sultry, body rippling with hard muscle, flexing before her in the semi-transparent long-sleeve chiffon. Tongue prodding at the corner of his lip, a smirk lifting the corners of his mouth. His hair was the fluffiest of gold. But it was his eyes that had her transfixed, the flood of pure desire seeping through gemstone like pupils. The flush of his cheeks, pink with his truth, an inferno building.
It was almost as if he were in love.
But Rue knew better.
He wanted to feast on her emotions, her dreams. The incubus was here for food, not for her, really. He had tasted her anger and fear, sucked the violent thrum of energy that reigned uncontrollably in her chest with feathery tails. And tonight, he hoped to taste her lust at its peak. Rue's eyes narrowed, fist clenched as the offending strands of his tentacles hovered over her.
"I've been," Altair whispered softly, dreamily as his gaze mapped her face, "dreaming of you, of your taste." There were hearts in his eyes, spinning pink that was ungodly pretty. The magic of his ability. "Of your cock on my tongue. How pretty it must be. I'll suck you down so deep you'll cum in seconds." His mouth opened, revealed pretty teeth and then a flicking tongue that did nothing for a non-dick owner like she was. "Think about it I don't have a gag reflex—"