“I already gave you a pair,” I huff, annoyed but also enjoying this teasing little game.
“Yeah, me and half the school,” he snorts. “No, I want a new pair, ones you actually wear and want to give to me. That’s my trade, take it or leave it.”
My eyes roll—he’s holding my panties hostage… for more panties. “I’ll think about it. Come on, let’s go before we’re late for class.”
We stand, and I grab my tray before I realize it’s become surprisingly quiet at my table.
Ah yes, the second surprise.
Once again, the school uniform guidelines were shockingly sparse. They basically leave it up to the imagination as long as you wear a white button down shirt, a black tie, and black pants (with the lovely exception of the teeny-tiny pleated skirt I’d been provided).
So, I decided to take some liberties with my uniform. A quick trim and tuck turned my giant uniform shirts into fitted blouses that still accommodate my chest, and the painted-on black stretchy pants are a great deal more comfortable, while providing significantly more coverage than the plaid skirt.
Paired with an appropriately sized black leather jacket and big shiny Doc Martens, I still feel sexy but much more like myself. The added layer of power I get from the ensemble is just a bonus—I had no idea the constant fear of someone seeing my underwear had such a negative effect on my psyche.
Now, of course, I’m a boss bitch, and it might be a little premature, but it feels as though some of my classmates are starting to recognize it, too.
Hmm, maybe I ought to try manspreading in class today. I chuckle to myself as I head to my first class with a renewed sense of enthusiasm.
Yup. So far, so good.
eight
AMBER
The next couple of days are much smoother, much more fun than the first few had been. Most of the glitter has disappeared, and Gabe fixed his hair after the first day, but I still catch glittering sparkles from time to time on many of the guys. My self-satisfaction from it knows no bounds.
Now, however, we have finally reached Friday and are in Omega Studies to receive our ‘practice omegas.’
“Bunnies?” I struggle to understand what Theoden is doing with a basket filled with tiny lop-eared critters.
“Well, more accurately, rabbit kits or kittens, but yes, known colloquially as bunnies,” he agrees with a charming smile. “These are just shy of eight weeks old. They are starting to eat solid food—alfalfa hay, mostly—but you will still need to supplement with a bit of milk. At this age they are still dependent on their mother—yes, that means you, boys and girl—for most everything else. In a couple weeks you’ll be able to finish with the milk and expand their diets to fruit and vegetables.”
As much as I want to project a tough-as-nails alpha exterior, I can’t help making big old heart-eyes at the basket of bunnies.
Each one is swaddled in a fuzzy blanket, all wrapped up like a cute little bun-bun burrito. They are all different colors, tucked together like so many Easter eggs, and their little noses twitch as they dream.
Do we seriously get to keep one?
“So, that’s it? We take care of a rabbit through the end of semester to pass omega studies?” Jake Madison’s voice echoes my confusion. It seems too simple.
“Yes, and no.” The professor’s smile takes on the properties of the Cheshire Cat’s haunting grin. “You will have to raise them, provide for them, train them, and protect them. We are providing some basic starter supplies—that is all. Getting the rest of what you need is up to you. You will receive a single sheet of instructions on some bunny basics, but you’ll have to figure out how to care for them on your own. You will need to hand train your rabbits to be good pets—these go to the San Francisco Omega Academy when we’re done with them, so if they are not litter-trained, the school will not accept them and you will have failed, pretty much guaranteeing an end to your career at Drakewood.
“Most importantly, you will need to protect your ‘omegas.’ They reside in your unlocked dorm rooms, and this school is full of predators. Both other studentsandstaff. They will be on the prowl for fresh prey and your ‘omegas’ are helpless. And, before you go getting clever ideas about bringing in a sub if you fail in your duties, these bunnies have all been photographed and chipped. If the one you turn in at the end of the semester doesn’t match what we have written down, you fail.”
I could practically hear a gulp of panic run around the room. These selfish assholes have never had to care for anyone other than themselves, and they are about to get a crash course in being selfless. Theoden stares around the room with barely-concealed glee, and I can scarcely contain my own amusement. These boys areterrifiedof a basket of bunnies. Fucking hilarious.
A snort escapes my nose before I know what’s happening, and it swiftly becomes a full-on peal of laughter.
The other guys glare daggers my way, but Theoden joins in my amusement with a chuckle of his own. “Miss Steele, since you seem so amused, perhaps you’d like to choose your practice omega first?” He sets the basket of overwhelming fuzzy cuteness on my desk and smiles beatifically.
My eyes rove over the pile of carefully swaddled buns, and I have no idea how to choose just one out of the sea of sweet babies. Then, as if it was meant to be, an all-black bunny with a white patch on one ear yawns, stretching its tiny mouth and swishing its whiskers before it settles back to sleep. I can practically feel my heart pitter-patter, and I scoop it out from the nest of its siblings before pressing it to my chest for snuggles.
Theoden gently removes a thin ribbon from the bunny’s neck and copies the number from the tag onto a sheet next to my name. “Congratulations, it’s a boy,” he says gently, in that rich, sexy tone his voice takes on specifically when he talks to me. “What are you going to name him?”
I stroke the incredibly soft fur between his midnight ears, and try not to coo at the little fluff—it would be incredibly bad for my new tough alpha image. “I’m not sure yet, but I’ll let you know,” I say with a wink. “I think he deserves a chance to show me who he is, before I drop a label on him.”
“Wise choice,” the professor nods, before lifting the basket and setting it on Gabe’s desk.