Vonn: The Boundarylands Omegaverse: M/F Alpha Omega Romance Callie Rhodes (android e book reader txt) 📖

was so much worse around Trace. The rational part of Vonn wanted to be happy for his alpha brother, but his primitive alpha nature only craved what Trace had.

The only answer was to stay away. Which was a major pain in the ass since Trace was the roadhouse bartender. The only time he missed work was for the four days per month that his omega went into heat.

So that's when Vonn came to the bar.

Even an alpha craved the company of his brothers from time to time, and Vonn had to trade like everyone else. Most of his winter wheat crop stayed in the Boundarylands, traded with other alphas for moonshine and meat and soap and a dozen other things his brothers made. But Vonn also sold the syrup he made from the sap of Sierra Bigleaf maples, prized for its uniquely complex taste by beta foodies. The high price it fetched allowed Vonn to buy everything else that he needed from the smugglers.

He told himself that if it wasn't for all that, he would be tempted not to bother coming to the bar at all. His interaction with Gray tonight wasn't new; he'd had similar encounters with the other substitutes that took their turn behind the bar. Gray, Ryder, Knox—all of them suddenly seemed to think they knew what was good for him. Luckily, everyone else took their cues from the dark cloud above Vonn's head and gave him plenty of room.

But Vonn didn't want to admit to the real reason why he couldn't stay away, not even to himself. And so he tried to pretend to be indifferent to the beta smugglers milling—or staggering drunkenly, as the night wore on—around the roadhouse, which served as the only patch of neutral territory for a hundred miles. The smugglers had no other choice but to camp here, drink here, fuck here…and with any luck, one of these nights, Vonn might find someone like her again.

A dormant omega.

Vonn wouldn't miss the cues this time. The moment that the fine hairs along the back of his neck stood up in awareness, that his cock got hard from just a whiff of her scent, that he felt inexplicably alive, he wouldn't let anything get in his way.

But omegas were rare, and while there were more betas than ever passing through the Boundarylands, women only made up a small percentage of the smugglers and traders that made the dangerous journey. Even worse, the beta government had started testing their women for the dormant omega gene, and the odds of such a woman being willing to risk coming here was roughly zero.

But Vonn still held out hope that one day he'd find her, because if he didn't…

Vonn lifted the bottle to his lips and discovered it was empty. "Fuck," he mumbled, dropping it to the ground at his feet.

Didn't matter. If Vonn didn't find an omega of his own, he might as well go throw himself off the granite cliffs two miles up the creek that ran through his property. Smashing his body on the rocky creek bed almost sounded like a relief.

His nostrils twitched.

For a moment, Vonn wondered if he was so drunk he was having delusions. But then he snapped his head up as the faint trace of that elusive, rare scent entered his lungs. His cock stirred to life, instantly as hard as those granite cliffs, and gooseflesh sprung up along his arms.

Oh, God…that was it. What he'd been missing. What he'd been waiting for.

Vonn was on his feet so fast he wasn't aware he was moving. With predatory focus, he scanned the shed, the nearby forest, the porch, unable to find the source.

But he would. He strode toward the campground, chin lifted, testing the air. God help anyone oblivious enough to get in his way because this time, nothing was going to stop him.

The scent grew stronger as the campfire came into view, and soon Vonn detected the heartbeat of his soon-to-be omega, a woman who probably had no idea how much her life was about to change.

Which one was she?

Vonn scanned the small group of betas gathered around the fire pit. When he spotted her, he knew instantly that she was the one.

She was standing near the fire's edge, the glow of the flames creating a corona around her tall, slim, proud silhouette. She turned slightly, and he could make out her features: dark brown hair pulled back in a severe ponytail, high, sculpted cheekbones, intelligent eyes the color of gingerbread.

There she was…his destiny.

Chapter Three

By night six of her mission, Stacy was starting to believe she had the Boundarylands all figured out. After all, it had been nearly a week since she had successfully crossed the border in the company of the black market trading group she’d joined, her cover story and price of admission paid for by Fulmer. After an easy two-day hike, the group arrived in neutral territory and set up camp behind the roadhouse and begun to trade.

No one in her group had questioned her assumed identity—a smuggler of medical supplies making her first trading trip to an alpha settlement. In fact, most had been generous with their advice and offers of help.

Still, Stacy was surprised to discover how much she actually liked many of the beta dealers. The trek to the alpha territory had passed with shared meals and pleasant conversations. But in the evening, when the others drank and traded stories, Stacy turned in early and pored over the thick dossier Fulmer had given her by the light of her headlamp.

It hadn't taken her long to absorb the information she'd been given to study, every page of it stamped CONFIDENTIAL in large red letters. The Division of Alpha Control had learned considerably more about alphas and the Boundarylands than Stacy would ever have suspected, but little of it was surprising.

Amid the information about alphas' psychological makeup (brutish and incapable of empathy and love) and sexual habits (the fact that there were beta prostitutes who