Bad Girl: A fated mates paranormal romance (The Season Book 2)
Bad Girl
Sam Hall
Bad Girl
Bad Girl © Sam Hall 2021
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except for in the case of brief quotations for the use in critical articles or reviews.
Cover art and design by MiblArt
The characters and events depicted in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Created with Vellum
Stalk me!
Stalk me!
Facebook author group: Sam’s Hall of Heroines
Facebook page here
Newsletter sign up here
Instagram here
Book Bub here
For Saoirse
You’ve shown considerable grace and patience when dealing with my million trillion questions, so you get the dedication this time. Here’s hoping people understand Tai the way we wrote her.
Author Note
This book is written in Australian English, which is a weird lovechild of British and American English. We tend to spell things the way the Brits do (expect a lot more u’s), yet also use American slang and swear more than both combined.
While many people have gone over this book, trying to find all the typos and other mistakes, they just keep on popping up like bloody rabbits. If you spot one, don’t report it to Amazon, drop me an email at the below address so I can fix the issue.
samhall.author@gmail.com
What the hell is omegaverse?
Omegaverse is a term I think that comes from fanfic, but from my reading, involves people with animalistic instincts but more often than not, are not shifters (though some do). There are some notes below for those new to this genre, but please be aware, each author approaches this their own way.
This book takes place in an alternate Earth, where everything is the same (technology, media, popular culture) but people are either betas, alphas or omegas.
Designations
Alpha: bigger, powerful and in many author’s books, only male. A stereotype of all that is masculine. They are often faster, smarter, more charismatic, uncompromising and can be alpha-holes. Their animalistic instincts often involve aggressively defending what’s theirs, the kind of jostling/fighting male animals do before mating, consciously or unconsciously using their gifts to sway others and basically getting what they want. May have a knot (bulbous swelling somewhere on his dick that ‘locks’ inside the omega when mating). Has sharper than normal canine teeth. When an alpha bites an omega, they are now a mated pair with an unbreakable bond.
Beta: Basically your garden variety human, like we are now. Can be rational, but not always. Tends to get ahead through hard work and dedication.
Omega: can be much smaller, weaker, less muscle tone, softer: a stereotype of what is feminine, but not necessarily female. Tends to feel an instinctual need to submit to an alpha, especially when coming into heat, a period of very intense sexual arousal. Can emit much more plentiful vaginal fluids (slick) to ease an alpha’s knot. Likes to build nests that settle them when their instincts are highly charged during a heat. Can bite and claim an alpha, but tends to be seen as an alpha thing to do.
When you are around seventeen or eighteen, you will ‘reveal’, waking up and realising what your designation is.
Trigger Warning
Potential triggers:
This book, and all omegaverse potentially, deals with themes that maybe triggering. Omegas don’t really live in a world that empowers them in this book and their nature tends to prohibit that. Usually in my books, the FMC will find a way to overcome that, but that doesn’t happen so much this time. The heavy instinctual nature of an omega, also means that there is an element of dub con, because sometimes, instincts are running the show, not the FMC. There’s no forcing, raping etc to my mind, and I’ve asked the beta readers to keep an eye out for that, but of course, you may feel differently.
The FMCs brother in the book is dealing with some heavy mental health issues and puts himself into a highly risky BDSM situation that 1. does not represent safe, sane and consensual play and 2. could be potentially triggering. This is someone who really hates himself and is putting himself in a position to be abused as a result, under the veneer of BDSM. I do not consider this the norm in the BDSM community and am hoping you don’t either reading this book.
The FMC sees this through the camera feed and is probably a little callous. I used my own experiences with mental health and the fact that my loving siblings got compassion fatigue about that after awhile. They weren’t trying to be cruel, but it just gets wearing after awhile.
The FMCs father is controlling and abusive in a very low key, upper middle class way, making casual decisions about her bodily autonomy without consultation. She doesn’t stand for that though.
Some of the side characters alphas are entitled dickholes who don’t mind hurting or assaulting omegas to suit themselves.
Mental health is a consistent theme throughout the book.
Contents
Stalk me!
Author Note
What the hell is omegaverse?
Trigger Warning
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Want more omegaverse hotness?
Acknowledgments
Stalk me!
Chapter 1
Hey, it’s me, Sam. *Waves*
You thought this was the first chapter? Nah, that’s the next one. I’m just jumping in here trying to make sure you get what you want from this book.
I try to pre-warn people about my books and their content, yet still get a heap of reviews going ‘ew, this has A in it’ despite the ads and blurb and promo I do all saying it’s full of A.
So what are you going to get in this book?
A lot more queer representation.
One of the male leads is an omega and is not sure if that’s who he truly is. His exploration of that is a big part of the book. Because it seems to matter to some of you, he’s a big, tall, masculine guy, but he found out he’s an omega and doesn’t really feel like he is one some of the time.
As he explores that, he and the main characters go to a sex club where there are a lot of people who explore different sexualities. One scene deals with two female side characters, one of which is a transwoman and one is a cis-gender woman. They have sex, it’s not a really long scene, but some people seem to want to avoid that, so now you know and can make an informed decision about that.
If you hate these kinds of themes, is this series a no-go for you?
Nope, the next girl I want to write about will be much more conv
entional, so keep an eye out for that book if you still like my omegaverse, but the above makes you uncomfortable.
Last thing, please for the love of God, read the trigger warnings. If you think something is missing from it, let me know. There’s not massive amounts of dark themes, but there are some and I prefer people be prepared.
Chapter 2
I didn’t intend to become a bad girl. I mean none of us do, right? We don’t come out of the womb ready to flout family rules and traditions, wanting to be free of their stifling constraints. That comes later, much later, as we are socialised and raised up, only to be forced into the tiny little acceptable boxes.
When we refuse, that’s when the ‘bad’ labels start to come out.
Because some of us, we will not go quietly into our designated places, but that in itself is not an especially unusual thing. I was born into privilege, which the average person thinks affords you more freedom rather than less. In a way, that’s true—freedom from poverty, food insecurity, prejudice, and having the dice loaded against you from the moment you came into this world. I knew all of that, but my gilded cage had its price as well, the first being I wasn’t even aware there was a door out of it, not until I met him.
“Did you need help, miss?”
I sat at my dressing table, my features bleached by the artificial lights ringing the mirror, a makeup brush in my hand. Helen, the stylist my father paid for, stood inside my bedroom door.
“I’m fine.” My reply was tense, said through lightly clenched teeth in a way that would usually have people scurrying to rectify their errors, but not Helen. Her finely plucked brows arched ever so slightly.
“I’ve got that new neutral palette from MAC you asked for.” I’d done no such thing, but she moved forward, entering my room, my sanctum, without even asking. The eyeshadow was produced, still sealed, displaying a wide array of shades to make it look like you weren’t wearing makeup.
“Thanks, Helen.”
The slight pause between the thank-you and her name made her lips purse for a moment, and she hovered now, watching my fingers twirl the powder brush with a disturbing level of focus. I mean, I kinda felt sorry for her. My father had employed her as a makeup artist, and I was sure she’d envisaged some sort of drowsy Instagram filtered set of tableaus, where she helped me find my inner beauty, while buying all the fabulously chic items on her personal wish list, and I would be forever grateful. He hadn’t warned her of what she was getting herself in for.
“But I’ve got this,” I continued belatedly, opening the drawer of my dresser to reveal all my tools of the trade.
She watched me pull out item after item without saying a word, but she didn’t have to. I was an omega, so I was exquisitely attuned to the moods and the subvocalizations of those around me. I knew without looking that her hands hovered in the air as she was torn between crossing the social divide between us and committing a heinous faux pas, or being able to actually do the job she’d been paid for, something I’m sure she had fears about being continuously employed to do. As my eyes flicked up, catching her looming over me, everything I suspected was confirmed, and then some.
A glittering light filled her eyes, as everyone’s did when face-to-face with an omega. I was biologically more compliant, more susceptible to influence, more able to be outright coerced by the right person, and wasn’t that seductive? Her irises shone as she no doubt played a scenario out in her head, where she barked at me to wear the right makeup, where I styled my hair in the graceful chignon Dad preferred, where I eschewed my usual party dress and combat boots combo, where I was a good girl. She would take me in hand, force me into the mould Dad had been trying to jam me into, and get that very lucrative raise he’d been dangling in front of her and every other ‘stylist’ that had been employed before Helen.
“Kit—” she started to say, command resonating in her voice.
“Katherine,” I corrected with just as much there as she’d had. No, more so. before I’d revealed as an omega, Dad had hoped I’d become an alpha, so he’d taught me how to act like one. He’d raised my brother, Theo, and my sister, Cressida, the same way, though it was only Theo that turned out the way Dad had wanted, but I remembered exactly how an alpha was supposed to act and talk to get people to be compliant. “And I didn’t give you leave to enter my bedroom, nor to offer me makeup I certainly didn’t order. Put the palette down, Helen.”
I smiled when the beta’s hand moved of its own accord, the plastic clicking decisively as it was left on the dresser.
“And leave me to get ready. If I need you, I’ll let you know.”
Helen found herself backing up and away from me, out of my room, and probably wondered why later. I was no academy omega, taken from the ’burbs and run through a finishing school before being pimped out to the rich and powerful. I stared at my hazel eyes in the mirror. I was the rich and powerful, and sometimes, just sometimes, privilege trumped designation. It wasn’t until I heard the click of my bedroom door that I fished out my eyeliner pen.
I worked quickly, smoothing my face to a pale oval, applying a kind of rich grey green eyeshadow that made my eye colour transform into a strangely compelling chameleon-like colour. False eyelashes, winged eyeliner, and my hair twisted into an updo—I was rocking some old-school glamour. I fluffed the emerald green skirts of my dress, then pulled on some satin opera gloves before applying the last touch.
“Whore red,” Tristan had said the last time I wore it, those beautifully formed lips twisting into a sly smile. “I fucking hate it when you wear that colour.” His hands cupped my face, his pale green eyes boring into mine until my breaths began to shorten. “You move that beautiful, pouty mouth of yours, the colour screaming for attention, and then I’m fucking rigid.” One hand had pulled away from me, sliding down his body, and my eyes had followed it to where he cupped it over his groin, showing me the evidence of his words. “Then I’m not able to follow all the conversations around me, keep up with the bullshit and play my role.” He moved closer, my body softening in response. “Because when you wear it, there’s only you.”
I pulled out a tube of scarlet lipstick, uncapping it and twisting the base to reveal the vermillion column. When I applied it, I thought of him, Tristan, and the feel of his kisses as he sucked every damn scrap of red off my lips, leaving just me, and then kissed me some more.
Then I was done. Well, almost. I stood up, walked over to the satin heels Helen had chosen for the outfit and slid them on, hating the way the stupid things tilted my pelvis and threw off my centre of gravity, but it wouldn’t be for long. I could walk in them fine, but had always hated the mincing gait omegas were supposed to mimic. I looked in the mirror, fussing with a pleat in my dress, then smoothed my hands over my hips.
Helen didn’t get it, controlled as she was by the pages of Vogue or whatever. She wanted me to dress like an elegant beta, but I wasn’t one. I was smaller, curvier, softer, and would always have to wear clothes that worked with that. Well, most of the time. I flicked off the lights and then walked out, down the hall and the stairs, arrowing in on the dining room as staff bustled in and out.
“Darling!” Dad said as I appeared, all the people there standing when I made my entrance. It was a common courtesy for omegas, especially one born to the house. “Look at you.” He held me at arm’s length and inspected me, like one would a horse before buying it. “You look like a fifties bombshell.”
“I was thinking Grace Kelly myself when she entered.” Donald Briar, one of Dad’s oldest friends and actually a reasonable guy for an alpha. “Give an old man a kiss and let me remember my youth, when I spent my days surrounded by pretty omegas.”
Dad released me from his grip, and I bounced over, kissing Donald on the proffered cheek before taking my place in the seat Theo held out for me. As I did so, it felt like I had the attention of the table. I settled down, smoothing my skirts, knowing that each gesture of my slender hands caught their attention.
The alpha sons of fr
iends of Dad’s, wearing suits expensive enough to purchase a brand-new car, they were a pack of exquisitely dressed predators lying in wait, something that was confirmed as I looked up. I smiled the practised sweet smile of an omega, ignoring the twitch of my facial muscles as I did so. My eyes, they skimmed over each one of them, taking in the casual slouches and broad fingers loosely clasping tumblers of expensive Scotch. There’d been a sea of them turning up for dinner since my twentieth birthday, but it was impossible to discern one from the other when he was here.
“Tristan, my boy,” Dad said as the new arrival appeared at the dining room doorway. He got to his feet and clasped the newcomer’s hands, much as he had mine, and for the same reason. “I didn’t know you were coming.”
There he was, the boy who’d plagued my dreams since childhood, part brother, part lover. We weren’t actually related. He was the son of our gardener and housekeeper, and we had grown up together. Initially, our friendship had just been childish games and hijinks, until it all changed. Eventually, the slender body of childhood gave way to a tall, muscular frame, his fingers long, sensitive, his too long, light brown hair shoved back by them as he regarded the table, the regulation white button-down shirt rolled up over thick forearms. He was the boy I’d always thought I’d marry. That every morning, I’d wake up and stare into those apple green eyes, stroke the dramatic planes of his face, all high cheekbones and sharp jaw.