The blood draw went quickly; it was just another routine procedure. The nurse's hands were steady, the rubber tourniquet biting against Chris's arm for a moment before the needle slid in. A tube filled dark, stoppered with a click, then another. He kept his eyes on the far wall, jaw tight, refusing to flinch.
"Twenty minutes," the doctor said, setting the vials aside in their rack. "You can wait here; it'll be quicker than heading back out to reception."
Chris nodded stiffly, rolling his sleeve back down. The silence stretched, sterile and bright. He hated how loud his own pulse was. He shifted in the chair, the vinyl sticking faintly to his palms.
"So…" He tilted his head, feigning idle curiosity. "What would actually happen if the old machine was right and I was…" he shrugged, as if the word barely mattered, "you know?"
The doctor didn't look up at first, scrolling through his tablet. His tone was almost offhand when he replied, though the words were anything but casual. "That depends on what it said you were. But…" his gaze lifted, measuring, too steady for comfort. "You mean if you were flagged as a dominant omega."
Chris's throat closed. He hadn't said it out loud. He wished he hadn't. But the silence demanded an answer, and the doctor gave it to him.
"It's rare. Extremely rare," the man continued, his voice even, clinical. "The registry has to account for outliers, and in that case, pairing is almost immediate. You'd be matched with a dominant alpha of compatible age." He said it like it was fact, procedure, not something that could upend an entire life.
Chris's mouth went dry. "Matched," he repeated, flat.
The doctor nodded once, setting the tablet aside. "There are thirteen known dominant alphas on the continent. Ten are over forty, politically unsuitable for pairing with someone your age. That leaves three viable candidates: Trevor Fitzgeralt, newly titled Grand Duke of Fitzgeralt; Prince Dax of Saha, and Marianne Lancaster of the Rohan Kingdom."
"What about the dominant omegas?"
The doctor leaned back slightly, as if weighing how much to say. "If we're talking about dominant omegas still active, then… Four. That's all. Two are over forty, and two are in their thirties. Three women, one man."
Chris let out a low whistle, tilting his head like the numbers were just trivia. "That's it? Four? And here I thought there'd be more hiding out somewhere."
A faint smile tugged at the doctor's mouth. "If there are, they haven't been identified. Of the four, three are in polyamorous bonds with dominant alphas with complex, carefully negotiated arrangements. The last is an omega female bound exclusively to one alpha. Those are… rarer still."
Chris gave a short, dismissive snort. "I thought you said if it was right, I'd be paired with one alpha. Dominant bonds don't work like the ones we learned about in school?"
The doctor hummed, eyes still on his tablet. "They do. But that omega was marked before the registry could intervene. The others wear specially designed collars so none of the alphas they breed with can mark them. It prevents… accidents."
Chris wrinkled his nose, feigning a shiver. "Sounds terrifying."
"Depends on perspective." The doctor finally looked up, his expression unreadable. "Dominant omegas are heavily protected under law. One sign of mistreatment, even a suspicion, and the alpha in question is barred from ever touching them again. Permanently. Stripped of status, forbidden from claiming another mate."
Chris blinked, surprised despite himself. "Seriously?"
"Seriously." The doctor's tone was dry and matter-of-fact. "It's the strictest safeguard in our system. The registry doesn't gamble with omegas. They're too rare and vital for dominant alphas. An alpha risks everything the second they forget that."
Chris leaned back in the chair, trying to look unimpressed even as something cold curled in his stomach. "Guess that's one way to keep people in line."
"Exactly." The doctor checked the time, then the door, before continuing with the same easy tone he might've used discussing the weather. "And it works. Abuse cases are vanishingly rare. The one who was marked… she's the mate of King Adel of Frisia. That's the exception. Basically, kings or emperors have the right to mark their spouse without interference."
Chris let out a short laugh, sharp and humorless. "So, what? You just crown yourself and the rules bend around you?"
The doctor gave a faint shrug. "You could put it that way. It's less about bending rules and more about… precedent. Power changes what's permissible. Everyone else follows the regulations."
Chris's smirk lingered, but it didn't reach his eyes. "I start to like being a beta."
The door opened with a soft click, the nurse stepping back in. She carried a tray with a sealed envelope and a small data chip, her shoes whispering against the tile as she crossed the room. "The results are in," she said, placing them neatly on the desk before offering Chris a polite smile.
His throat went dry at the sight of it, so ordinary, so clinical, as if the entire weight of his future was just another folder in a stack. The nurse left without another word, leaving only the faint scent of antiseptic behind.
The doctor reached for the envelope with steady hands, sliding a finger under the seal. Chris's pulse hammered in his ears, too fast, too loud. He leaned back in the chair, feigning boredom, though his grip on the armrest had gone white-knuckled.
"Let's see," the doctor murmured, eyes scanning the first lines of text.
Chris forced a yawn, even as the room tilted faintly around him. "Bet it says I'm boring. Told you the machine hates me."
The doctor didn't answer right away. His brows twitched, just barely, but Chris caught it.
Something inside him went cold.