He just couldn’t believe it. Shaking his head, hurting for her, Corday fought boiling anger. Rumors had spread like wildfire, varying stories of how an enclave of Omegas had been rescued.
That was the term Dome Broadcast used to describe it. Rescued.
And Claire was gone. Deep in his gut, Corday felt responsible—that he should have known the Omega would do what she felt was best—and hated himself for not seeing the signs.
Waking up on that lumpy couch, a crick in his neck from the odd angle, he’d realized at once what she’d done. Leaping to his feet, cursing up a storm, Corday had run out the door.
There had been no need to search, his hours racing through the city wasted. Had he simply turned on his COMscreen, a distorted version of the story—including footage of emaciated women accepting food—would have played on repeat. There had been no shot of Claire, or even Shepherd for that matter. But a short Beta known to be Shepherd’s second-in-command was featured, offering blankets to the Omegas and directing Followers to see them to safety.
A lie.
Corday didn’t know how Shepherd had found them, but after seeing the flyer and the outrageous bounty, he suspected that one of Claire’s friends had betrayed her.
The thought broke his heart.
The Enforcer knew Thólos, understood what she was up against. Innocent Claire was too idealistic, too sweet, and no matter how willful she was, still Omega. She saw the world through the eyes of a caretaker, a nurturer—not a warrior.
From the look of the icy grounds surrounding the capture, from the steam of starving women’s exhaled breath, it was the freezing Lower Reaches that had sheltered Claire’s group—a dangerous place where more than just the subzero weather could kill you.
Corday had made his way into the mist to see for himself, disguised as a looter to pick through the warren, blending in with the rest of the vultures already poaching the meager goods left behind.
Claire’s smell lingered in the air, heady with anxiety, powerful from the sweat she must have worked up when she ran to her friends. Corday followed it, ignoring the deserted personal items scattered around the rooms, the garbage. The trail ended at a closet, where—once the door was pushed open—he found trapped air that reeked of sex. Shepherd had fucked her the moment he’d found her; that was clear not only from the smell, but the sight of the discarded sweater and pants Claire had been wearing. His clothes—the ones Corday had specially prepared for her earlier that day.
Crouching down, he lifted the fabric and brought it to his nose, pulling in a breath of the Omega, bowing his head, feeling like a failure.
It could not end this way.
He may have failed Claire, but her information about the pills had brought to light other Omegas in need, and the Enforcers—led by Brigadier Dane—were already preparing to strike. Corday would help them like he’d promised. After all, what was the point of resistance if one didn’t actually fight back?
#
Corday had a difficult time finding respect for a woman like Brigadier Dane. Dane’s arrogance and short-sighted need to constantly remind him about his father’s crimes and subsequent incarceration had set them at odds from the first moment he’d met his commanding officer. But something had changed in Dane during the months since the city fell. It was clear that the Alpha female harbored the massive weight of survivor’s guilt. Dane tried much harder, spoke much less, and seemed as grimly determined as Corday to right at least one wrong if she could.
The weather was nasty; even at midday it was almost dark, the swollen sky over-dome just as unwelcoming as the guards outside the chem pusher’s den. When Corday arrived to join Dane’s tactical assault, he could smell drugs cooking, the bitter, chemical tinge tainting the air. More so, he could hear the drugged, needy calls of the women, begging for release from wherever the saggy faced dealer had them locked away.
There were about twelve men on the premises; half were armed with Enforcer-grade artillery they should not have had access to. Guns slung over their shoulders, faces devoid of emotion, the thugs were habituated to the vileness surrounding them. From Dane’s intel, the Enforcers now knew which sleaze ran the show; an older, stocky Alpha named Otto. The Brigadier’s orders were to keep him alive for questioning.
They needed to know who had supplied those men with those guns. Were they affiliated with Shepherd’s Followers? Were there other cartels with artillery that could be confiscated?
Customers were already shuffling in with offerings to trade, twitching with the need to knot a heated Omega. It seemed something as simple as a fresh piece of fruit or a bag of rice could get an Alpha or Beta laid. There were stockpiles of food, crates stacked in a guarded corner that could be put to better use once impounded.
Taking down these men might potentially fund the beginnings of a true rebellion.
Led by Brigadier Dane, with Corday at her back, the team of twelve armored Enforcers breached the concrete compound in tactical formation. All targets were eliminated without question, the infiltration choreographed to a precision even Shepherd would have admired.
While Dane took down the men bent over tables cooking drugs, Corday’s team turned a corner and passed into the back of the building. Nearing where the Omegas were corralled, the Enforcers, like all humans, found themselves susceptible to the lust-inducing pheromones mixed with the stink of human filth. The animal inside Corday sniffed, instantaneously enticed, while the human who controlled such urges found all he saw repulsive. The view was sickening; six women chained to the wall, collars around their necks like dogs. Two were so emaciated from the continuous estrous, Corday was not sure how they were still breathing.
Each captive was equidistant—just a bit too far from the others to touch. A few were still being rutted by Alphas; oblivious to the soldiers bearing down upon them. There was no mercy with the city a war zone. A single shot to the head and the offenders died, too caught up in the knot to disengage. In the end, only three of the savages—including the necessary Otto—had been taken alive and bound in the middle of the room. The Enforcers began unchaining Omegas, preparing to move them as soon as possible before one of the officers instinctively fell into a rut from the pheromones.
There were things Corday had seen in his short years as an Enforcer, crimes so vulgar he just could not believe anyone was capable of committing them. It turned out that the horrors in that Omega kennel were only the beginning. Behind a chained meat locker lay the spent bodies of numerous skeletal creatures, haphazardly piled up, frozen from the cold that kept them from rotting; the emaciated corpses of eleven murdered Omegas, bruised, beaten, gazing out of lifeless eyes at the nothing they had become.
Brigadier Dane stared, the Alpha female slack-jawed, seeing one little girl who looked so much like her missing sister, it took her a moment to register the shouting of her men. Tearing her eyes away, she rushed toward the outcry. One of the Omegas, a female freshly caught and still free of the drug’s full effect, held a shard of glass that dripped with blood. Naked, she stood over Otto and his thugs, sawing through the bound gangster’s neck until her hand bled.
She’d killed their source of information.
Corday was talking to the Omega in hushed tones, trying to soothe her, to get her to drop the glass, but nothing seemed to get through her zombie-like expression. ‘Shh-shh, it’s all right, put down the glass. We’re Enforcers, and we’re going to get you someplace safe, ma’am.’
Looking to the youth holding out his hands as if to placate her, her broken voice managed, ‘They killed my Doug, my baby.’
‘Please put down the glass.’
Glazed eyes rolled back to the dead men who had chained her up, who had taken her life; there was not even a moment of hesitation. She jammed the bloody weapon so deep into her throat the gush of blood was immediate.
Corday rushed forward, putting his hands to her neck.
Brigadier Dane knew there was no way to save the female from the gaping slash she’d sliced into her own throat, no matter how hard the frantic Beta tried. But there had been ways to save all the females piled up in that meat locker—had the Enforcers taken notice, had they acted months ago. Instead they had been too busy mustering, plotting, and doing nothing.
In the hearts of all who watched, all feelings of victory faded, dripped away as that Omega’s blood stained the floor. Dane crouched down and closed the dead Omega’s eyes as she spoke their prayer.
When the incantation to the Mother Goddess of Omegas was complete, Dane’s voice hardened. Orders were barked. The tower of food was disassembled and loaded onto transport; the heat-addled Omegas were carted away.
The bodies had to be left behind; there was nothing that could be done for the dead.
All the drugs were dumped, spilling together, filling the air with noxious fumes—the perfect recipe for the absolution of fire. Corday struck the flame, destroying the counterfeit heat-suppressants, the methamphetamines… the evidence of atrocities and the Enforcers’ part in purifying it. But the shell of the building still stood.
Thólos was fireproof.
#
Tired, Claire stretched her legs out from under warm blankets and pressed her feet to the ground. She felt… off, saturated with the lethargy that comes before illness, and was grateful Shepherd was not in the room to paw at her as he always did when she woke. He had punished her for her resistance, had frightened, then placated; back to his old tricks of trying to warp her mind.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, she rubbed the sleep from her eyes and frowned at the ache in her shoulder. In the room, everything was where it had been the last time she had been locked inside. Except her painting of poppies. It was skewed, the paper less crisp, as if having been handled repeatedly. Denying her impulse to center it, Claire studied the flowers, certain Shepherd had done the same in her absence.
Considering the great rage which had blared from his side of the link at the onset of her escape, there was no sign of such wrath about the cell. No furniture was broken. Her meager things were exactly where she had left them, almost as if she had never been gone. Even the bedsheets were the same; stale, unchanged in her absence.
Moving at a snail’s pace towards the bathroom, Claire peeled off the gauze on her shoulder and stood under warm water. It was hard to move her arm without pain, shampoo stung her wound, and she found herself gritting her teeth at the discomfort it caused her simply to become clean.
As if he had known she would want to bathe upon waking, there was a sterile gauze pad and tape waiting on the counter. Wanting to cover the ugly mark so her churning stomach would stop threatening to spill each time she looked at it, Claire dressed the bite. While pressing down the tape, mindful of the bruising, her eyes caught something that shouldn’t be. The small bin they used for their laundry displayed one of her dresses peeking out near the top. Considering she had been gone for eight days, it struck her as strange. Pulling it out, her brows shot up. The fabric smelled of her, but it reeked of Shepherd’s semen… as if he had been sniffing it as he masturbated before coming on her clothes.
The idea brought an unwelcome twinge between her legs, and Claire unthinkingly dug deeper, only to find almost every item of her clothing had been treated the same way. Why would he do that—or, more importantly, why did it smell so good? Realizing she still had the first dress pressed to her nose, a wave of embarrassment made her cheeks burn. Claire quickly stuffed the offensive laundry back down.
Cool water was splashed on her face and the fever seemed to pass.
There was something about the act he’d committed. In all her days of freedom, she had fought not to think of Shepherd, not to question how their separation might have affected him. Claire had not allowed herself to wonder if he had suffered as she had. Her denial of his call, her denial of the bond, it had twisted her. What had it done to him? Had he worried she might have been hurt? Even the bounty had stipulated she must be brought in undamaged to claim the reward. The man had placed a great deal of confidence in the greed of others… and it looked like his assessment had been correct.
Claire left the bathroom, left her flushed reflection, and began to pace.
Absently, she looked about and found her earlier assessment was incorrect; the room was just not right. It began with the bedding, it was unsatisfactory; it had to be replaced. She stripped it off, feeling slightly better when fresh linen was laid out. Her painting had to be moved, to be centered. A headache began to pound, the lump on her skull throbbing. She began to pace some more. One moment she was hot, the next cold; yet no matter if she sweated or shivered, she was thoroughly uncomfortable.
Worry for the Omegas agitated the forefront of her thoughts. Shepherd had assured her no one had been wounded. But what of Lilian? What of her cohorts? Had he murdered them? Was he stringing them up that very second?
Claire’s stomach rolled, and for a moment she felt truly ill. The feeling passed, swamping her with dread and leaving her empty. This was it. Green eyes appraised drab, grey walls, sweeping the room. This was her life—a life tethered to a man obsessed with keeping her hidden away; who was going to hang three women because they had tried to collect the bounty he’d offered; a possessive monster who wielded evil as a tool; a fiend who would say terrifying things and then cuddle her back to a sense of false comfort.
Shepherd was admittedly evil. They were incompatible—in needs, in ideals; in the very makeup of their souls. And they were pair-bonded. Forever.
Before she might cry, Claire tried to lose herself in cleaning the room, slowed by her arm and distracted by her worry. No matter how she scrubbed, nothing seemed clean enough. But the worm was pulsing, indulging in her crazy behavior, whispering to her of how perfect this was, of the beauty of that grey walled room, of the prowess of her mate and how clever he was in retrieving her.
By the time Shepherd arrived, Claire was resigned, sitting at the table with her head on her arms. Her mate had a tray for her, and looked over the room with approval upon finding that his female had occupied her time practically. They did not speak. Claire simply sat up, pushing her hair behind her ear, and frowned at the food.
It was a beautifully arranged chicken breast, drenched in a savory sauce thick with mushrooms and garlic. Exactly the kind of cuisine Claire loved, but something about the smell was off. It had been difficult to eat during those last few days of freedom, a side effect of fighting the bond, and she felt uncomfortable even as she reached for her fork. The man was purring; he smelled of rich Alpha, all things that should have brought her comfort, all things her body and mind had demanded when she’d been in hiding. Even so, she could hardly force half of the dish down.
It should have been good. She should have been hungry.
Feeling unwell, Claire pushed the food away and felt she might vomit. He stood beside her, reached down to pick up the customary vitamin she tended to forget, and waited for her to take it. Eager to just get it over with, she tossed it into her mouth and gulped the water. When it was done, when the pill had squirmed down her throat, she began to gag.
A warm hand came to the back of her neck and pushed her head between her knees, the purr increasing in volume and strength. The wave of nausea passed, but left her in a cold sweat. It had to be the stress, or maybe she’d picked up a bug. All Claire knew was that there was no fucking way she was swallowing another thing.
‘I must check your claiming mark for signs of infection.’ It was not a suggestion, it was a command, and she knew it.
‘Can you just give me a minute?’ Claire grumbled, doubled over and not at all eager to straighten.
‘I will retrieve what is required; it will take several minutes, which you may use to collect yourself.’
The weight of his hand left her neck and Claire watched his boots disappear. Sucking in slow, cooling breaths, she managed to uncurl and wiped the sweat off her face with her forearm. By the time he returned, she lolled back in the chair, staring at the familiar concrete ceiling, still feeling like shit.
The beast approached. ‘Sit up straight.’
A new tray was set down, filled with various medical instruments and two prefilled syringes. Eyeballing the strange assortment, Claire tensed when Shepherd slid the strap of her dress down. The gauze was pulled carefully away. Swabs soaked in hydrogen peroxide ran cool over hot skin, making the angry bite fizz. She looked away, unsure if she was going to puke. Everything he was doing seemed to be as concise as possible, to minimize discomfort, the hulk bending down and handling her gently.
She sat still through all the poking and prodding, extremely unhappy with the event, and just about ready to lose her cool and hide in the bathroom. Ointment was smeared over the mess, fresh gauze taped down, and then he stuck a digital thermometer in her ear and nodded at the result.
When those large hands went to grab one of the syringes, Claire stiffened and asked quickly, ‘What are those?’
‘This is an antibiotic.’ Shepherd held her arm as if she might yank it away and injected her quickly. Claire watched the needle leave her skin, a tiny bead of blood welling. When he came at her with the second one, his grip tightened and he stabbed it much harder into the meaty part of her bicep. While she gave an irritated ouch, he pushed in the plunger and said frankly, ‘And this is a much purer form of the fertility drug you had in your pockets when you came to the courts.’
‘What?’
Claire was already shoving at him, beating at his arm with her fist to get him the hell off. The Alpha just ignored each blow and pressed a sterile cotton ball to the injection site, rubbing until her arm ached.
‘YOU FUCKING BASTARD! HOW DARE YOU!’
Seemingly mellow, he explained, ‘That was your second dose. The first injection was administered upon your arrival twenty-four hours ago. That is why you feel ill.’
The stomach acid, the cold sweat, the fever… it was exactly how she’d felt waiting in the courts, magnified by ten. Only this time she was not terrified; instead she was about ready to kill him. While she screamed every obscenity she knew until red in the face, Shepherd simply held her arm and continued to knead the injected drugs into her muscle.
She was not due for another estrous for at least three months, five if she was lucky, and this jackass was forcing one on her.
‘Why would you do this?’ she spat at him. ‘Why?’
Without remorse, he explained, ‘Your body was too weak during your last heat to accept fertilization. You are stronger now; the chance of successful impregnation is much more likely.’
‘So you pump me full of drugs to breed me like a horse? Do you have any idea how fucked up that is? I have been pair-bonded to you for less than two months. This is insane! And I would have cycled naturally in the spring!’
Shepherd spoke, completely unconcerned by her outburst, ‘Time is a factor, and as an Omega, motherhood will only bring you joy.’
Claire was about to start tearing out her hair. ‘Shepherd, get the fuck out of this room! Take your poison and short-sighted assumptions about Omegas and LEAVE!’
When she saw laughter between his lashes, she lashed out and slapped him as hard as she could. All her violence accomplished was her stinging palm; Claire squeezing her fingers into a fist to cradle the offended digits to her chest. He seemed calm, as if completely expecting her tantrum, and stood through it as she railed and tried to get up from the chair.
When she was a disheveled mess, hair wild and eyes threatening murder, she felt another wave of horrible feverishness, worse than before, and growled like a beast. ‘I hate you!’
‘You are hormonal.’
Of course she was hormonal; he’d been pumping her full of hormones!
It came out from between tightly clenched teeth. ‘You are a pig… a bad mate.’
‘I guarantee that you will like me much better in a matter of hours,’ he cooed evilly, the backs of his fingers reaching out to stroke her cheek.
Claire jerked away and burst into tears. She didn’t know if this was some sort of fucked up punishment or just another part of her life he had in his control. All she knew was that everything about what he’d done was not okay.
When he tried to pet her hair, she slapped his hand away and shrieked, ‘Don’t touch me!’
She bent over, hid her face in her skirt, and sobbed. Shepherd stood by through the good ten minutes it took before her wailing distorted into gasping hiccups.
‘If you will stop this crying, I will take you outside and show you your sky,’ he offered, his jeering replaced with subtle enticement.
She stayed bent, her face hidden, and slapped at the air in his direction. ‘Go to hell.’
The thread, the little link between them, had been so happy, so full and warm, only an hour before, but now the thread was only pain, like a razor blade in her chest. She hoped to god it hurt him as much as it was hurting her, that the damn greasy cord was a two way sense of torture. But then she remembered that he was only a psychopath with no heart, incapable of human emotion… that he was torturing Thólos on purpose.
Thinking about her mother, Claire understood everything that must have been going through that woman’s head all those years… eating away at her until she just couldn’t take it anymore. Her father may have been a decent man, but even Claire could see that her mother had not wanted him… that she’d longed for the female Alpha next door that she could never have. How freeing her suicide must have been. Control of her destiny, of the one thing the pair-bond wielding Alpha could not decide for her. The idea was growing increasingly appealing.
‘I do not approve of the direction of your thoughts,’ Shepherd growled, low and threatening.
Claire ignored him.
Large hands circled her arms and pulled her up to stand. Refusing to look at him, she sniffed and turned her head, staring pathetically at the far wall.
‘We will go outside. You will see your sky and you will feel better.’ It was a command. ‘This emotional response from the medication will pass.’
It was like he had no idea how people worked.
All the signs of a steadily encroaching heat cycle were there: trembling shivers, cold sweat, her digestive tract shutting down. All the cleaning, the need for the room to be ready… Shepherd was right; in a few hours she would be begging him to fuck her.
Covering her mouth, another wave of nausea came.
He let her go, watching as she ran to the bathroom to vomit. Between her stomach vacating retches, she distantly recognized that he was holding back her hair, that his hand was stroking her back. Everything she had eaten was expelled until nothing but bile came up. She felt so utterly sick and so completely debased, sitting there on her knees with the very cause of her torment the facsimile of comfort.
‘Why are you doing this?’ she breathed, even as he wiped a cool towel over her face.
‘I desire offspring; a legacy.’
‘You’re sick.’ Rational thought was returning and Claire struggled to crawl out of the cradle of his lap so she might reach the sink and rinse out her mouth. ‘Even you must see that this is no place for a child.’
He spoke with assurance, watching her brush her teeth and looming far closer than was comfortable. ‘Pregnancy will calm you into the rightful state of mind. There is no need for you to be upset, little one. I will provide you both with safety and comfort.’
Spitting, she snarled, ‘Safety? You just poisoned me. Comfort? I live in a concrete box!’
His deeply warning silver eyes narrowed, Shepherd was clearly losing patience. ‘It was necessary, and it will only be beneficial to you if in your coming estrous cycle you should conceive.’
‘Do not make it sound as if your actions benefit me. I would be completely at your mercy; pregnancy would make me actually need you!’
‘You are already completely at my mercy. No more sulking.’ He took her by the scruff of the neck, the purr he’d incessantly offered never wavering as walked her back into the bedroom. ‘We will walk now.’
Claire was not stupid. ‘Don’t pretend this is an act of kindness. You want me to leave the room so others can come in and prepare it.’
‘You are very clever, little one. A good trait for the mother of my progeny.’
‘And you are very evil,’ she answered back, eyeing the mountain before her with abject loathing.
Shepherd seemed to grow, to spread out into the dim darkness of her prison. ‘I can be. But I am also a man, and I expect a child from the one I chose as mate. It is unfortunate the timeline does not please you, but it is what I wish.’ A large palm was extended for her to take, not exactly an act of politeness, and not exactly a threat. ‘Now come. I will escort you outside.’
Claire had no coat and no shoes, so Shepherd wrapped her in a blanket, wiped her face and smoothed her hair, purring loudly to keep her from snarling. There was absolutely no one in the halls he led her through, as if he had prepared and ordered off any men who might have encountered the Omega that belonged to him. Walking the labyrinth, Claire memorized every turn, each little landmark, building a map in her head, ready to bolt at the first opportunity. Through it all, Shepherd maintained an unrelenting clamp on her hand. She wasn’t going anywhere.
Their silent journey ended at the lower terrace, near the base of the Citadel—a disappointing segment which offered little in terms of the view beyond the fog-coated Lower Reaches. The blue-eyed Beta was there, armed and staring straight ahead, but no one else.
Feet freezing against the ground, a stiff wind pressed the fabric of the blanket against her legs, all discomfort was ignored by the unhappy Omega. Though it was dark, there was an expanse of sky far above, surrounded by towers reaching up to brush the top of the Dome.
If she squinted she might make out the stars.
Claire ached, her heart a deep-seated, rotting piece of meat encased in ribs damaged by the worming thread. Absently she began to rub at the spot, staring through tears, sick, and nearing hopelessness.
Shepherd stood behind her, flush to offer body heat, toying with her hair as it blew in the gusts. Every part of her longed to shove him away, to pull her hair from his fingers, but she knew that screaming at him in a rage in the room was the extent of the disobedience Shepherd would allow. Challenging him in front of a male, his subordinate Follower, would not end well for her. He had so much more to threaten her with now that chemically induced estrous approached. If she pushed him hard enough, he might go so far as to let his men mount her, and she was terrified at the thought of being shared like a whore.
A torment was coming. She was young, fertile, and Shepherd’s scent advertised virile male. They were extremely biologically compatible. He would create life within her. As if it were already an actuality, Claire looked down to her flat belly and pressed her hand to where, in less than a week, a baby would be growing.
His nose was at the back of her skull, Shepherd breathing deeply. ‘You are feeling better.’
‘Does it matter how I feel?’ she asked, low enough that her words were kept between them.
Tugging gently on her hair exactly the way he knew would calm her best, he answered, ‘It matters.’
‘I will never forgive you for this.’
The man purred louder, his arm slipping about her middle like an anchor.
Turning around, eyes level with his chest, Claire put her hand on the relative part of his body where her own worming thread was hooked. Lifting wet, spiky lashes to look into expressionless silver eyes, she openly wept. ‘This is where you are tied to me, where the bond is threaded. Perhaps you are incapable of feeling what you’ve done, but I do know this: pair-bonded Alphas are supposed to care for their Omegas. But you do not… so why pair-bond to me? If all you wanted was a child, you could have injected me with your drugs and seeded me just the same. Why make me carry the burden of an unfulfilling bond? Why ruin me so I might never be happy?’
He did not look away, but she got the feeling he was trying to look through her. After the space of three breaths, Shepherd spoke. ‘You are young and believe that you understand the world from your short-sighted, idealistic perspective. You think you know much more than you do,’ he explained as if he were some great eloquent teacher, the music of his voice unaffected by the wind. ‘Sometimes, it is as unsophisticated as a man simply wanting to because he could, saw a chance, and took it.’
The giant was talking in circles, giving her nothing at all. Claire took her hand from the place where she hoped he might feel something—some hint of regret, something for her beyond the idea of a possession. ‘I will fight estrous.’
‘You will try.’ A finger hooked her chin and brought her attention higher. He was serious, his expression conveying his point. ‘But I am your mate, and I will see you through this heat. I will tend you and give you pleasure, and when it is finished, you will give me what I desire.’
‘If I fail to conceive, will you drug me again?’
Tucking back a strand of her hair, he nodded and softly answered, ‘Yes.’
Locked in that silver gaze, Claire muttered, lost and shaken, ‘My feet are cold.’
‘I am aware, but I want you to experience your sky for as long as you can.’ He rubbed her back as if to warm her and continued almost gently, ‘We both know you cannot be trusted, little one. Therefore, you will not be seeing it again for quite some time.’
A large warm thumb was already there to wipe away the angry tears he knew would fall at his verdict.
#
Corday pressed his back to the wall behind him and tried to ignore the chemically induced begging of the women locked in the room at his back. Only six Beta Enforcers had been allowed to remain on scene at the safe house, rotating who had to enter the room to force-feed the Omegas heat-suppressants every four hours. They did what they could to block out the pheromones, wore masks drenched in pungent oil, moved as quickly as possible. Even so, it set the Betas into the rut and each man had been tested. Two had been dragged outside to breathe clean air when whoever was watching through the pane of glass saw the change come over their comrade.
It was not intentional, and not one of the women had been touched. The compulsion was simply an act of nature they prepared for with checks and balances. The Enforcers tending to the Omegas worked as a team for that very reason. But even with their careful nursing, one of the females—a body that was little more than skin and bones—had already died from lack of nutrition and unseen internal injuries.
No one knew what her name was when they buried her in an overgrown terrace lawn, as deep as they could dig before hitting structure. Her story was unknown, another Jane Doe left to rot by Shepherd’s occupation. The Omega had dark hair like Claire, a similar small frame; as the dirt had been laid over her, Corday felt sick, had almost cried, and went back inside before it was done, unable to look any longer.
Twelve hours had passed since the Omegas’ first dose. Through the small window, Corday could see the sky had grown dark and braced himself. He would be next to enter the room reeking of chemically exaggerated estrous.
An alarm beeped, and the Enforcer who would watch over him as he shoved medicine into the women’s mouths said, ‘It’s time, man.’
Nodding, Corday stood, took the offered mask they’d drenched in stink, then grabbed the pills and water. The door was opened and he moved forward, unconsciously holding his breath to start from left to right.
Their jaws opened willingly to suck his fingers. It was getting them to swallow that was almost impossible. He had to purr brokenly, which forced him to breathe, and practically drown them until they managed to swallow the pill. He made it through all five, felt the fever, and backed away even as his cock began to throb so hard it hurt. Once outside the room, he practically ran outdoors, his mind full of Claire and the moment of weakness he’d had at the apartment when the bathroom had smelled so damn good and had made him so fucking hard.
The fact that even at that moment he wanted to reach into his slacks and jack off filled him with self-loathing. Corday fought it, stood in the cold for over an hour… just as all the other Enforcers who had been in the room had. Eventually he found himself, grew flaccid, and went back inside to continue his watch. He prayed to the god of the Betas that he would not have to go back into that room.
The prayer, like all his others, was not answered.
It took almost three full days for the Omegas to come out of estrous, and five more trips into the pheromone-laced hell for Corday. As the females came to their senses, they were confused and scared… most having been so high they hardly remembered what had happened to them. The ones that did remember were inconsolable or blank—like dolls with nothing inside. The Enforcers gave them food, each man assigned shifts for suicide watch.
Another Omega died by morning, that most vacant one… cause unknown. It was Brigadier Dane who sighed and said it seemed like the girl had just decided to stop breathing.
Corday buried her, knowing at least that her name was Kim Pham, right next to Jane Doe. That time, he cried like a baby.
