Page 11 of Marked Omega

“Don’t tell me you’re already in love with this monster,” he says nastily.

I hate him for the way he’s mocking me, but there’s a part of me that agrees with him. Why should I care what happens to this Alpha? The creature certainly wouldn’t have shown me any mercy if Deakon had not tranquilized him.

Still, I can’t deny that I feel some strange, primal bond.

That Alpha may not be human, but neither am I. I’m an omega now. An animal.

“What are we going to do with them?” Chappel nods toward me and Sara as he struggles to fit a heavy shackle around one of the Alpha’s wrists. “We can’t take them back with us. That one’s braindead, and the omega knows too much.”

I scream as the sudden bark of a pistol startles me. The sound echoes around the little valley and the surrounding woods.

“That takes care of the beta,” Deakon chuckles cruelly.

Blue smoke curls from the muzzle of the pistol in Deakon’s hand. Dark blood runs down Sara’s body from the wound in her chest where he shot her. Her weight hangs limp in her chains.

She’s dead.

I start to cry. Tears roll down my cheeks. Even though I didn’t know Sara too well, I feel heartbroken for the awful way her life has ended.

And I don’t expect my ending to be much better.

“Deakon. Chappel. Come in,” Bishop’s voice growls over the comm unit. “We heard a gunshot.”

Deakon presses the comm button on the side of his helmet.

“Yeah, boss, we’re all good here. The Alpha is tranquilized. We’re just bundling him up now. The shot you heard was the beta.”

“Good. You know what to do with the omega.”

Deakon approaches me. His breath is heavy and ragged through the air filter on his mask. Though they are hidden by his tinted visor, I can feel his eyes wandering over my body, lingering on my bared breasts where the beast tore my bra open. His breath hitches as he sees my swollen, erect nipples.

The trooper licks his lips, the disgusting sound amplified by his voice unit.

“Such a shame to let a piece of meat like this go to waste,” he rasps. “If we had a little more time, I’d love to play with her.”

“Yeah, well we don’t have time,” Chappel mutters as he continues struggling with the Alpha’s restraints. “We’ll have to leave her. Now quit fucking around and help me with this.”

Deakon grunts.

“Leave her?” He raises his pistol and points the still smoking muzzle right at my face. “Fine. But I’m the jealous type. I’m not gonna leave this sweet little thing for some other Alpha to ravage. I’m gonna put her out of her misery.”

Deakon’s finger slowly squeezes the trigger. I cringe and press my eyes shut in fear.

“Well if you’re gonna do it, hurry up and do it,” Chappel’s voice calls. “Kill the bitch and—“

What happens next is almost too fast to process.

There is a snarl and a sharp crack like splintering wood followed by the most blood-curdling cry of agony that I’ve ever heard. But those shrieks are cut short by a sickening crunch.

I snap my eyes open, and I instantly regret doing so. Chappel’s mangled body lies on the ground. The air is thick with the metallic scent of the blood oozing from the horrific compound fracture to his upper arm. His helmet is dented in, and more blood is dripping from his cracked visor like thick wine.

My first thought is that the tranquilized beast has woken up prematurely. But the Alpha standing over Chappel’s mangled, bleeding corpse is different. He is dressed in a similar, primitive loincloth, but his is made of gray wolf fur. His body is broader and stockier, his scalp is shorn bald, and his jaw is grizzled with a gray-streaked beard.

This Alpha is pierced too, in his ears and most prominently through his left eyebrow.

His muscles are so tense and straining beneath his tight skin that I can see every striation, every popped vein.

“Kill!” the bearded Alpha roars.