Page 42 of Shared Omega

Perhaps Truk can help us see it through.

Out here in the sunshine, I can finally get a better look at the primitive Alpha. Like a wild animal, he has shaken the plaster dust from his body, revealing his taut and deeply tanned skin. His physique is chiseled and smooth, a little less bulky than Dog’s. A little more lithe.

I find my eyes drifting back to that physique again and again.

Truk’s only clothing is a loincloth of rich, golden fur, probably from a blond bear. It looks like something a primitive barbarian would wear in some of those antique movies I saw as a girl. Truk’s only other articles are a leather headband keeping his long golden hair out of his eyes, and an obsidian knife in a fur sheath at his hip.

For an Alpha, his face is not like Dog’s. It doesn’t have the same sculptural beauty. Yet it is not like those horrible Farlanders we encountered yesterday either. It is somewhere in between. His brow is sloped and heavy, concealing deep-set eyes that glitter and dart about with curiosity and animal caution.

His nose has clearly been broken many times. His lips bear a couple of scars where they have been split in fights.

But the worst scars are the ones on his back and shoulders. Long and thick, they criss-cross his muscles, spelling out a history of intense pain and violence.

Those scars can’t be from fighting.

They are from punishment.

Abuse.

What happened to Truk? Was he a prisoner? An exile? Or something worse…

Dog, meanwhile, is standing protectively close to me, eyeing this newcomer with suspicion and more than a little jealousy.

Though my inner warrior doesn’t want to admit it, I find it comforting to have Dog here with me. I may be tough, but I have no illusions that I would be able to match my strength against that of a feral Alpha, especially considering that my only weapons are a knife and an empty pistol.

Still, some tickling intuition tells me that we can trust Truk and that he is willing to help us.

I glance at Dog and a moment of understanding passes between us. He nods, and begins explaining to Truk why we are here, telling him about our mission to save Lily.

It’s strange, but after what we did together last night, it’s as if Dog and I have developed some kind of empathetic connection.

I blush as I think about that dirty act we did upstairs in that old house.

The way he made me climax again and again, more times than I could even count until my body was weak and submissive with raw bliss. The way he forced his hard cock so deep in my throat, using me roughly and mercilessly.

The knowledge I could have stopped it with those two magic words, but chose not to.

The fact that his seed was inside me—is still inside me now—particles of him literally nourishing my cells.

And last, the thought that the scientists back at SynerGen saw the whole thing via my neural chip.

I try to push that out of my mind. This is no time to be thinking of such things.

When Dog has finished telling Truk about our mission, the primitive Alpha is quiet for a minute. He is crouching in the weeds, plucking at some blades of grass thoughtfully, occasionally raising his face to test the wind for scents.

At last he shakes his head, stirring his long, golden hair.

“There’s no way you’ll make it into the city ruins,” he says. “It’s not like you can just walk in there. The Alphas are vigilant. They’ll smell you coming from a mile away. And with an unmarked omega in heat? No…”

My face flushes with warmth, but I don’t look away when those deep-set eyes glare at me.

He said I was unmarked.

I don’t know what that means, and I’m not sure I want to.

“But you’re an Alpha, Truk,” I entreat him. “Surely you can vouch for us. You can act as our guide.”

He shakes his head again.