Page 54 of Shared Omega

My feet seem to move of their own accord, carrying me from my hiding spot toward the orgy in the firelight.

The wind shifts.

The omega’s nose twitches. Her concentration on what she is doing is broken, and she withdraws her mouth, strings of saliva gleaming orange in the firelight.

She turns, and her eyes catch mine.

“Alpha,” she gasps. “There’s an Alpha.”

The Farlander is already stumbling to his feet, baring his teeth and growling, but he is sluggish from his expenditure. The other Alpha, the Outsider, is a different case. He shoves the omega off, and springs to his feet lightning quick, popping his jaw and snarling like a mad dog.

I curse myself for giving in to the omega’s lure, but there’s nothing to be done about it now.

Now it’s time to fight.

Someone is about to die.

CHAPTER 17: SLOANE

Oh no, not again.

Dog and Truk shift into fighting stances, their rain-wet muscles rippling with tension in the light of the fire. They are both growling viciously at the interloper hiding out there in the darkness where the rain has slacked off to a mere drizzle now.

Whoever, or whatever, is out there, it is invisible to my eyes, but the smell is unmistakable.

It’s an Alpha.

And he’s extra dominant. I don’t know exactly how I can tell that; I just know. My olfactory sense has developed to the point that I can pick up messages within body odors that I never would have imagined.

However, my nose is sending my brain mixed messages about this Alpha. It’s telling me I should fear him. But at the same time, it’s telling me I should do something else to him that is totally inappropriate.

“Show yourself, coward,” Truk snarls. “Step into the light.”

There is nothing cowardly, however, about the figure that swaggers forward from the velvety shadows.

He is massive. Even bigger than Dog, both in height and sheer mass. He is dressed only in a leather loincloth that is much more carefully crafted than Truk’s fur one. The wavering orange light reveals a physique composed of muscles on top of muscles, but also exceedingly lean, giving him the appearance of being carved from polished wood.

His head is shaved to the scalp on the sides, leaving only a strip of hair down the middle, stark iron-gray against his tawny skin. He doesn’t exactly look old, however. Rather he appears silvered, the way some dominant male animals are.

His darker gray brows are slanted to cruel-looking points over a pair of intense eyes gleaming like dark jewels. Bared fangs shine ivory white amid a salt and pepper beard.

He is impressive, to say the least. However, the thing that really transfixes my attention are the dozens of steel piercings reflecting the flickering light of the fire. They are all over him—through his ears, his nostrils, his lips, his nipples.

And one other place.

His loincloth has been lifted by the massive pole of his erection. Obviously he has been watching us for a little while and enjoying the show. Now, with a fight impending, his arousal is waning, but before it falls completely behind the leather of his loincloth, I catch a glint of steel down there too.

Oh God, his cock is pierced.

Just like the Alphas from Lily’s neural chip recording that I saw before.

My pussy—already raw and wet and tingling from Dog’s rough tongue—pulses briefly at the uninvited thought of how that hard steel piercing would feel abrading my soft insides.

But more important, those decorations mean this Alpha is from our destination—the city ruins.

That certainly complicates things.

Snarling and growling, Dog and Truk advance, spreading apart to surround their opponent. Just this morning, the two of them were fighting each other. Now they are already moving as a tandem unit, as if they can read each other’s minds.