Page 4 of Desperate Omega

Silence.

“I’ve got a spear,” I say, raking the shadows with my eyes. “And I know how to use it. I’ve killed ten alphas with this thing, and I’ve left one wishing he was dead. He wasn’t alpha anymore when I got done with him.”

Lies. I’ve never killed or maimed anybody.

My words are once again met with silence. I flare my nostrils, drinking in the night air. I smell grass, sap, acorns, the droppings of a coyote who passed this way three days ago…

…but no alpha.

And if there was an alpha nearby, I would smell him. Right now, my nose is tuned to search for an alpha’s scent above all else.

No one is here. No one but me. My heat is just making me paranoid, that’s all.

Another twinge hits my belly, harder and sharper than the ones that came before. Slick leaks out of me, and goosebumps pucker my skin.

I need to get inside, now.

I cross the remaining distance to the barn. At the door, I pause and poke my head inside, giving the air another cautious sniff. Even after more than a hundred years, the odor of domesticated animals still lingers in this place.

I can smell alphas too, but their scent is faint, well over a month old. Even so, it’s enough to lift the fine hairs on the back of my neck.

But I have to use this place. I have no choice. My heat is growing stronger by the minute. I need to get inside right now, otherwise any alpha within a radius of several miles will be able to smell my desperation.

I step inside and pull the door shut behind me.

The interior of the barn is dark. I lean my spear against the wall. Then I set my satchel on the ground, and start to rummage. In amongst its softer contents, I find a thick, beeswax candle and an old metal lighter from before the Change. Soon the inside of the barn is filled with a soft, wavering glow.

My skin is dripping with sweat. My breath comes in short, ragged gasps. The twinge in my lower abdomen is pretty much permanent at this point, and the throbbing between my legs is almost painful.

I hunch over my satchel and look at my tools.

I’ve been collecting them for several years now, ever since I first came up with this not-so-brilliant plan. I found most of them in abandoned houses scattered throughout the Zone. Some were stashed in wooden drawers. Others were tucked beneath moldering mattresses. I don’t know what substance the ancestors made these things out of, but the stuff certainly is durable.

I lift out one of the smaller ones and hold it up to the light. It’s shaped like an erect penis, and I must say, the artist’s attention to detail is incredible. Plump veins line the long shaft, and the blunt, rounded head appears to be anatomically correct, at least to my admittedly limited experience in such matters.

I’ve never actually been with an alpha before, but one time I saw several of them naked and aroused.

Nine years ago, I saw a mating ritual, and I immediately made up my mind that I would never allow myself to be dominated in that manner. Maybe the other omegas like it, but not me. I may have an omega’s body, but I have the heart of an alpha.

Unfortunately, I also have an omega’s needs. Ever since I turned eighteen, I’ve been dreading the day when I would have to suffer my first estrus. Months passed, then years, but my heat never came. I was grateful, but I knew it wouldn’t last forever. Finally, this morning, at the ripe old age of twenty-two, I felt that first ticklish twinge in my lower abdomen, and I immediately knew what was happening to me.

Luckily, I was prepared.

I lied and told my fathers I was going hunting. Then I grabbed my trusty spear and my satchel full of tools, and I lit out for the wild lands of the Zone. I found this barn a few months back during one of my excursions, and I figured it would be a pretty good place to do the deed.

I loosen the laces on my chest and take off my top. My breasts seem to breathe a sigh of relief at being freed from those tight confines. My nipples are hard and throbbing.

Next, I remove my loincloth. It is sticky with my arousal. I set my clothing next to my spear.

Then, with my tool in hand, I lie down on my back on the dirty floor of the barn, and I spread my legs.

My sex is dripping with slick, and the tool slides into me with ease.

It feels… strange.

Not bad, exactly, but not particularly good either. It certainly does nothing to extinguish the intense need that is now coursing through my body. If anything, it only makes it worse.

Because it’s not real, says a voice inside my head.