Idon’trelaxuntilwe are a good ten miles away. No one is following us, the band of hunters must have been working alone. I’m safe. The danger has passed. I can breathe again.
Except I have a wriggling and panting omega in heat on my back seat. My cock throbs as it leaks pre-cum. My every instinct is screaming at me to climb back there and take him. Fill him with my cock until his needy whimpers turn into cries of pleasure. I was feeling horny enough earlier, just from the full moon, this is unbearable.
I grip the steering wheel until my knuckles whiten. I can resist. I’m not a slave to my beast side. All I have to do is drive. Drive home to my pack, and then my Alpha can deal with it. The thought of Callum’s expression as I hand him a murderous omega in heat, makes me snort laugh.
“Don’t fucking laugh at me, monster!” snarls the omega.
He can talk? That’s impressive. I thought he was too lost in his heat. I’m not going to deign to answer him. There is nothing to say to the little shit who nearly got me killed.
He gives his loudest whimper yet. I tilt the rearview mirror so I can see him, just in time to see him lower the waistband of his black sweatpants and start fisting his cute little cock.
I swallow tightly and look away. Not that it helps. I still know what he is doing. I can hear it. I can smell it. My cock throbs insistently as my arousal dials up a thousand notches. The little noise he makes as he spills, causes me to swerve the car.
Then he makes a sound of frustrated dismay. Of course jacking off would do nothing but increase his desperation. Surely he knew that?
“What the fuck have you done to me?” he snaps.
I will not feel guilty, because I’m not guilty. He fucking tried to kill me. Throwing him into a heat is nothing compared to that. Insignificant. Hardly a crime at all. Not that it’s technically a crime, but morally it’s akin to rape, which it usually precedes. But I’m not going to touch him, so it’s all fine. It’s not like I meant to throw him.
“I need clean clothes,” he mumbles miserably.
What the hell is he on about? He’s a little scruffy from fighting in an alley, but nothing awful. Has his heat made him lose his mind after all?
“Why?” I ask, breaking my resolve to not talk to him.
“Because, whatever you have done to me has made me shit myself!”
Scenting is a big mistake, his delicious heat floods my senses and makes my head spin. I can’t smell anything else. It was stupid to check. The car is tiny, I would have known if he had soiled himself.
“You are probably just feeling slick,” I tell him. His heat must be really confusing him.
“What the fuck is slick?”
Now I’m the one who’s confused. What kind of question is that? I need to gather my thoughts. Is he completely out of it, or is there another rational explanation? Okay, maybe he is from a strange pack that calls it something else.
“The lubricant that coats your hole when you are aroused or in heat,” I try. Hopefully, I was clear enough without being crude, though he hasn’t said a sentence to me yet without a swear word in it so I don’t know why I’m bothering.
He is quiet for a long moment. I glance in the mirror. He is lying on the back seat, curled up on his side, with his back to me. He looks miserable and dejected.
“Is that a werewolf thing?” he asks quietly.
“It’s an omega thing,” I answer.
He whimpers and his hips buck. A fresh wave of heat scent washes over me. So I turn my attention back to the road. Our conversation is over, at least until this wave passes.
My mind whirls. He doesn’t know what slick is. He asked what I did to him. Does that mean he doesn’t know what a heat is? He is old to be having his first one, but I have heard that some omegas don’t start having heats until they have sex for the first time, or unless they are thrown. That thought opens a door to a whole host of deeply uncomfortable feelings, so I shy away from it. Of course he has had a heat before, I’m being ridiculous.
I need to turn my attention to the other odd thing he said. He said werewolf instead of shifter. Some people do use the term to reclaim it in pride or to be self-deprecatory, it might mean nothing or it might mean everything.
As my thoughts twist over the puzzle, I balk at the path they start to take. But he was with human hunters, luring me to my death. My suspicion makes horrifying sense. What if hunters found him as a pup? After they killed his pack? What if they raised him to use him as bait?
My gaze flicks back to the mirror. He is on his back now, working his tasty looking cock. I snatch my attention away while I still can. Every part of me wants to watch him come. Fucking pheromones. This is hell.
His heat needs to break. I need to talk to him and figure out what the hell is going on. Is he a murderer who needs to pay for his crimes? Or is he a victim? I swallow dryly as an uncomfortable thought fills me. Even if he is a victim, he is still a murderer. There is no way I was his first prey. It was all too well done. Too seamless. It was only my magic that saved me. That and the fact that they paused to gloat.
I shiver as I realize how very close to death I have come tonight. My guts twist until I think I’m going to heave. Existential dread, and insane levels of horniness driven by heat pheromones, is a heady combination. I can’t cope with this.
I see a large twenty-four-hour grocery store and pull sharply in. Locking the omega in the car is the hardest thing I have ever had to do. Every part of my being is screaming at me not to leave him alone. He is an omega in heat, he needs me. Needs my protection, my care, my cock. I groan in despair and jog away from the car. I’m only gone ten minutes at the most, but it feels like a lifetime. I’m stupidly relieved to see my car sitting in the car park. Undamaged and not surrounded by ravenous humans or shifters. I jump back into the driver’s seat, chuck my purchase at him and speed off. We are safer when moving. No one else will be able to catch his scent.
