Max
As I enter the sterile room, the beeping of machines draws my attention to the hospital bed.
The omega’s eyes are closed, tubes running from her nose and mouth, hooked up to the machines keeping her breathing. Her tanned skin is sallow with an ashy tinge, and tangled caramel hair lies in limp strands around her face.
I catch the faintest hint of vanilla in the air, tinged with burnt sugar that bites at the back of my throat.
My fists clench instinctively, nails digging in so hard I’d be surprised if my palms aren’t bleeding. I unpeel my fingers with an effort, conscious of the alpha watching me with his cold stare.
I clear my throat.Focus, Max.
“May I take a closer look?”
He gestures impatiently and I step forward to pick up the chart at the foot of her bed. Flicking through the pages, my eyes dart up – assessing her cheekbones and elbows, so sharp they’re almost cutting through her skin. Her tendons stand out on her neck, dark veins running down her arms.
Despite her unconscious state, leather restraints hold down her wrists and ankles, locking her to the bed. A compound-issued collar sits around her neck. Pressing my lips together, I turn back to the chart, reigning in the disgust coursing through me.
Stopping on a particular page, I stare at the text, forcing myself to breathe calmly as I take in the scant details. There’s no name listed, of course. Only a number.864.
Of course she’d be a compound omega. The Omega Compound legally owns all awakened omegas. Following the civil Omega War a few decades ago, all omegas were brought under government ownership to help address our decimated birth rates. Nobody really knows why betas stopped being able to give birth, but fingers were quick to be pointed at the omegas. Human rights didn’t get a look in when the survival of our race was at stake.
So all omegas now belong to the compound by law, and they’re carefully managed to maximise their breeding capacity – either by being allocated to alpha packs, since omegas can only become pregnant through induced heats with an alpha, or by being sent to heat nests, where any alpha who has the money and a knot can do their part and help to populate the world, any children allocated for adoption through a beta agency. The whole set-up makes me fucking sick to my soul. That’s why Em—
I cut off the thought abruptly and focus again on the paperwork, blinking as I take in the contents. It doesn’t add up with the battered condition of the omega in front of me.
Even the assholes at the OC don’t do this to the omegas in their care. Beat them, starve them, force them into submission, even drug them, but this is another level.I’ve never seen an alpha, beta, or omega in this condition.
I continue flicking, trying to think through my options before a word catches my eye. “She’s been given codroctymal?”
Not just a single dose either. Use of codroctymal – also known as artificial heat hormones - is carefully managed to avoid damaging omegas by giving too much, handed out sparingly by the Omega Compound. This omega’s been given so many doses of it, it makes my stomach flip. No wonder her fucking veins are protruding. Just one dose can be incredibly dangerous if administered incorrectly, and this girl – I thumb back through the pages.
Twenty-four doses of codroctymal administered over a six-month period.
I force the bile back, ignoring the anger crawling up my spine. She’s been in heat more than she’s been out of it during that time. It works out to a heat every single fucking week, and each heat can last from 24 hours to three days.
Now, she’s lying on the bed like a broken toy.
Whoever did this to her got exactly what they wanted. The thin sheet covering her doesn’t hide the swelling of her stomach. It looks obscene against her small frame.
She’s pregnant.
A growl bites at the back of my throat, and I push it back as my hackles rise.
“Can we discuss this somewhere more private?” I ask, fighting to keep my voice steady.
Get yourself under control, Max. I can’t be in that room with her without wanting to rip someone’s head off. If my suspicion is true, that person will be him.
The alpha takes me to a small office down the corridor markedregistrar. Two guards follow us, taking up positions on either side of the door.
He gestures to a plastic chair with superiority. “Have a seat.”
Ignoring the implied command, I stay standing, holding up the charts in my hand.
“What exactly do you expect from me?” I demand.
The alpha takes a seat behind the desk opposite. Leaning forward, he steeples his fingers together, eyes piercing.
“She’s dying.”
