Zeb
Present day…
She’s asleep or was briefly. I felt her stir, but that didn’t matter; I needed to be out of that bed. Too close, too good, and too fucking much.
My body is still humming from the sex, and her. But my mind is already distracted.
I drag on my shirt and pants. My cap, too, which is stupid given we’re inside. But I like the shadow it offers. She’s perceptive, far too fucking perceptive, and it’s making my gut clench and my back itch like a target has been painted on it.
My data tablet is back in my hand, and I’m scrolling through the briefing, searching for the answers to the threat I’m feeling. I’ve gone through it a dozen times, but I still haven’t worked out what I’m missing… what is making me itch.
My fingers slow as I once more come to where the briefing goes over my cover story, with information about the healer andthe team I will be allocated to. And then my eyes skip back to the details about the healer.
Esme was not the first omega selected for this mission, but the first choice bonded with an alpha, and command made a last-minute change.
She’s not supposed to be here.
Esme with her too-perceptive eyes.
There it is on the tablet, blinking in front of me.
Fuck!
Not simply a healer. No, she is a rare mix, one that can heal the body, the mind, and the spirit. Twenty, thirty, and fifty percent, respectively.
Fifty goddamned percent spiritual.
They see things on different planes of existence than the rest of us. The thirty percent mind healer won’t fucking help either.
Someone fucked up big time. Probably that dick recruiter taking liberties with the mission briefing and reallocating a healer without checking back with command.
I’m not an alpha. I’m a zeta playing a role, faking it like a pro, the way I’ve done all my career.
Sweat breaks out across the surface of my skin.
She’ll fucking know.
Maybe she already does.
Esme
I’m not new to the games of dominance and submission—the push and pull between alphas and omegas. At twenty-eight, I’ve experienced my share.
I’ve been into war zones and field encampments as part of a healer contingent. Rescue missions and post-combat recovery, too. Only, I’m not often taken into the battle zone; not when compared to regular omegas. My skill set is different,rare. While I’m still a physical healer who can deal with wounds, I’m also a mind and spirit healer, one who spends time with soldiers once the battle has ended, helping them claw their way back to a version of life that doesn’t involve artillery, flying bullets, violence, and blood.
If they survive that long, which isn’t a given.
Many go on to take up positions in training or command, utilizing their expertise to support the broader war effort. Some go into civilian life, leaving the military altogether.
As for the natural life bonds that are part of human existence, they can take many forms. Not all alphas get an omega. They outnumber us five to one. Most alphas never get a chance; only the controllers, those at the top of the pecking order, get regular access to omegas. Invariably, at some point or another, an accidental bonding occurs. Those alphas don’t needmyhelp. They have an omega who can be their balance and who heals them emotionally and spiritually in ways the eyes cannot see.
That still leaves a hell of a lot of alphas, and I help them where I can.
So, I’ve seen my share of troubled men, and as Zeb slips out of the bed after fucking me into oblivion, I’m aware that he’s a man with lots of hidden truths and secrets.
I stare up at the darkened ceiling, welcoming the aches in my body, listening to his faint movements in the tiny lounge area, sensing the activity of his mind. He’s occupied fully, probably back on the data tablet he was so interested in after we first arrived.
The mission briefing?
