“No, we don’t,” the alpha says. His eyes have glazed over.
I have vague memories of risk assessments that omegas are supposed to run through mentally in the event of being captured. What to do, what not to do, and all that. My mind is totally blank to them. I’m confident applying experimental mind control techniques would be high on the no-go list, but damn it, surrendering to the next bull-necked alpha and his buddy with my ruination on their mind isn’t something I can do willingly, even if it’s lower risk in regard to my survival. I’m in full fightor flight mode. Whatever training I had has been erased by the terrifying churn.Please, do not let this end badly for me.
“I just need a little help from you.” I make the request feel personal, like he is the only one who can help me. He isspecial. My emotional leak is a mixture of uncertainty, desperation, and adoration for him.
“I need to get her out of here,” the alpha says slowly, his voice rough, breathing turning ragged.
“You’re not fucking authorized,” the other guard says. “Have you even been with an omega yet?”
“I don’t give a damn,” my alpha says with a snarl. “She needs help. Everyone who wanted an omega has already been.”
Only he’s still uncertain, and he doesn’t yet open the door.
I need him to open the damn door, to take me away from here to somewhere away from others where I can persuade him to release me from these restraints. To get him to tell me information… like how to escape. If I can only get him alone, I can bend him to my will. His face, his scent, the protective emotions I feel stirring within him, all tell me I have him hooked, at least the start of it, enough to work with.
It’s better than the alternative.
What I’m doing is dangerous, but better this alpha than one of the others. The ones I’ve seen so far have been hardened, twisted, andcorruptedby their version of the virus and their culture.
I pump out more arousal into the room. His fingers close over the bars, and he grips. “Open the fucking door. Right now.”
His scent slams into me. I have to steady myself to stay the course.
Think submissive.
Think need for him and only him.
The twitchy guard suddenly slams his hand to the communication plate on the wall. “We need security in prisoner holding pen 15C. Now!”
It shatters the moment and the hold I have on the alpha. He turns toward the guards with murder in his eyes. “Why did you do that?”
I shut down everything.
The two guards step back, cautious.
One puts his hand on his weapon like he might use it on the alpha.
The other stands to the side, arms wide. “Calm down, both of you.”
But they don’t, and my alpha target, whom I thought was weak and malleable, takes the guard who put the call through by the throat and slams him against the bars.
What the fuck have I just done?
Zeb
I exit the canteen area. And then follow the direction the soldier indicated.
The truth? I don’t have a fucking clue where I’m going. I’ve been on my share of their ships, but this one looks like a new design, and none of what I’ve seen so far is familiar. The only parts I memorized for the mission was how to get to Jenda and how to get the fuck off again. I need to get to a control panel somewhere. Had to ditch my previous ID when I left the ship. Given that man killed the head of their viral program, keeping it was way too much of a risk. But I don’t have Jord’s, and I doubt if I did have Jord’s it would fucking help me.
Also, it’s not as if their own people should need a ship plan.
Any other operation, and I’d be ice cool under any level of pressure. But it feels different because Esme is somewhere here, and the images churning through my mind, coupled with this freak I’ve cloned, are making me feral.
Nope, the feral is all me.
I head back along the corridor the way I just came. At the end is a T-junction. To the right is the hull where we were stuffed during takeoff. I don’t remember anything down there—no other exits.
Left it is… where I meet up with two armed guards wearing exoskeletons.
