I shrink further into the corner.
The bars open, and he wades past the other dynamics, making directly for me. Taking my arm in a bruising grip, he marches me out, the bars rattling back into place.
I throw one last look over my shoulder at Ashanti before I’m shoved through the doorway, hustled down the corridor, and tossed into a room.
I stagger forward as the door clicks shut with an air of finality behind me. The floor is cushioned underfoot, and I lose my balance, dropping to my knees. It’s a small, intimate space, with subtle lighting and a large pile of soft bedding materials sits to one side. On the left is an open shower room.
My throat closes, forming a lump around my rising panic.
Now would be a really good time to start praying.
They just put me in a nesting chamber. And I have a very bad feeling about who’s about to join me here.
Zeb
The door to nesting chamber 21C opens. I step inside, and the door whooshes shut behind me. And there she is, kneeling on the huge, cushioned nest directly in front of me, naked. She’s fucking stunning. Her long hair falling down her back in waves, the curve of her spine. Toned from the rigorous training they put omegas through, yet soft still. A little padding. The memory of her smooth flesh depressing under my fingers threatens to break my stony facade.
I tear my gaze away from her and the temptation she represents, taking in the room. There’s a little cubby just inside the door where you’re supposed to stow your clothes before entering the nest. Don’t want to pollute the nest with whatever you were doing before you arrived. A shower is also available so that you can clean up.
Heaped beside her is a pile of nesting material.
Not that I imagine many omegas tossed into these cells masquerading as nests take the time to set it to their satisfaction.
I palm the plate,locked. No one’s going to disturb us. But they have monitoring in here, and they’ll be watching. Watching what I do.
Well, what Jord does. Jord, who’s apparently been rehabilitated. So that’s something. Means I don’t have to act like a complete animal, which Jord clearly was. Not that I could ever do that with her. But, still, I’ve got a lot of rage inside me after she disobeyed a direct order from her controller… also me.
Damn this has got to be the most confused personality and body transition I’ve ever been through.
The faint trembling in her body wakes me back up to the scene unfolding before me.
She doesn’t know who I am.
Not the man under this wrapper.
And I can’t tell her. Not yet. Not with the cameras in every corner. They’ll be watching—sick bastards. If I did, she’d probably think I was a deranged lunatic, claiming I’m an Empire soldier who can casually clone other men... One who is twice my fucking size.
Only, I think something has gone wrong with the cloning process because it feels like I’m still growing. Maybe it’s all the adrenaline that flooded my system when I realized she was on the ship? Perhaps the danger she’s in drives me to get even more pumped, because here, among the Uncorrupted, size and strength are definite benefits when challenges are so freely engaged in, and holding on to the prize means obliterating any competition.
Fuck. I’m going to fucking break her for sure…. I mean, just look at us? How the fuck are our two bodies even going to fit?
Don’t think about that. Nor those cute little whiney noises she made when I stuffed her full of cock and knot.
I clench my fists. My hormones are going rampant. Their alphas are strange. Unsavory.
But here, in this room, no one’s tracking hormone levels, are they? So I allow a subtle shift closer to that of a regular alpha.
A veil of calmness settles over me. Control. That’s what our soldiers are trained for, although I believe it’s more about honing instincts that are already there. Doesn’t matter what they do to an omega; they’re always in control. They never, ever go beyond what their charges need, nor more than they can take. Hurting an omega—real hurt, not the blush you put on their ass when you discipline them, but the kind that is done through ignorance, neglect, or with cruelty in mind—that shit’s not part of their makeup.
But the Uncorrupted? They’re not trained, and what they do to omegas is sure as hell not instinctive. They’re barely above animals. Yet they call us scum.
No, this is better. I can manage this. Go easy on her. Not that it’s going to be too easy. Not unless I can figure out how to tell her.
Her head lifts slowly, and she turns slightly, peeking back at me.
I haven’t moved. Haven’t said a fucking word. She doesn’t recognize me. That’s good… isn’t it? Can’t afford for her to give me away.
But then her eyes narrow. Not with fear. No, she’s calculating, watching, assessing me.
