I gasp.
Zeb.
A wave comes for me, and I’m drowning.
How?
How is this possible?
Although I always knew he wasn’t ordinary.
A device? Something that projects an image. Something that tricks the mind?
No. This goes deeper than that, molecule deep. The hand that is touching me is inherently real. His huge body is also real.
Somehow he has… what? Cloned an uncorrupted soldier?
Clone them? Deep clone?
My wide eyes glance back.
He smirks. It’shissmirk on someone else’s face.
“Bad omega,” he rumbles. “We’re going to need to make this look authentic before they let us out. Feel free to scream. Feel free to fight. Nod if you understand.”
A beat goes by.
I nod.
Zeb
She nods, and that’s all the permission I need.
She recognizes me, and it punches straight into my gut. She’s sensingme. Not the scent of an alien alpha Not the fake voice. Just… me. The bond we’re not supposed to have.
Someone who heals the mind and spirit sees the world on a different level. I surmised as much right at the very start. I believe she sees my soul—the core of me. And though her wide eyes still carry fear and confusion, there’s also certainty. She knows this shell is not me. That the body I wear is merely a mask
There are questions in her gaze, which is understandable. Anyone who has witnessed my transition or seen me in my different forms gets a mind-bending experience.
I can’t give her answers, not here, not today. Nobody’s supposed to know what I can do. I’m a rumor at best. And that’s exactly how the Empire wants it.
But instincts are taking over now. Her soul recognizes mine. Just as mine recognizes hers. It doesn’t matter what I do or what she does, where we are, or what happens to us. Deep down, we will always know each other.
A rush of euphoria crashes through me, and I sway on my knees.
I’ve always been a loner, a misfit. Not on the outside, where I always strive to blend in. Where I have friends, mostly alphas and betas that I’ve worked with in the field. My parents are long gone. And still, I’ve never truly belonged. I’m not a regular dynamic. I don’t fit neatly into any caste.
I’ve never even met another of my kind. Probably wouldn’t know what the fuck to make of them if I did.
I’m constantly changing. My body type. My face. I keep everything neutral. Maybe because I don’t know what true me looks like anymore. To be a zeta is to be ever-shifting. Maybe it has been happening my whole life without conscious consideration, presenting a pleasing, if forgettable, outward appearance.
But for the rest of humanity, the Uncorrupted and the Empire alike, so much of their perception is tied to the face and form of the person.
Esme sees past all of it, sees what no one else does. She is the only one who can. Not the soldier, and the temporary controller, and not the enemy.
She seesme.
My hands tremble as they skim down to her waist then up to cup her tits. I squeeze them. I’m a little rougher than I intend to be. But this is my woman, she put herself in danger, and I’m just a little fucking wired. I lower my lips to her throat and nip against her skin.
