As soon as I reached it, it opened. Armed men crashed in, weapons raised, not at me, but at the tense alphas at my back.
I thought I felt Karma almost crack, then.
The man in the lab coat stepped through. He was younger than I expected. He had white hair, but like Vandle, it was because he was a seer. Mismatched eyes slid between us curiously.
He seemed to be an omega seer, not an alpha, which was good because that might have been the last straw as he examined Crescent, who was still clutching me through shivers.
“Definitely omegas,” he said, perhaps to the betas still behind the glass. “Definitely in heat. What the hell is going on down there?” he muttered, pulling out a suspicious looking vial.
“What is that?” That was Vandle’s snarl.
“We don’t have heat facilities here,” the omega said. “Put it off until we’ve figured out what’s going on.”
“She’s already in the middle of it. That’s not good for her.”
“It’s… okay…” Crescent tugged at my shirt. “I want… I want you all when everything is… is safe.”
It felt like a stone was caught in my throat.
She gripped me closer, voice a whisper. “If they wanted to hurt us, they could just… open fire.” She let out a delirious little giggle.
I did not share her heat-haze humour, though, eyeing the all too close weapons that were pointing at my alphas.
We were, and always had been, at their mercy in this place.
I didn’t trust any of them.
Even the term ‘appeal’ was a stretch. It was a plea, and they could accept or reject us, and who would know any different?
I didn’t get a chance to look over at the others before the seer had removed the cap to the vial and I winced as he slid it into Crescent’s shoulder, injecting the whole thing.
It barely took a few seconds before Crescent went limp in my arms, the waves of her heat dimming in the air, even if her breaths were still rapid.
He looked from Crescent, then up to me, eyes narrowed as he took us in. “There isn’t supposed to be an omega in Anarchy,” he said, voice curious. “Not one… but certainly not two…”
Karma
We were led into an office that smelled like lemon polish and old fear.
It was vile.
My omegas weren’t here with us.
Leverage. To make sure we behaved…
But we would see them again—if I didn’t believe that, I would lose it, and we would be sent back down.
I paced the length of the expensive rug, my boots sinking into the fibres. Every muscle in my body was a coiled spring, vibrating and on the brink of snapping.
They weren't here.
Sin.
Crescent.
My Omegas were locked in a holding cell somewhere in this stone tomb, and I was stuck here, staring at a man in a crisp suit who thought a desk could protect him from me.
“My name is George. I’m one of the facility managers,” he said, though his voice wavered when I turned my head to snarl at him. “Have a seat.”
