“Frail,” I sneer. “That will not satisfy me.” I don't know this for sure. I won't know until I'm in a room with her. And if she is an Omega…
“It sentient,” the Ogsul tells me. He takes a step forward, apparently overcoming his fear in his eagerness to make a sale. “Pretty. It won't disappoint.”
“Fine.” I feign boredom. “Show me.”
The Ogsul’s throat works up and down before he answers. “Auction soon.”
I growl again, and the low murmur in the cantina is sucked away. “I do not wish to attend an auction,” I say into the silence.
“Many creatures here to see the Hoo-man.”
Hoo-man.I curl my tongue around the foreign word. This is another dead end. “Very well.” I wave a hand, and the Ogsul bows and keeps bowing as he backs away. Like I’ve granted him a favor. Which I have. Maybe I won’t kill anyone today.
My throat vibrates with a low growl. My hand tightens on the handle of my blade. I pride myself on my control, but there’s one situation where even an Alpha struggles to keep control: the rut. When we’re in heat, when we scent a sweet little Omega in the vicinity, even the most powerful Alphas are mindless.
And I’m as powerful as they come. I’ve fucked females of every size, shape, and species, and enjoyed most, but there’s one type which has eluded me until now.
The sacred Omega.
My fated mate. The one female I was born to fuck.
Could this Hoo-man really be an Omega?
I lick my lips. The perfumed scent is thicker now. Still delicate and sweet, but growing in intensity. Is this the Hoo-man?My cock is awake, throbbing in my breeches.
The cantina is near packed now. Creatures stand between the tables, facing the stage. They’ve come to gawk over the pretty slaves of all different species, fitted with translation chips which will allow them to understand and speak any of the known languages, regardless of their own origin.
The Ogsul are a strange lot, but they do hold a good auction. I heard rumors they had a serum that could produce Omegas, but only now has that been verified. The last of the Omegas disappeared on Ulfaria a generation ago. If I can find one… I can breed her.
The Hoo-man was a pale, frail looking thing in the picture, but if she produces such perfume, I will buy her. And if anyone tries to bid higher, I will show them why my species, the Ulfarri, are called the Brutal Ones.
Perhaps this night will be more promising than I thought.
Getting to my feet, I take to the shadows, leaning back against the wall, crossing my arms. I’m tall enough to see easily over the heads of the other assembled males in the room. A wide variety of species have come to purchase a female, judging by the stinking males crowding this cantina. The small, cruel Rheeza, with their horned skulls and pointed noses. The docile, almost painfully shy Alags, with their four arms and purple skin. In the corner hunches a rare Haggat. So pale as to almost be translucent, his blazing third eye flicks back and forth over the assembled crowd of males, all of whom are apparently desperate for an Omega female.
They’re all weaklings compared to me. Compared to the Alpha. I already pity the females they’ll purchase. The one I choose—should I find the Hoo-man worthy—should be grateful she’s escaped a much worse fate.
There’s a screech, then a crackle, and then one of the Ogsul plods onto the stage. He’s holding a microphone and looking enormously pleased with himself.
“Gentlemen, thank you for traveling such long way,” he begins in his thick, guttural language. He seems to have a much broader vocabulary than most of the Ogsul I’ve met before. “As always, we have a fine array of females for you to choose from, so please be generous in your bids.” He hesitates, then hums and leans forward. “I’m especially pleased to be able to tell you that we have one of the rarest kinds of females on offer for you tonight.” He pauses for effect again before continuing. “An Omega.”
There’s a hum of excitement traveling around the room, and I know that every other male is thinking the same thing I am:
That Omega will be mine.
The noxious stench in the room thickens as the dozens of males lean forward, eager to get a glimpse of the first female slave for sale. I duck my head further in my hood to gain a little reprieve from the blend of sweat and testosterone. No trace of the sweet floral scent from earlier, the perfect honey scent like light on my tongue. Curse my sensitive sense of smell. I should have brought a breathing mask. Thank Ulf I’m not in rut, else I’d be gagging by now.
“First female on offer is number 327, a shy little Tyreen!”
There’s a deep rumble of lowered voices as the obviously petrified slave is shoved unceremoniously onstage. She has thick black hair falling in waves down to her knees, her dress is torn, and all six of her nipples are clearly visible through the sheer fabric. I can almost sense her trembling from my position at the back of the room. Leaning forward, I inhale deeply, concentrating in order to separate her scent from the other smells in the room. There’s definitely an underlying trace of sweetness, but it doesn’t stir me. I lean back and fold my arms once more.
A female with six breasts and pale lilac skin will always garner attention from some males, and there are a flurry of bids being roared from one end of the room to the other. At length, the Tyreen is sold to a great beast of a Dajok, who has difficulty hiding his smug grin as he strides toward the stage to claim his new slave.
One after another, females of all kinds are led onto the wooden platform, all of them in various states of undress. Some look petrified, others look mutinous. But they’re all sold, regardless. There is no escape. That is the way of the universe.
I fondle the handle of my scimitar. It’s been ages, and there’s still no sign of the promised Hoo-man. The stench of so many species crammed into a small space is thick enough to cut. I still have plenty of competition. Only the wealthiest and most powerful would stand a chance at winning her, so the males of lesser species are contenting themselves with the other goods on offer. Most of them have already collected their new purchases and left, so I have a clear overview of the males I must beat in order to make the rare jewel mine.
“And now, saving the best for last, I’m proud to present the promised Omega! A Hoo-man!” the Ogsul host announces.
