Page 6 of Bad Omega

“You guys are alphas,” I quip. “You don’t mind me hanging around you.”

Source, I just can’t help myself, can I?

On his bunk, Renn snorts. Even Bjor chuckles softly behind his thick beard. But Knar isn’t amused. He turns from the window and fixes me with those gray eyes of his. At the moment, the color reminds me more of smoke than a storm cloud.

And where there’s smoke, there’s fire.

Excitement spirals through me. An inappropriate spark. Knar is my daddy, after all. Not by blood, but still. I shouldn’t be feeling… this.

“You know what I mean,” Knar growls. “Young alphas. They’re only interested in one thing.”

Oh, I’m aware. Painfully aware, in fact. The “one thing” to which Knar is referring is currently throbbing with unwanted heat. If I were a guy, my loincloth would be sticking straight up right now. Luckily for me, a girl’s arousal is a bit more subtle. I squeeze my legs together and pray that Knar can’t smell the effect his lecture is having on me.

Source, what is wrong with me?

“We can’t keep her away from boys forever, you know?”

That time, it was Bjor who spoke. The big alpha has set down the piece of wood he was carving, and now he’s sitting with one elbow resting on his knee as he thoughtfully strokes his fingers through his thick beard. When he speaks again, his voice is so deep and rumbling, I can feel it through the seat of my stool.

“Eri’s not our little girl anymore,” he says. “She’s a grown omega. She hasn’t gotten her first heat yet, but she will soon.”

The mention of estrus sends a blush into my cheeks. Thankfully, Bjor doesn’t go into all the dirty details about what that involves—but he doesn’t have to. Everyone in the Zone knows what happens to an omega when she goes into heat. The way her body floods the air with pheromones, signalling a need that only a pack of alphas can satisfy. Sometimes the mating can go on for days without stopping.

Arousal moistens the seam of my sex. I clench my thighs tighter.

Knar sighs.

“Perhaps you’re right,” he says, seemingly oblivious to my discomfort. “Perhaps it would be best if we sent her back to the Ruins to find some alphas her own age.”

The heat drains from my face. I can’t believe what I’m hearing. Knar has always been so adamant about keeping me away from alphas. So have Bjor and Renn, for that matter. What’s the cause of this sudden change of heart? Have I played my little game too many times?

“No!”

All three alphas lift their heads and stare at me hard. I feel myself withering under that triple gaze.

“Excuse me?” Knar says.

“You can’t send me away!” I say, not even caring if my bratty tone infuriates my pack master. “You just can’t! You… you promised my parents you would protect me, no matter what!”

Knar stares me down, stern yet calm.

Why is he so Source-damn calm?

“Eri,” he says. “This is serious. It isn’t just a matter of you getting knocked up on accident. That stunt you pulled today could’ve gotten you killed. If we hadn’t shown up when we did—”

“I know!” I shout. “I— I’ll be good from now on! I promise!”

“We’ve heard that before,” Renn chimes in.

Normally I would scowl at him for a comment like that, but right now I’m too panicked. I cast my eyes around our dwelling, searching for something—anything—that might change the alphas’ minds.

I find it in the corner.

It’s a bundle of about a dozen or so spears the four of us have crafted together. The best spears in the entire Zone, if you ask me. We trade them with other packs for stuff like furs and baskets. And we have a nice little division of labor going on: Renn is the one who scavenges the steel from old pre-Cataclysmic machines; Knar melts it down and forges it into spear tips; Bjor carves the wooden hafts…

And me, I lash the tips in place with cords of sinew. My smaller fingers are better suited to such delicate work.

“If you send me away, who will tie the spears?” I ask.