Page 44 of His Stolen Omega

That the strange cravings for specific alpha pheromones, and the growing desperation to seek them out, were all in his head. Side effects brought on by hunger and conditioning.

The latter was still true.

Elm may not have experienced pheromones prior to this, but he understood them on a base level, same as every other Glyphian. In the beginning, thousands of years ago when their species first came about, they’d all been feral.

There was no verbal conversation, no laws or order. The strong survived, and the weak endured. Alphas claimed omegas, choosing solely off of instinct. Pheromones helped identify genetic compatibilities in potential mates. When things like morality, ethics, and social norms were stripped away, society was left with a fairly basic construct.

Dominant alphas were at the top of the hierarchy. Dominant omegas directly below them, and so on. Alphas were aggressive, territorial, and possessive. Their sole purpose for being was to find a mate and procreate. Omegas back then weren’t much different. Like with the majority of creatures in the vast universe, it boiled down to continuing the species.

The claiming bite had to be delivered by an alpha, but nature had given omegas one advantage. They had to accept the bite in order for the bond to form. To make it more likely this happened, alphas used their pheromones to lure and subdue the one they were interested in. Without language and preconceived principles, there wasn’t much else that needed to be considered.

Likes and dislikes, dreams, goals, none of that mattered because there was only pairing up and surviving to the next day.

But then they’d evolved, grew more intelligent, formed factions, gave names and ideology to things like friends and family. It stopped being socially acceptable to choose a mate based off of pheromones alone, especially since their population continued to grow and therefore more and more options became available.

In today’s day and age, people went to school, and work, and hung out with friends. Their entire lives didn’t revolve around finding and securing a mate. Pheromone addiction was still a thing, but only in extremely rare cases, and with medical assistance, it could be corrected.

Rebirth had forced Elm’s biology to reset to base instincts. To reprogram to such an extent that he had to relearn himself, not just consciously, but subconsciously as well. His system had latched onto the Leviathan because he was the most dominant alpha around. He was struggling to regulate himself, to purge the excess pheromones his body kept overproducing while it fought to learn how much was enough and how much was too much.

The dominant alpha’s pheromones called to Elm’s. Helped drain the extra and steady the rest. Helped make him feel balanced in a world that seemed like it was forever tilting on an axis.

Elm wasn’t grateful. But if nothing else, his first attempt at escape had taught him one very important fact.

Right now, he needed Levi.

“If you’re done, go wash your hands,” the alpha’s steady voice cut through Elm’s thoughts, making him wince.

And absolutely giving away that he was present, if the alpha hadn’t figured that out already.

Elm tested the waters by slowly easing up out of the seat, trying to see if the hand on his nape would force him back down. When the alpha’s grip never tightened, Elm exhaled and stood the rest of the way, making his way over to the sink.

He considered dragging it out, but decided not to risk it, washing then turning, keeping by the sink until he was given another order.

The Leviathan seemed to find humor in that, because he gave a rare chuckle. “Playing the docile omega are we? Who do you think you’re fooling? Should I give you a count of all the bodies strewn across my floors less than an hour ago?”

Elm’s head snapped up, eyes going wide. He glanced between Levi and the entrance that led out of the kitchen, memories returning of how he’d stormed through the house like a wild beast, attacking anything that moved that didn’t smell like the alpha he was seeking out.

“Did I…” he had to stop himself, couldn’t finish the sentence for fear of what he’d hear, but of course the alpha picked up on his meaning.

“You didn’t kill anyone,” Levi said. “But you did make them suffer. Would you like to know how?”

It was odd, but Elm got the sense he was legitimately giving him the option to say no.

He nodded his head in the affirmative anyway.

And instantly regretted it when a targeted wave of aggressive alpha pheromones brought him to his knees. Tears formed and spilled over, turning his vision blurry as he gasped and fought for air, his lungs constricting under the pressure. It felt like a heavy weight was squeezing him from all sides, like his skin was being seared off layer by layer.

It didn’t last long, ten seconds max, but when Levi cut them off, Elm slumped to the ground as though he’d endured three marathons back-to-back.

He pressed his cheek against the cool tile and breathed, working on centering himself and collecting his scattered thoughts and senses.

“It took me fifteen minutes to make my way here,” Levi told him. “I came as soon as I realized something was wrong. That means some of those people were suffering just like that for long enough many will most likely require medical attention. That kind of torture to an untrained individual can fracture a mind.”

Elm pictured his fuzzy memories, saw soldiers and others. The first group he didn’t feel all that guilty toward. They were White Frost. They’d signed up for attack. But the others… “Workers.”

“Yes,” Levi confirmed. “Maids and kitchen staff. While some of them are here to help pay off debts they or a loved one owes to the White Frost, they aren’t mafia. I hardly think they deserve the pain that you gave them.”

“You can’t paint this out like it’s my fault.” Elm may have been the one who’d lost control, but none of this would have ever happened if he hadn’t been held here against his will.