Page 2 of Wild Omega

A second flush of heat steam-rolls through my abdomen, and I tense up.

Oh, fuck no! Not today.

Not ever, if I had a choice. I swallow down a terrified whine and detach my mind from my body. My mind is a far more interesting place, filled with the hushed murmurs of my alphas and dozens of movie characters. No one believes me, but screw everyone else because I know what’s real.

Not that I can hear what my alphas are saying or sense how they’re feeling, like a genuine bond should allow. All I hear is a whisper I can’t quite make sense of.

“You okay?” an omega asks, stroking my shoulder.

“I’m perfect,” I mutter, throwing a card on the pile. Not even sure if it’s the right color, but luckily the number matches. Makes me damn twitchy, listening for the voices. If I could just make sense of a few words, it might be enough to stave off the growing horror clamping around my belly.

I’m so busy listening for my alphas on the next turn that O-18 leans over and plucks a card out of my hand to play it. I don’t care. My world slowly narrows to a dark tunnel filled with monsters who want to devour me.

“A small pack,” I murmur, clutching at anything to anchor my fraying mind. “Alphas who’ll escort me to my movie premiere. We have to all fit in one car.”

The other omegas exchange glances, but I pretend not to see. They have no idea how brilliant an actress I am. My sanity depends on the quality of my acting. For that matter, so does their peaceful, ignorant existence here in the halfway house between hell and purgatory.

And I maintain the facade 24/7, except for those three days every two months when nature strips me back to bare bones—when I’m in heat.

I shiver.

“Shit!” I mutter between clenched teeth. Any moment, my insides could melt, and the scent of my slick will betray me. It makes my nose even more sensitive to the flood of scents in the room. “Do you ladies all know how badly you stink?” I clench my teeth. I’m more sensitive than others to scents on a good day, but now I’m mouth-breathing through their thick perfumes.

That teases some chuckles out of the ladies, and the pleasant noise eases some of the pressure closing like a noose around my loins. Omegas rarely smell good to one another, but we bear with it because we have so little companionship in this forgotten hole masquerading as a hospital for sick omegas.

The door opens, and we all spin around because everyone’s already here, except for the missing O-4. A nurse leads in a petite boy with the long limbs of a not yet full-grown teen, and my heart drops like a lead fishing weight.

“Ladies, say hello to O-20.”

A fucking male omega. They’ll stuff the rare specimen and stick him in a museum. Not. Too many ways to make money from a sexy rarity like him. And my word, he reeks!

His eyes widen as he spots us, and he ducks behind the nurse’s shoulder.

O-18 is off her ass and crossing the room in an instant. She peeps around the nurse’s shoulder and offers her hand. “Come play cards with us, cutie. We don’t bite.”

I swear her gaze flits to me, and I should slap the girl, but I’m too busy fighting the shakes vibrating my insides. Maybe this time around I’ll control it. I can stop everything else, act in any situation, so why the fuck can’t I fake my way through the role damn Mother Nature handed me? Just this once.

If my alphas could walk in through that door and take me away now, I’d never be a bitch again. Or I’d try my hardest, at least. That has to be worth something.

Why haven’t they come yet?

I track the boy through my lashes as O-18 leads him to the table. They’re probably the same age, eighteen or nineteen. Maybe younger. This place is going to chew them up and spit them out broken, like it does to all of us.

The burned girl glares at me. “O-11, you’re staring,” she hisses under her breath.

I shrug. “He’s pretty.”

The lad flushes, and I chuckle.

“Don’t mind her,” O-18 says to the male omega, holding up her palm to block my view. “She looks scary, but she’s not really.”

I lean my chin on my hand and stare for a few moments longer. Will one of my alphas be pretty like him? No one would usually describe alphas as pretty, but I’d like one to be. Someone delicate, not pure strength.

I pick up the cards and shuffle them with trembling hands, spiling a few onto the table. Everyone leans forward to help, and under the cover of the chaos, I slip a couple of cards into my pocket for later.

These damn shakes are getting worse. It might be the strength of scents in the room, which only grows worse with the addition of a pungent male omega. O-18 doesn’t seem bothered; in fact she pulls his chair closer to hers until they’re touching so she can teach him how to play. Good for her.

I breathe through my mouth as I deal out. The cards blur and seem to double as sluggish waves of heat plow through me. Ticklish sweat forms along my hairline and slowly creeps to gather under my ears. I blink through the prickling gray dots, silently begging my body not to do this.

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