Page 64 of Reckless Consequences

Every instinct screams danger, but the central console remains our objective. We need that system access to upload the clean protocol and send recall codes.

“Why?” The question burns out of me—different from last time when I was just trying to survive. “Why abandon us? Why hunt us? Why any of this?”

His expression stays blank, but something shifts in those green eyes—the first hint of real emotion. Disappointment. His scent sharpens with it, metallic notes intensifying.

“You were supposed to be my perfect omega. A disappointment from birth.”

The static in my scent, the sensory spikes, the way Ryker’s alpha instincts sometimes lock onto me—it wasn’t random. It was a blueprint. And I was the failed print.

The words hit like a physical blow, stealing my breath. Not just abandoned. Not just rejected. Designed. Intended. Planned to be omega—and failed. My heart stutters, skin flushing cold then hot.

“Your mother’s genes were too strong. The designation markers I engineered were overwhelmed.” His assessment carries no remorse. “A failed prototype.”

The genetic dissonance I’ve been feeling—the shifting markers, evolving scent, heightened awareness—suddenly makes terrible sense. Not virus side effects. Sterling’s original design fighting my mother’s genetic resistance.

“So you just discarded us.” My voice stays steadier than I feel. “Your own child. Your mate.”

“She was never my mate.” His dismissal cuts deeper than it should. “A genetic match selected for specific traits. When the experiment failed, I simply... reallocated resources.”

Finn moves subtly, positioning himself between workstations. Through our bond, I feel his brain working, calculating approaches and vulnerabilities while processing what Roman just revealed. His presence steadies me against the biological storm inside.

“And now?” I ask, keeping Roman’s attention on me. “What’s the grand plan? Turn every beta into your personal designation experiment?”

“Evolution guided by intelligent design,” he corrects. “Natural selection is inefficient. I’m simply accelerating what biology has already begun.”

“By force. Without consent.”

His smile turns patronizing. “Does a child consent to vaccination?” Roman’s tone sharpens. “To being taught? To being born? Of course not. The superior mind chooses for them. And I am the mind.”

Another rumble shakes the facility, stronger than before. Jinx’s charges working through critical systems. Time’s running out.

Roman reaches for something on the console—a syringe filled with iridescent liquid. “The revised formula. The one your sister has been attempting to sabotage for years.”

Understanding clicks. “You’re going to use it on me. Again.” Last time he’d injected me with an experimental virus. Now he’s upgraded to something worse—something to finish what he started before I was born. To make me the omega I was designed to be.

“Consider it a correction of earlier error,” he says, stepping forward. “An opportunity to fulfill your genetic potential.”

Finn moves without warning, putting himself between us. “That’s not happening.”

Roman sighs, like he’s dealing with slow students. “Your pack loyalty is admirable but misplaced. She doesn’t belong with you.”

“She belongs exactly where she chooses,” Finn states with quiet certainty.

Roman’s attack comes fast—targeting Finn with surgical precision. Finn blocks the first strike but misses the second. The syringe finds his arm, plunger depressing before either of us can react.

“NO!” The scream tears from my throat as Finn staggers back, the formula entering his already compromised system. Horror floods through me, turning my vision red with rage and fear. Through our bond, I feel the immediate pain as the formula enters his system—a burning rush racing through his veins.

Our connection flares with shared agony—his physical pain becoming my emotional wound. The bond between us pulses red-hot, my body reacting like I’ve been struck. My scent shifts violently—lemon sharpening to something dangerous, the hybrid markers in my DNA flaring to life.

Roman looks mildly annoyed at the deviation. “Unfortunate. The formula wasn’t calibrated for his genetic profile. Probability of successful integration... minimal.” His clinical assessment chills me. “If it doesn’t kill him,” Roman murmurs, “it’ll rewrite him.” This wasn’t just sabotage. It was forced evolution—and Finn was never meant to survive it.

Finn’s breathing speeds up, pupils dilating as the formula hits his bloodstream. Through our bond, I feel the chaos in his system—not transformation but rejection. His body fighting a formula it’s already partially immune to. His analytical scent spikes with distress, the earl grey turning sharp with pain.

“Finn,” I grab him as his knees buckle, my hands trembling against his fever-hot skin. “Stay with me.” The need to protect surges through me—not just concern but primal need to defend what’s mine.

My scent shifts with it—lemon brightening into something protective. Not omega. But something adjacent. Something the virus carved from chaos.

“Complete... the mission,” he manages, each word costing him. His skin burns under my touch, sweat beading along his hairline as the formula wars with the virus already in his system. Through our bond, I feel him struggling to compartmentalize the pain—trying to isolate it, to function despite system-wide distress.

---