Page 80 of Unbonded
His own custom-made Valentine design…
I just wish the thin fabric of the gown they put me in didn’t feel like molten wax against my skin. Every brush of the cheap lace against my nipples sends a bolt of arousal straight between my thighs. The urge to tear it off is almost overpowering, but I won’t help this process along in any way. To resist temptation, I roll until my hands are trapped between me and the floor. The cuffs bite into my ribs, but better that small pinch of pain than a pair of alpha fangs in my throat.
Not that any of these men plan to bond me. Their murmured conversations have been the ugly backdrop to my tormented heat, and I’ve mostly heard them talk about quotas, return on investment, and resale value. Just another business transaction in an omega trafficking ring.
But there are a couple who enjoy circling the omegas, whispering all the horrific things they plan to do to them when they win them in the auction. They tried the same shit with me, but it was easy to block them out. All I had to do was cocoon myself in my pack, rearranging their names in my head like my favorite song lyrics.
Lachlan. Dash. Corbus. Bram.
Dash. Lachlan. Bram. Corbus.
Corbus. Bram. Lachlan. Dash.
Bram. Corbus. Dash. Lachlan.
My pack.
My mates.
They’re coming for me, and when they do, I hope Bram shows them that I’m a really bad fucking investment.
Fighting words, but when a groan spills past my bruised lips, I pant my pain into the floorboards. It’s not the pretty breathless cries of the other omegas, and I hear one of the alphas click his fingers to summon King. My stalker has been lurking in the shadows like a vulture, and I wonder if it’s dawned on him yet that Brennan doesn’t just plan to sell my heat – he plans to sellme. Which is going to make it hard for King to claim his battered prize, especially when I’m whisked off to a secondary location.
The guy mutters to King, jabbing an accusing finger in my direction. I’m supposed to go last – the star attraction – but the longer I stab, curse, and puke on the customers, the less convinced they are that I’ll be worth the wait.
“She looks fucking feral,” he gripes. “Who the fuck is gonna want to stick their knot in that?”
“I only have one heat left in me, and this is it!” I hiss, rolling onto my side to glare at the alpha. “One last knot to ride, and if you try to stick it in me, I’ll snap it off with my feral cunt!”
“Jesus Christ,” the alpha mutters, his nose wrinkling and the bulge in his plants deflating. “She smells like a hospital and talks like a fucking sewer.”
Even King looks at me like I’m losing my shine, but my snarl slips as another spike rakes across my flesh. My heat is coming on so fast, I know I only have a few minutes before I’m lost to the haze.
Hold it together, Omega! If this is your last night of freedom, you’re going to make them pay before they stuff you in a cage.
But one alpha doesn’t look too disturbed by my threats. He’s prettier than all of the others, with sandy-blond hair and bright green eyes. Still a smirking asshole, but his gaze doesn’t wander as he crouches at my side, his voice pitched low. “Hold on a little longer, spitfire. Help’s coming.”
I glare up at him, wanting to believe him but knowing it’s a trick. “Don’t try to soften me up. I still bite!”
“Good. These shitheads need a taste of their own medicine.” I have to admit, there’s something musical about his words, and I hold back my next snarl. “My name’s Declan, by the way, and my omega is Grace’s BFF.”
Grace? I blink through the chaos in my head, trying to make sense of the connection.Grace is here?
“No, darlin’,” he replies, like I asked the question aloud. “But you’ll see her very soon. Just get ready to protect yourself when I give the signal.”
I groan and pant into the floor. It’s too much, too hot, too goddamnhardto think through the fog in my brain.
“Stay with me, darlin’.”
I shake my head, because as musical as he sounds, I don’t want him calling me that. The only ones I want to hear it from are… I grit my teeth through another agonizing cramp, tears squeezing from my eyes as I try to focus on his face. “What signal?”
He makes a soft, humming sound. “What's your favorite song?”
I cast a glare at the stage. Brennan is giving his oily smile, his hand gripping the hair of the omega crouched at his feet. She looks pitifully young in her thin gown, and the circle of alphas are almost salivating as they haggle over her like a prize cow. “Murder on the Dancefloorsprings to mind,” I mutter.
The alpha follows my gaze and gives a low chuckle. “You got it, spitfire.” He pats my arm in farewell, and I snap my teeth at his retreating back, before clenching them around a ragged whine. Damn, but he smelled good. Musky, but not like the old meat of the other alphas, and I try to grind my knees together as slick trickles into my panties.
“No. Knots. Needed.” I roll away from the alphas and chant Dash’s motto into the floorboards, but I know I’m losing the battle. Pain is chewing through me with hungry teeth, and the only way my body can escape it is by sinking into my heat. If I was in our nest, there’d be the distraction of kisses and sweet touches, the soothing balm of our bodies finding pleasure together. But here, so far from my pack, the only respite I get is the friction I can rub from this cold, dirty floor.
