Today was different. At first, he could feel her hesitation and then her growing fascination and excitement and longing as she watched him more brazenly. Her gaze felt like hot wax pooling on his back, his arms, his chest—searing and provoking. He felt her draw closer, heard her fingers close around the chicken wire barrier between them, her breath growing more ragged.
And something more—the unmistakable note of her arousal mingled with her scent, spicy and ripe amidst her honeysuckle, and the knowledge that slick was even now beginning to flow out of her, making her swollen cunt ready for him.
It was more than an alpha who hadn't known the touch of a woman in a dozen years could take. One more minute of being surrounded by the irresistible scent of her desire, and he wouldn't be able to hold back. He'd storm over there, snatch her up, and…
Roman had to go now. He buried the ax head in the chopping block and turned on his heel, leaving a slack-jawed Phoebe behind. But he didn't go far.
He only made it a few yards into the woods before the need became too strong. He had to lean against the trunk of a towering evergreen as he spit into his palm and began stroking away.
What the hell just happened?
Phoebe stared at the break in the forest where Roman had disappeared. The branches had closed behind him, swallowing him up.
Only seconds ago, he'd been flexing and rippling his muscles and showing off every inch of his muscular perfection, just as he'd promised…or threatened. Honestly, Phoebe wasn't sure which.
Frustration and confusion welled inside her, along with the ache of physical need. What did Roman even want from her? Was this just another fiendish means of torment, winding her up until she could barely see straight, only to leave her hanging?
Or had he been performing for her gratification, her titillation? Filling her head up with dreams for the long night ahead?
Phoebe had no idea. Standing there with her face hot and her pussy aching, the only thing she was certain of was that the sight of his half-naked, sweating body was going to stay with her for a long time.
And yes, not to put too fine a point on it, the image might just get put into regular rotation as a masturbatory fantasy.
But the effect the alpha had on her went a lot further than that.
She could already tell that just the sight of him chopping wood had probably ruined her for all other men. Phoebe had a hard enough time drumming up any enthusiasm for the single men in their crappy little town. She hadn't gone on a date in almost a year, and it had been even longer since she'd gotten laid.
And now every single man who came her way would have to contend with the memory of Roman and his too-hot-to-handle body. The poor bastards, they wouldn't stand a chance.
But that was a problem for another day. Right now, she was more worried about how in the world she was going to face Roman when he returned from wherever he'd run off to. There was no way Phoebe would be able to bring herself to look Roman in the eye again. She'd never be able to say another word to him. Hell, she wasn't even sure she'd be able to breathe around him.
Something occurred to Phoebe: maybe that was why Roman had done it, why he'd delivered her own little beefcake show. After all, he'd made it clear that he had no interest in conversation or getting to know her. He couldn't have made it any clearer that she wasn't a guest, but a hostage.
She had to hand it to Roman—it was pretty clever to use humiliation to keep her quiet and cooperative, and also damn effective. If he'd wanted to shame and mortify her, consider it done: right now, there was nothing more Phoebe wanted than for the earth to open up and swallow her whole.
Even better, it would be awfully nice if Holden and Dad showed up with the full tankers they'd promised Roman. Phoebe decided to focus her efforts on praying they'd come soon…because while she could sleep on a couch and do chores to earn her keep for as long as it took, she didn't know how much more visual alpha stimulation she could stand.
A gust of cool air alerted Phoebe to the fact that she didn't know how long she'd been standing there alone in the coop. Long enough for the hens to get bored and wander off to snooze in the hay. But just as she was about to let herself out of the wire door, a twig snapped in the woods nearby—and all hell broke loose.
Chickens flew into the air in a burst of feathers, flapping and squawking and running in circles much as they had the first time she'd gone into the coop. But it wasn't her they were reacting to, she was sure of it.
Instantly wary, Phoebe scanned the yard, the forest, the road leading up to the house—but she could see nothing amiss. A cloud had covered the sun, and the wind was stirring the tall stands of sweet peas and sending dandelion fluff into the air, but there was no visible threat, nothing to scare the birds.
Maybe it was just Roman returning, she told herself, though she didn't believe it. The chickens only cared about him at feeding time.
This was something different.
Slowly, a low rumble started up, one that seemed to come from several directions at once. Soon it was loud enough that she could feel the vibrations in the air as much as hear them.
Phoebe held her breath, praying it was the sound of far-off engines coming up the drive, bringing her family and the fuel they owed.
But those hopes were dashed as the rumble drew closer. That rumble did not come from any machine. It was an animal, not much different than a menacing dog at the end of its chain, but louder…so much louder and more terrifying.
Phoebe gasped in terror when the first long white snout poked out from the cover of the trees, followed by a huge silver and black body slinking low to the ground. The creature's lips pulled back to reveal a row of gleaming, sharp white teeth.
A second appeared behind the first, moving like a shadow.
Then more growls came from behind. Phoebe spun around to see two more beasts approaching from the rear. And that wasn't the end of them. There was another to her left—and, oh God, it was an entire pack of them.
Wolves.
Phoebe froze. Even though her instincts told her they hadn't come for her—at least not primarily—she knew better than to spark their need to chase by running. But that didn't mean she was safe. She was still standing between them and what they were really after—the chickens.
All thoughts of shame and lust vanished as she found herself surrounded by five lean wolves. Phoebe had never seen one this close before, and the hunger in their eyes was downright terrifying.
It was clear these creatures didn't care about why she was in their way. They didn't make deals. She wouldn't be able to talk her way out of this mess. They circled closer, closer, and Phoebe calculated she had another few seconds before they attacked.
Maybe if she snuck away, nice and slow, they'd leave her be, happy to go after an easy meal rather than taking on one that might fight back.
"Sorry, Mrs. Featherbottom," Phoebe whispered as she crept toward the latch in the gate.
But the wolves reacted just as aggressively to her as to the hens. They snarled, fanning out like a five-pointed star, blocking every escape route, their yellow eyes tracking her every step. She forgot all about her plan to sneak anywhere when the creature closest to the gate snapped at the opening.
Phoebe jumped back, her whole body trembling with fear and fury. This really wasn't how she wanted to die, ripped to shreds by wild animals, and left in a bed of hay splattered with chickenshit.
But if this was the end, at least she'd try to go down swinging.
With shaking hands, Phoebe reached for the shovel leaning against the wire fence and lifted it high, holding it over her head like a cudgel.
The wolves didn't look the least bit intimidated.
Like an alpha, a wolf could smell her fear and sense that she was bluffing. They could tell she was no more a threat than Clucky Brewster over there.
Phoebe shrieked as the first wolf attacked the wire fence behind her, testing its strength. That was all the sign the others needed to surge forward, their combined weight
bringing down the flimsy structure in a tangle of screaming birds and feathers and snapping jaws.
Phoebe gulped and swung as hard as she could at the wolf, who bounded its way over the ruined fencing directly toward her. She missed as he darted nimbly out of the way. The shovel crashed to the ground. The force of the swing threw her off balance, and she struggled to keep her footing.
Dammit. She had to stay up. If she fell on her ass now, the wolves would be on her instantly. But she didn't know how much longer she could manage.
The wolf who'd just tried to take her down spun around, ready to try again. Lowering his head and baring his teeth, he let out another terrifying growl.
A roar ten times louder than the wolves' baying answered from deep inside the forest. In response, everything froze—Phoebe, wolf, chicken.
That was no damn wolf.
Phoebe grabbed onto one of the few posts still standing and righted herself just as Roman burst out of the dense forest, moving faster than she had ever seen a man run.
Three long strides brought him into the remains of the coop with her. The wolves shook off their surprise, instantly diving back into their chaotic storm of violence and noise. They snarled and snapped and shook the birds between their jaws, splattering blood and feathers.
Roman stood in their midst, his stance wide, his body moving powerfully. He picked up two wolves by their scruffs, hurled them into the trees, and then went after another. From the forest came yelps of pain and defeat, but the others still circled menacingly. White feathers drifted lazily as the surviving chickens scattered, sensible enough to run from the carnage playing out in front of them as Roman battled the wolves one by one.
But Phoebe couldn't move. She was mesmerized.
Watching Roman chop wood had been one thing, but it was nothing compared to this display of unfettered power, strength, and rage. Soon all the wolves had been banished…all except one.
The largest, the obvious leader, flicked its intelligent eyes between Roman and her. Being a pragmatic creature, just like Phoebe herself, it chose the lesser threat, launching itself into the air, its jaws wide.
It came straight for Phoebe's neck. She threw up her arms in self-defense, but the animal was too big, too heavy. With so much momentum, it would have severed her arteries with its fangs if she hadn't been shoved out of the way.
Phoebe landed hard, gasping for the air that had been knocked out of her chest. She rolled out of the way and struggled to sit up, cringing in the face of another attack—but it didn't come.
Instead, she saw Roman standing a few feet away, holding the wolf by the neck. The creature fought and struggled and snarled…until Roman gave a flick of his wrist and the beast's neck audibly snapped.
He threw the corpse into the forest like a sack of trash, and finally, it was quiet, save for the faint baying of the surviving wolves retreating to lick their wounds.
"You came," Phoebe stammered, struggling to stand in the twisted mess of the destroyed coop. Her arms were bleeding, whether from being bitten or from being scratched by wire, she had no idea—and didn't care.
She could only look at Roman.
A warm and contented feeling rushed through her veins, displacing the terror she'd felt only seconds ago, and Phoebe realized that she never wanted to look away from this alpha again.
Roman's nostrils flared slightly as he turned toward her. His eyes darkened, and his expression shifted, the high alert melting into something even more unsettling. A powerful surge of energy flowed between them. While Phoebe was sure it was just the adrenaline rush of surviving, she found herself crawling toward him.
It was so strange, how she didn't seem to feel the broken wire and sticky blood under her hands, the aches that only a moment ago had beset her knees and hips where she'd taken the impact of the fall. She just kept moving until Roman bent and lifted her by the arms, holding her steady and staring into her eyes.
Phoebe had no idea what he was thinking, why his eyes burned so intensely with strong emotion. He might have been about to strike her or caress her—it didn't matter. All that mattered was touching him, pressing the palm of her hand to his face, molding it to the contours of his jaw.
A sigh escaped her at the sensation of his rough stubble and warm skin under her fingertips. Somehow, she'd always known he'd feel this perfect.
"Roman..." Phoebe whispered his name, tasting the sensual weight of it, her thoughts sliding effortlessly to all the things she could do with her tongue right now.
Roman pulled her into his arms, and she inhaled his scent, the notes of coffee, sawdust, and even the metallic tang of blood. She gasped as he slid his hands slowly down her body, his touch a promise, his expression filled with a hunger even more profound than what she'd seen in the wolves' eyes.
"Omega," he growled.
Chapter Nine
Shock filled the omega's wide green eyes like splinters of glass, but Roman made no move to release her. There would be time for that—but not now.
At this moment, there was nothing he needed more than to drink in another deep breath, filling his lungs with her rapidly shifting scent. It was like breathing a waterfall or a hurricane—her emotions unable to keep up with the powerful changes in her body and soul.
Phoebe made no move to free herself from his arms. Why would she? She might not know it yet, but she was locked in the same imperative.
Before his eyes, all her fear and resistance fell away, and a powerful sensuality took root in their place. Her body was alive with the signs of her new and true nature: the energy in her eyes, the seductive hum radiating from deep within her, the heat rising in her skin—all of it proof of what she truly was, what she'd always been.
It had taken a single touch to awaken her nature.
Roman realized now that on some level, he'd known it all along. Not consciously—omegas were so rare that they bordered on mythical. The chances of Ed Whitfield's daughter being one wasn't a thought that had ever entered his head.
And yet he'd known all the same. Why else would Roman have been so inexplicably drawn toward her since the moment he'd sensed her hiding out in the back of the big rig? For so long now, he hadn't been able to get her out of his mind. It was her face he imagined as he beat off every night, and she was the first thing he thought of every morning.
Now, he finally understood why.
Roman had never been merely sexually frustrated, as he'd initially suspected. It didn't matter how long it had been since he'd lost himself inside a woman.
Phoebe had this impact on him because she was special—she was an omega.
His omega.
The blinding realization coincided with the quickening of her pulse beneath his hands, her heart pumping the blood that grew richer with every passing second. Phoebe had been destined to find him, to bind herself to his side. To stay with him from now until forever.
The clucking of a hen wandering back from the woods made Roman glance down briefly, just long enough to take in the carnage on the ground and realize how close he'd come to losing Phoebe before he'd had a chance to ever really have her. The thought sent a cold shiver down his spine.
Wolves could be nuisances, but they weren't capable of malice. They were just animals, following their instincts with no understanding of lies or deceit. They only did what was necessary to survive. That's why Roman had only killed one once before when it had become diseased and left behind by its pack.
Now he had killed two.
Seeing the wolf's snapping jaw going for Phoebe's jugular had provoked a blind rage in Roman—an emotion ordinarily reserved only for betas and the occasional pain-in-the-ass alpha.
But Roman had acted without thinking, tearing that cur in half for the crime of going after Phoebe.
And that was before he'd known what she truly was.
Now he knew. And there was no reason to hold back any longer.
Roman lifted Phoebe up in his arms so that her lips were inches from his. If she was startled when her fee
t flew off the ground, she didn't show it. Her mouth was every bit as hungry as his. She threw her arms around his neck, and they lost themselves in the kiss.
God damn, it was good.
Roman had never been all that into kissing. When he was seventeen, it had seemed like a pointless waste of time. He'd been focused on getting laid. But this was nothing like the stolen moments in the back of his BMW in high school.
Still, no matter how well Phoebe kissed, it wasn't enough.
Not for him…and definitely not for her. Half an hour ago, while watching him split wood, Phoebe had been aroused enough to dampen her panties. But now that her omega nature was taking root, the floodgates had opened. Slick gushed from between her legs, drenching her dress and soaking the front of his pants.
Roman roared as the wet warmth seeped through the fabric and made contact with his skin. Phoebe's body reacted to the sound with another rush of slick that flowed down her legs.
Was this really how it was going to be? So primal—so fucking hot? Roman would stand out here and roar until he was hoarse if it made her do that. The scent of her slick was driving him mad. He absently licked his lips, wanting nothing more than to rip off that dress and bury his head between her legs, licking and tasting and exploring until he'd had his fill of her.
But not here.
Roman was quickly losing his grip on the last shreds of his restraint, and this wasn't the place to take her for the first time. The ground was littered with torn sections of chicken wire, broken boards, and feathers, and fur was lodged in streaks of gore near the corpses of wolves and birds.
Roman was not about to lay his omega down on that.
He shifted her in his arms and started toward the house. He'd make love to her on his goose-down tick and cloud-soft pillows. It would be fucking perfect.
Roman: The Boundarylands Omegaverse: M/F Alpha Omega Romance Page 7