Unknown Omega

by V T Bonds

I cannot let the challenge go unmet. On instincts, I grab her head covering, catching the hair underneath, and yank her head back. Gathering all my willpower, I stop my mouth from descending on hers just before contact. Her labored breaths mingle with mine as I fight the urge to devour her plump lips.

  “You have every right to hate me, little one. I’m an asshole. But I’m your asshole now. We'll have to figure this out, one moment at a time. First thing- don’t challenge me unless you’re ready to follow through. Understand?” I ask.

  Her pupils sit large in her wide eyes, and I sense her warring within herself. With a lip still curled in anger, she pulls in a deep breath.

  Her voice wobbles with her emotions, “I understand. Second thing- don’t touch me. Got it?”

  She doesn’t move, but her entire body is tensed and ready to react. Those words cost her a great deal. She’s an abused woman with too much courage and strength for her own good. The faint bruising on her face makes my chest tighten—it kills me to see marks on her skin. Knowing I caused some of them makes my self-hatred swell in my chest.

  I slide my hand out of her hair but keep my mouth close to hers, breathing in her exhales and basking in her scent. I ache to kiss her, but know I have a long way to go before she’ll accept me.

  The memory of her intimate flavor makes my mouth water, and I need to swallow before I can reply.

  “Not until you ask me to,” I promise, the words like acid in my throat. She looks like she might vomit as I pull away, and the urge to cradle her to my chest and purr for her is extreme.

  But I won’t offer that. Not until she asks for it. I sit back and shove my frustration into a tiny corner of my mind and lock it away. I have a new mission. A personal one. I must woo my beautiful little Omega.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Her - Unknown

  Before these men, no one has ever called me anything other than girl, wretch, failure, and other derogatory things. I’ve never thought to name myself because nothing I came up with seemed to fit.

  The word Omega fills in gaps I wasn’t even aware existed.

  That first night of travel, Dirk wove fantastical tales of wars between large societies and the repercussions of mass warfare. He gave me more history than I ever thought I’d be privy to, explaining how dynamics came into existence. He waxed poetics about mankind’s evolution. I listened, half asleep, lulled by his confident strides and soft purring.

  His gentle approach to such an overwhelming change in my life made me feel like a pampered child. For those hours, I forgot about his size and orientation. I didn’t care that he was still an enemy.

  My body healed as it rested, and my mind grew as it absorbed his knowledge. A satchel of foods, things I’d never tasted before, sat nestled in my clothing, and when a bone-deep emptiness grew big enough to recognize, I fished out a morsel and snuck it into my mouth. I wasn’t trying to hide my actions from Dirk; he’d given me the food and told me to eat whenever I was ready. No, I was hiding it from the elements.

  They’d found clothes my size and two extra layers of protection, but still sand intrudes into the fabric. The powerful wind forces it into my clothing and grinds it against my sore skin. Unpredictable gusts tug and yank on my garments and slide grit across my wounds.

  Sticky bandages protect the healing lashes on my back, and gratefulness wedges its way into my heart. It’s the only part of me that is untouched by the coarse grains.

  At some point Dirk’s stories turned to a young Alpha, born into a wealthy family, strong in genetics and pompous in their behavior. He told of an unhappy childhood rife with abandonment. He'd escaped to the military, absorbing the training with such voracity that his command selected him for further testing. Then, without meaning to, he had found his true home and his rightful family. The males he'd met had excelled with him, and bonds had formed. He told of a first meeting, a wild flame-haired Alpha challenging him. An epic battle that, to this day, has not found its end. A camaraderie he cannot deny or explain. His voice matched the cadence of his strides, weaving his history seamlessly into my present. He told of quirks and faults, hidden in majestic scenes of snowy mountains and glimmering cities.

  When the dark-skinned man, Kwame, approached us and offered to carry me for a while, I wasn’t sure I wanted to leave Dirk’s comfort. I had been so wrapped up in his storytelling that I hadn’t realized how much time had passed.

  Uncertain about Kwame, despite Dirk’s fairy tale picture of him, I gave him a wary look. He’d assured me I could say no and he wouldn’t be offended. It was the exact thing to put me at ease.

  There were a few scary seconds as the world shifted around me. Neither bothered to change their pace; in a surreal show of coordination they transferred me to Kwame's arms while they powered through the sand.

  Kwame’s physique was different from Dirk’s. With a smaller frame, his sinewy strength blocked less of the elements, but his smooth prowl was soothing. For a while he said nothing, but as the sun blazed down on us, he shocked me with his voice. He didn’t purr. He didn’t speak. He sang.

  His rich, beautiful tone conveyed a raw and tragic tale. A short song containing a life of solitude before brothers descended and fulfilled a deep longing.

  When his song ended, we needed no more words, so we spoke no more. I floated off to sleep, my exhaustion urging me to block out the world.

  He woke me in the sweltering hours to bunker down in a miracle fabric. One side shimmered with more sparkle than freshly hauled wash water. The other side was an unexpected green and brown pattern. The shelter cooled beyond probability, and my mind spun. If such a thing existed, what other wild things have I never seen?

  Then he destroyed the calm his teammates worked so hard to build. He put his huge hand in my hair and wrecked my sense of security. He made that tightness in my abdomen come back again.

  I still can’t find the dream-like comfort Dirk and Kwame crafted for me. Five days and nights have passed and my stomach still throbs. We’ve stopped for meals twice a day, once at the hottest point of day and once at the coolest time of night, but I eat the bulk of my food while we travel.

  Vander, always scanning the horizon as though he owns the land, moves up and down the line, spending time with each individual. When he joins the male carrying me, he keeps more distance than he does with the others.

  I feel his eyes following me all the time. His presence is a thorn in my flesh, an ache in my stomach, and a seething ball of confusion in my chest. I catch his flaming red hair in my periphery. Delicious promise and disastrous desire clogs my nostrils when the wind brings his scent.

  Seeck is always there, lurking nearby, his attention grating on my nerves.

  Except a part of me always begs for him. Whether or not I want it to, an errant portion of my soul stretches out toward him, gleaming any tidbit possible and gobbling up all things him. All things Seeck.

  I’ve lost count of the days and nights now. The world has become sky, wind, sand, these men, and my memories.

  I refuse to let them carry me anymore, the unaccustomed cradle position making my joints ache. Worry that I’m becoming dependent on them causes a desire for autonomy.

  My muscles burn with fatigue and my lungs labor for breath, but I cannot remain in any male's grasp. I’m suffocating in their tender care. My heart has blossomed with their sweetness, and I fear how receptive I’ve become to them. These massive Alphas have powers I could never hope to possess, and the realization that I could let myself gorge on their attention and still want more frightens me.

  I feel more clear-headed than I ever have. Despite my aching body, my mind no longer feels sluggish, as if entire sections have reanimated.

  It is frightening. I’ve experienced too much negativity in my life to enjoy being so lucid. I count the passing of time by my footfalls, never daring to glance behind at my tracks. Looking at my feet or forward, I note the fading sunlight and silently beg for a break. As my energy flags and my senses dull, more of my memories le
ak into the present. Snippets of violence flash through my thoughts and I try to expel them, thinking of the tales Dirk and Kwame wove. The haunting melody Kwame began with plays in a circuit, one note flowing into the other until my heart feels heavy with sorrow and yearning. I look up as the last rays of sun highlight the dunes, then let the maudlin tune loose, humming to myself as darkness descends. The song is dark and lonely, a wordless tale floating among the world of in-between—dusk claims neither day nor night.

  As the stars brighten and the air cools, I mimic his song of adventure and promise. It isn’t the same as his, for I do not share the sense of home that he does. I cannot muster the awe and disbelief that swelled within his tone, but the hours of relative safety and care they’ve given me produce a tentative hopefulness. A hint at what safety and security could feel like. A peek into genuine friendship.

  The wind whips in different directions, and I realize that I no longer murmur my song. I’ve raised my volume, my vocal cords straining because I’ve never used them this way. I haven’t been trying to keep my song a secret, but I also desire to keep my thoughts private, so I lower my voice again and hope the wind has drowned out my notes.

  All traces of sunlight disappear, and moonlight shimmers across the sand. I fight with my eyelids as I shuffle along. We balance along the top of a mountain of sand, exhaustion threatening to send me tumbling down. One misplaced foot could send me falling for ages. That thought sharpens my focus, and I struggle onward.

  Dirk's broad-shouldered shadow descends into the horizon, and I realize the ground slopes downward. I start the tedious climb down, the shifting sands making my heels slip a time or two.

  By the time the path levels out, I’m shaking and gasping for breath. A stone catches my foot, and the ground rushes up to my face.

  Strong arms catch me. I smell untamed vitality and delicious masculinity, and I know who it is before I see him. His heat seeps into my side and my lower abdomen cramps.

  Adrenaline hammers through my veins as I see a large rock jutting from the sand where my head would have fallen. Shock increases my shaking and before I can process movement, Seeck rests my ear against the most perfect vibration. His purr sweeps through me and I want to weep at its perfection. My limbs latch around his torso as his reverberations override my fear.

  After floating in a surreal bubble of wholeness, I jerk back, my chaotic emotions a jumbled mess in my torso.

  “Thank you,” I bark, embarrassed and angry at myself. I push against his chest to flee. He doesn’t let go and for a moment I panic. A singular squeeze, as though he can’t bear to let me go, then he releases me and steps back. His purr stops and I want to scream into the howling wind at its loss.

  His constant presence is breaking the barrier I’ve put up between us. I long for the comfort only he can give me, but I don’t trust him—I can’t forgive him for how he’s treated me.

  Gathering my anger, I walk away, ignoring the tearing sensation behind my sternum.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Seeck

  How can I be such an idiot? I can identify her by her scent alone, I know how her eyes sparkle when she finds something funny, and I feel her in my soul, gradually collecting my missing pieces, but I don’t know her name.

  I’ve imagined sliding into her delicious womanhood more times than I can count, dreamed about her taste on my tongue, and ached to sink my teeth into her, but I don’t know her name.

  I nearly sobbed as her song embedded itself into my senses. I feel as though her high, clear voice could nourish me for decades. The raspy little catch at the beginning of her notes sent shivers of need and awe down my spine.

  Seeing her trip and flail put my body into motion. Having her in my arms was heaven. Letting her go was harder than my worst day of training.

  Each step continues to strengthen my need for her. Watching her struggle to keep up, demanding independence, makes a robust proudness form inside my heart. It adds fuel to my desire.

  She can’t go another step and we all know it. She stays upright by sheer force of will. We make camp between two tall dunes, sheltered from the worst of the wind. Jumoke takes first watch, vaulting himself up one dune to perch at the best vantage point. Dirk hands her a food pouch, hovering close to make sure she doesn’t keel over. I divide my attention between watching them and arranging a spot for her to sleep. Setting down my pack, I unroll a tarp, pull out a roll of clothes for her pillow, and stage my water pack near it so she has constant access to water. The thought of her full lips sharing the spout quiets the monster roaring for me to take her.

  I back away as Dirk leads her to lie down. She complies and starts snoring, a dainty little rumble accompanying each inhale. I long to settle next to her, but the temptation to do too much is too strong and I elect to move to the edge of our formation.

  Her pad is in the center, with Dirk and Kwame on either side of her, in their own separate spaces. At least two feet spans between them, but still I want to rip their guts out. Vander bunkers down parallel to their feet while I’m about a dozen feet from their heads. I can’t be too careful with how I’m clamoring to consume her.

  I lay down against my pack, cross my ankles, and fold my arms across my chest. Awareness of my surroundings stay, but my conscious falls to a rejuvenating state, my equivalent of sleep while on a mission.

  An hour passes. She shifts, relaxes, then shifts again. I focus my stare on her, unease crawling through my senses.

  She whimpers and I can’t ignore her quiet call for comfort. I rise and stalk to her on silent feet, standing over her for a moment. She jerks, her hand sluggish as it pushes the air to ward off an invisible assailant.

  My soul cries, sensing the depth of her anguish, while my eyes burn with unshed tears. She’s too tiny and frail to have experienced anything so terrible.

  I lower myself behind her, gathering her into my arms, purring and stroking her hair. Immediate calm washes through her, her visage relaxing as I push away her nightmare. The tarp crinkles under us as she snuggles to my chest. The next few hours I spend in a state of disbelief. How does such a sweet-smelling little Omega affect me so much?

  I feel her stir and loosen my hold so she can retreat if she so chooses, but I pray she doesn’t. I keep my purr steady but cease stroking her hair, knowing she’ll take offense to the intimate gesture. She moves a little more, but then relaxes into me again. I know the exact moment she becomes cognizant of her situation. She stiffens and places her palms on my pecs.

  “Please, don’t. Just a few more minutes,” I beg. “Let me hold you for just a little longer.” I feel raw and exposed.

  A few heartbeats later, her rigidity softens and I sigh, my purr deepening in reward. She lets out a sigh as well and loses more of her wariness.

  My teammates move around us. I doubt she can hear them over my purr, but I know our precious moment must end—we must continue our travels. She’s so pliant between my arms that releasing her feels like a travesty.

  Unable to deny myself, I trail my finger across her forehead to reveal her eyes.

  “I don’t know your name,” I whisper, hoping our tender embrace has loosened her righteous anger.

  “I don’t have one,” she murmurs.

  An incredulous growl bursts from my throat and she groans, pushing at my chest.

  “It’s true! They only called me ‘girl’ or mean things! Stop. That. Noise,” she gasps, one hand clutching her abdomen.

  I cease, concern tightening my purr.

  “I wasn’t doubting you, beautiful Omega, I was angry for you. No one deserves that kind of life.” I can’t deny the torture writhing behind my breastbone. It manifests in my tone, thick and sorrowful.

  Her pale blue eyes snap to mine in shock, and I drown in their luminescence.

  “I survived,” she whispers.

  “You deserve to thrive. Blossom. Flourish,” I murmur, hypnotized by her almost white irises. I stroke her hair without thinking about it, and she leans into my finge
rs before pulling away.

  Snapping out of my trance, I ask, “My growl hurts you?”

  She pauses, emotions flick through her expression, then she nods.

  “Let me go now,” she says in a quiet voice.

  With herculean effort, I retract my arms from her, but can’t force myself to roll away. I know she isn’t telling the whole truth, but I’m not in a position to lay her lies bare.

  She realizes we’re the last ones in our bedroll and scrambles up. Looking up at her, I say, “Let me know when you figure out what you want your name to be. You’ll always be my little Omega.”

  Her pupils dilate and she stands frozen, uncertain about her reaction. Then she turns and limps away, her gait evening as her muscles warm. I sigh, stand, and start preparing for another day of travel.

  Jumoke approaches her and I snarl, lunging forward and tackling him. We roll, my momentum carrying us away from her. I can’t abide proximity. He’s always been a prankster, and I’ve had enough of other males near her. I might even take Dirk’s head off at this point.

  Moving on instinct, we tussle, Alpha male to Alpha male. No weapons, no mercy, nothing held back. Fists fly, knees strike, snarls fill the air, and sand clouds around us.

  No one tries to intervene until we pull out our knives. Vander chokeholds me as Kwame hauls Jumoke away. We heave and snarl, beasts beyond coherent thought, neither one of us capable of admitting defeat.

  “Are you done? Look at your Omega,” Vander says, his arm tightening around my neck.

  She’s in the fetal position in the sand, with Dirk crouched a few feet away. He looks very worried, but his purr and words convey comfort and support. My heart gallops into my throat, and I roar. She convulses in response, so I cut my outrage short.

  “Let me go,” I demand.

  Vander leans down, his breath hitting my ear as he warns, “Do not make this worse. She’s in agony, you piece of shit. Help her, or we’ll bury you in the sand and carry her away. No female should have to deal with such crap. Get your act together, asshole.”