Primal Needs: A Sci-Fi M/F Omegaverse Romance (Primal Alphas Book 3)

by Lizzy Bequin

  Oh my God, I can’t believe I just did that. My whole body feels like it’s vibrating now as raw adrenaline courses through my veins.

  Trent has moved as far away from me as he can now, his eyes wide with fear. He’s mouthing words that I can’t hear over the firetrucks screaming in my head. But I can make out the shape of one word.

  “Crazy.”

  Trent’s hands scramble at the handle of his door, and when it swings open, he tumbles backward into the night.

  But he doesn’t hit the ground.

  As I watch in disbelief, an enormous shadow fills the space behind him. A pair of massive hands grab his body, dragging him backward. Time seems to slow down to a crawl, almost like slow motion, and I get a good look at those hands. They look almost human. Almost. But what are those things at the fingertips?

  Wait, are those claws?

  Even though my ears are still ringing from the gunshot, my hearing has returned a little bit. But I really wish that it hadn’t.

  From the darkness outside the truck, Trent’s terrified cries are cut short by a sickening, wet crunch. His feet scramble briefly against the dirt and gravel then go limp.

  This isn’t real. I’m in shock—hallucinating or something.

  But the agonized shriek of wrenching metal is all to real to be a hallucination. The passenger side door is ripped away behind my back, and my stomach leaps into my throat as I feel myself falling backward, the cool night air rushing about me.

  A different pair of hands, just as big as the ones that grabbed Trent, hook under my arms, breaking my fall. Whatever got Trent, it’s not alone, and now its friend has got me in its clutches too.

  I’m going to die.

  Time seems to slow to a halt, the seconds stretching out into minutes. I remember that I still have the gun in my hand, five shots remaining. I swing my gun hand under my left armpit, blindly aiming the pistol behind me, and I pull the trigger.

  The explosion of hot gas from the muzzle singes my side. A voice, deep and rough like crushed gravel utters a pained grunt.

  Before I can get off another shot, an impossibly massive hand envelops mine, aiming the pistol toward the ground. A huge arm snakes around my neck like a python, constricting around my throat until my vision sparkles with dizzy stars.

  In a matter of seconds I’ll be unconscious. The sleeper hold is cutting off the blood to my brain. However, I can still breathe just a little bit, and as I take one final, ragged inhale, I become saturated with an overwhelming scent. An intense, bestial musk that I’ve never smelled before.

  Never except in my dreams.

  Everything goes black.

  CHAPTER 5: CONWAY

  I bring the car to a stop in the shadows, close enough to keep an eye on the truck, but far enough away that we won’t be noticed.

  Kruger moves like he’s going to get out, but I clap a heavy hand on his shoulder.

  “Wait,” I growl. “Not yet.”

  Kruger snarls at me. He’s really on edge now. His inner beast knows that we are closing in, and he’s struggling to maintain control.

  “What are we waiting for?” he snaps. “Let’s do this. Grab the girl, off the driver, and be done with it.”

  I shake my head.

  “Kruger, why can’t you wrap your head around the concept of no casualties?” He slumps back into his seat, seething with pent up bloodlust. “Listen, if we kill the driver, besides being a direct breech of our orders, it’s also going to be a major headache for us. Then we’ve got a body to dispose of. Too much trouble. We’ve gotta be patient on this one.

  Kruger folds his arms, tucking his clawed fingers under his armpits. Those claws are thirsty for blood.

  “So what do we do?”

  “We wait,” I say. “Who knows? You saw how that driver was swerving. Probably drunk. Maybe he’ll pass out, and we can nab the girl then. Maybe we can even arrange it to make it look like the driver killed the girl.”

  Kruger snorts and raises his chin, gesturing toward the truck.

  “Fat chance,” he chuckles. “Looks like they are getting busy in there.”

  He’s right. The truck is jostling and bouncing lightly on its shock absorbers. Plus, I can just make out the movement of shadowy forms on the other side of the tinted glass.

  I shouldn’t feel a twinge of jealousy. In fact, it’s fucking stupid. For one thing, the driver of that truck must just be some young punk, barely out of high school. Second, the girl means nothing to me. She’s just a target. I barely spoke five words to her this evening in the diner.

  But I caught her scent, and I haven’t been able to shake the memory of it since.

  My twinge of jealousy shouldn’t be snowballing into an overwhelming impulse to claim her for my own. It’s not like she’s my mate.

  Mate?

  That’s a strange choice of words for a young woman. So why is that the word that keeps slipping into my mind uninvited?

  Before I have a chance to contemplate that question, a burst of yellow light illuminates the interior of the truck and there is a muffled report of medium caliber gunfire. Maybe a .38. Where we’re parked, we can see glints of shattered windshield raining off the hood of the truck.

  “What the fuck?” Kruger grunts.

  Kruger’s out of the car in a heartbeat, and I’m right behind him. He’s making a path for the driver’s side, which is fine by me. I’d rather be the one to catch the girl, not Kruger. Assuming she’s still alive. If she just got her pretty little head blown off, we’re going to have a hard time explaining it to our employers.

  This is fucking bad.

  And I just know Kruger is going to do everything in his power to make it worse. His animal nature has taken over, and it intends to slake its bloodlust.

  He reaches the truck first, and before he even has a chance to rip the door off, it swings open all on its own, and a terrified young punk comes tumbling out. His eyes are wide with fear. He’s barely more than a kid.

  My partner is on him before he even hits the ground.

  “Kruger,” I bark, “don’t—“

  But it’s already too late. A quick twist of his brutal hands, and the kid’s neck snaps like a celery stalk. So much for the zero-casualties directive. My only hope is that the girl is alive. That’s all that can salvage the operation at this point.

  I try the passenger side handle once. It’s locked. On to Plan B.

  My razor-sharp claws easily puncture the paneling of the door. Squeezing a tight grip on the steel frame, I jerk backward, snapping the lock mechanism and wrenching the door off its hinges. I let it fall to the gravel ground with a clunk as the girl’s body comes tumbling out.

  As she slumps backward into my arms, her warm aroma fills my nostrils again. I smelled her before in the diner, but not this closely. Now with her soft, delicate little body pressed tightly against mine, her scent almost puts me over the edge. My cock stiffens instantly, apparently unaware that right now is not a good time for sex.

  I’ve got a job to do.

  But I also feel a surge of happiness that the girl seems to be alive and well. I tell myself it’s strictly professional—we’ve acquired the target, and nothing more. It certainly has nothing to do with my concern for the safety of my mate.

  There’s that stupid word again.

  Another gunshot splits the night, and a searing pain rips into my side. Fuck, the little bitch shot me.

  I won’t give her the chance to do so again. Grabbing her gun hand, I aim it safely toward the ground, while I weave my other arm around her throat, catching her in a tight sleeper hold. A few seconds of pressure is all it takes, and her body goes limp against mine. I lay her gently on the ground.

  “You okay?” Kruger growls.

  “Yeah.”

  Luckily the small handgun round didn’t penetrate too deeply through my toughened Alpha hide. It’ll heal in a day or two. Still it hurts like a bitch, and I’m silently cursing myself for the stupid rookie mistake.

  I shou
ld have secured the firearm first thing. Maybe if I hadn’t been so fucking enamored with how delicious she smells.

  She does smell pretty damn good though.

  I hold my breath to keep from getting entranced again. The sleeper hold will only put her out for a few seconds. Pretty soon she’s going to come too, and I don’t want that. We’re out in the boonies, so hopefully nobody is nearby. If there is somebody close, they definitely heard the two shots. A screaming young girl probably won’t increase our chances of getting caught at this point. Still, this operation has already turned into enough of a clusterfuck in the past thirty seconds. It’s time to get this shit under control.

  Kruger comes around the side of the truck dragging the dead boy. He drops the limp body on the gravel with a thud.

  “Damn, she does smell good, doesn’t she,” he growls

  I ignore him for the time being and take the syringe out of my pocket as I drop to one knee beside the girl. Removing the protective tip from the needle, I flick the syringe a couple of times and give it a quick squeeze to remove any air bubbles. Then I jab the needle into the flesh of her shoulder and empty the contents.

  “She’ll be out for the better part of a day,” I say, getting back to my feet.

  Next I take out my burner phone and tap in a text message containing a short numerical code that indicates acquisition of the target. An instant later I receive a Jersey City address. Kruger looks over my shoulder.

  “I know where that is,” he says. “Close to the docks.”

  “We need to figure out what we’re going to do with this mess,” I say.

  “Leave the truck,” Kruger says.

  He’s right. We could torch it, but there’s no point. A fire would only serve to draw attention, and in a small town like this, they won’t have trouble figuring out who it belongs to. We don’t have to worry about finger prints—both mine and Kruger’s were lasered off when we signed up for Alpha Initiative. Our DNA isn’t traceable.

  “What about the kid?”

  Kruger thinks for a moment. He looks around, sniffing the air.

  “Bring him with us. I’ll dispose of him later.”

  Knowing Kruger, he’s got a spot all picked out in the city. He’s an expert at getting rid of bodies. He’s had plenty of practice with his metropolitan hunting expeditions.

  Kruger gathers up the dead body off the ground, and I take care of the living one. We load them both into the back of the Tahoe and head out.

  I drive nice and slow all the way into the city.

  ***

  We reach the Jersey City address we were given right as the sun is climbing over the Manhattan skyline to the east, sending dirty sparks winking off the Hudson. Kruger was right about the location. It’s a small industrial loft set just a couple blocks back from the waterfront. The area is quiet which is good, but it’s also not abandoned, so we won’t have to worry about vandals or vagabonds stumbling in on us by accident.

  I pull the Tahoe into the garage. Once the door is shut, we get the bodies out of the back.

  Kruger takes the dead guy and lays him out on an oblong, plastic-top folding table in the garage, which is where he plans to prep the body for disposal.

  Meanwhile, I grab my duffle bag with clothes and a police scanner, and I throw the unconscious girl over my shoulder and carry her up the creaking wooden stairs to the loft. Her body is soft and warm, and her breathing is slow and steady. I try to keep my own breathing shallow to avoid the torture of sampling her incredible scent again. The whole drive home, the smell of her in the back kept tugging my attention away from the road. Now with her scantily clad body slung over my shoulder, her little tush mere inches from my face, I practically have to take to holding my breath to keep from going insane.

  I drop my bag at the top of the stairs and flick the light switch by the door. An array of dangling, caged cone lights flicker noisily over head. I immediately turn them off again. The huge floor to ceiling window at one end lets in the soft light of the breaking dawn, and that’s more than enough to see.

  The central room of the loft is spacious with high ceilings and raw brick walls. To call the furnishings spartan would be an understatement. There are half a dozen folding chairs, a few large wooden crates and upturned cable spools for tables. A humming refrigerator stands in one corner with a microwave perched on top. In another corner a five gallon water cooler gurgles a greeting. A wi-fi box blinks atop one of the crates.

  A few rooms branch off from the main one. The first one I check is clearly for the girl because the latch for the deadbolt is on the outside.

  It’s a lot nicer than the grimy central room of the loft. In this room, the brick walls have been painted a neutral shade of off white. There’s a twin size mattress in the corner, no bed frame, but the sheets and comforter look clean. The hardwood floor is at least a little nicer than the raw concrete in the main room

  The company must want the girl to be fairly comfortable. Compared to some abductions, this is practically a five-star hotel.

  I gently lay the girl onto the bed, take her high heels off, and pull the covers over her body. She’ll be out for several more hours at least. When she wakes up, she’ll definitely freak out and start screaming, so I make a mental note to put a gag in her mouth. But first I want to inspect the rest of the loft.

  Heading back out to the main room, I lock the door of the girl’s cell behind me. I set her high heels in the corner near the window of the loft, hating the way that they carry her scent.

  I’ve got to squeeze my desire for her out of my mind.

  I shuck off my sport coat and hang it over the back of a chair. Then I do the same thing with my leather shoulder holster that carries my 10mm Glock. I windmill my arms a couple of times and roll my shoulders, trying to limber up after a long time in the car.

  The place on my side where the girl shot me still hurts, but I’ll live. There’s a first aid kit in my duffle that I can use to bandage it. I don’t really need to do so, but it will help it heal a bit quicker. First, however, I want to scope out the rest of this hideout.

  Heading to the back of the loft, I check out the area that serves as the kitchen. There’s a garbage can, fridge, microwave, and some boxes with disposable plastic utensils and paper napkins. The freezer is stocked with microwaveable meals for the girl. The rest of the fridge is stocked with raw steak and beef liver for me and Kruger. Smells good. Grass-fed. Lots of blood. Also there are about three dozen eggs.

  We don’t have any way to cook the meat and eggs, and we don’t need any. I can’t remember the last time I ate cooked food, and I know Kruger doesn’t either. With our stomach pH, we could eat three-day-old rotten roadkill and not get sick. Grass-fed beef is a fucking delicacy, and my stomach reminds me just how long it’s been since I last gorged.

  But first I need to give the rest of the hideout a once over. I check the wi-fi signal on my phone. Nice and strong.

  One other room branches off of the central loft. A pristine bathroom with a toilet, sink and a small shower stocked with toiletries for the girl.

  All in all, the set up is fine. No frills, which is good. No place for me and Kruger to sleep, but we can go days without it. That’s a good sign, because it means that we’re not supposed to be here long.

  We have everything we need to lie low for a few days if we need to.

  My mind is still troubled though. There’s something weird about this mission. Why all the secrecy? They didn’t tell us squat about the target, and they waited until the last minute to assign the rendezvous point.

  But more than that, I don’t even know if this is a rendezvous point. We haven’t received any further instructions about what to do now that we’re here. I guess we’ll just have to wait.

  My eyes land on a white sheet of paper on top of a crate that I didn’t notice before.

  I pick it up and angle the page to catch the morning sunlight seeping in through the big window. As I read, my pulse quickens. It’s about the girl. It st
ill doesn’t explain who she is or why she’s important, but it gives some clues. Just as I suspected, she’s special.

  She has some kind of condition. She has needs.

  Needs that we are expected to take care of.

  “Fuck me,” Kruger chuckles behind me.

  I didn’t even hear him creep up behind me. Now my frayed nerves and Alpha defensive instinct whirl me around to face his predatory grin. I snarl.

  “Easy big guy,” he laughs. “Just keeping you on your toes.”

  He nods toward the paper that is now crumpled in my clenched fist.

  “I knew this mission was gonna be worth it,” he sneers.

  Fuck, he was reading over my shoulder. If I’d had the chance, I would have eaten the paper before Kruger had a chance to read it. I wish he didn’t know what it says. But now it’s too late. He knows about the girl.

  He knows about her needs.

  CHAPTER 6: AMRITA

  The dream is the same as it always is. The chase. The darkened forest. The clawing limbs. The panting breath of the massive beast loping hot on my heels.

  And of course, when it catches me, there is that overwhelming scent. It invades every pore of my being, melting my bones. My legs fall open as they always do. And while my mind cries out to run, my body succumbs as it always does, savoring the feeling of complete helplessness as the beast claims my shuddering body with his vicious mouth.

  I wake with a start, my flesh soaked in sweat.

  My mouth is cotton-ball dry, and a dull ache thumps behind my eyes. I’m groggy and dizzy. Even though I’ve never drank a drop of alcohol in my life, I can only imagine this is what a hangover must feel like.

  But as my bleary eyes adjust to my surroundings, my heart starts drumming double time. Even though it’s dark in here, I know right away that my surroundings are unfamiliar.

  This isn’t my room. This isn’t my bed.

  And the smell.

  The scent of the beast. It hasn’t faded away with my dream the way that it should. The air here is thick with it. It clings to me, penetrates me, fills my nostrils with each panicked, gasping breath. The scent is so strong I can taste it.