Shared Omega (Quarantine Omega Book 2)

by Lizzy Bequin

  “Look, Sloane, maybe they’ve already sent a rescue party for us,” I say. “I mean, you’ve got one of those neural implants, right? They can use that to track our location.”

  Every SynerGen marine has one of those chips to monitor everything they see and here. I don’t have one, since my enhanced Alpha healing factor rejects any foreign devices implanted under my skin.

  “Yeah.” Her voice sounds unconvinced. “But we don’t even know how deep inside the Zone we are. Will they even be able to reach us? Based on the way that our ship’s protection failed, I’d say they oversold the new contamination shielding technology.”

  Suddenly, there is a burst of static, as the communication device sputters to life. The speakers emit a painful screech that slowly resolves itself into a voice.

  “Sloane? Thank goodness you’re all right! I’ve been tracking your progress via your neural implant.”

  The small visual monitor lights up, and we’re looking at Dr. Frostgrave, his gray eyes wide with anxiety behind his spectacles and his knobby fingers pulling nervously at his white goatee.

  “Dog. I’m glad to see that you are alive and well too, of course.”

  Sloane begins to speak, trying to keep her voice slow and steady.

  “Listen, Dr. Frostgrave, we’re in terrible danger here. There are feral Alphas in the area. As I’m sure you saw, we’ve already had an encounter with a small pack. Please, we need an evac ship as soon as possible. You should have our location based on my neural implant.

  On the screen, Dr. Frostgrave bridges his fingers, thinking.

  “I’m afraid I can’t do that,” he says at last.

  “What?” Sloane and I both shout in unison.

  “Listen,” Frostgrave continues. “I appreciate your indignation. But please try to understand, I’m looking out for your interests here as well, Sloane. For better or for worse, you are a mutant now, if you will pardon the term. Should you come back to the city hive now, you’d be locked away in a cell to be studied like an animal.”

  The thought of Sloane being taken away from me and locked in a cell like a guinea pig sends fire coursing through my veins.

  I’ve endured that kind of treatment. In fact, I’m used to it now. But I won’t allow that to happen to Sloane.

  “Who would lock me away like an animal?” Sloane asks, her voice accusatory. “You?”

  Frostgrave shakes his head.

  “Of course not. I’m on your side here, Sloane. But I don’t call the shots here at SynerGen, I’m afraid. Even if I tried to intercede on your behalf, I doubt I would be able to affect the outcome. I’m sorry, but I can foresee how things would proceed should you return to the hive as an omega, and it doesn’t look promising.”

  “What’s her other option?” I ask angrily. “Stay inside the Quarantine Zone and die?”

  Frostgrave shakes his head again.

  “No. You proceed with the mission.”

  “The mission?” Sloane nearly laughs with disbelief. “Doctor, I think it’s safe to say that this mission is a failure. We’ve got no vehicle, no supplies—“

  “Think,” Frostgrave snaps, cutting her off. “You are an omega now. It’s the perfect disguise. In fact, it’s better than a disguise—you are the real thing. Now you can infiltrate the central city with ease and track down the target at your leisure.”

  Frostgrave leans closer.

  “And when you return triumphant, your mission a success, you will be a hero. A hero, Sloane! SynerGen won’t be so quick to lock you away at that point. Can you imagine the public outcry if that got out? A military hero locked away as a guinea pig?”

  I run my fingers over my bearded jaw. Frostgrave has a point. Returning as a hero will give Sloane leverage. Returning empty handed, on the other hand, she’ll be seen as nothing more than an omega.

  I don’t like it, but it’s true.

  “It won’t be that simple,” Sloane says. “Just because I’m an…omega, that doesn’t mean we can just waltz into town without any of the native Alphas taking notice.”

  “I never said it would be easy,” Frostgrave replies. “But if you are careful, your new physiology will allow you to penetrate the Alphas’ culture and retrieve Lily O’Neal. Rescue, I mean.”

  I laugh coldly.

  “So basically you’re telling us you won’t rescue us until we’ve completed the mission.”

  “It’s the only way,” Frostgrave demands.

  He’s acting as if his hands are tied, but this is fucking extortion.

  I turn toward Sloane and we stare at each other for a silent moment.

  “There is another matter,” Frostgrave continues. “Now that you have mutated, Sloane, your body will be experiencing intense hormonal changes…as I’m sure you have already noticed.”

  I don’t say anything, but Frostgrave is right. Every time I breathe, the faintest whiff of Sloane’s scent sets my blood on fire with lust for her. Huddled in the cramped space of the cockpit with her, it is even worse.

  Her natural omega perfume is exuding from every crevice of her body, warm and sultry—from beneath her arms and between her gorgeous legs.

  I can smell her need. Her cunt.

  Beneath my skin-tight shorts, my cock is painfully hard.

  And I know that Sloane is feeling it too. It’s obvious from the way she keeps stealing furtive glances at my body while her perfect teeth worry her plush bottom lip. Every chance she gets, she seems to find an excuse to accidentally rub up against me, brushing her bare arm against mine.

  I wonder what kind of thoughts are running through her omega mind right now. My own thoughts are too obscene to even put into words.

  “Sloane’s body is experiencing estrus,” Frostgrave goes on. “Her body is pumping out pheromones that are a signal to any Alphas nearby that her body is ready and ripe for breeding.”

  He pauses. Despite his grave tone, I swear I catch the faintest flicker of a smirk at the corner of his thin lips.

  “In layman’s terms,” he says, “Sloane is going into heat.”

  Sloane turns to me again with a frightened look on her pretty face. Her pupils have become dilated. All that remains of her irises are two wire-thin rings of intense blue.

  “What can we do to…remedy the situation?” I ask.

  “Come now, Dog.” Frostgrave says. “You’ve studied all about Alphas and omegas. You know that the only way to diminish the symptoms of estrus is through intense and prolonged stimulation.”

  “Stimulation?” Sloane gasps.

  My ears pick up a sound—a howl in the distance outside the ship. It’s getting late, close to midnight, and the crescent moon is already high overhead.

  The last thing we need is to get caught out here in the dark by another pack of feral Alphas.

  “I’m looking at the satellite map of your region,” Frostgrave says, as if reading my mind. “There appears to be an old abandoned house due west of you in another clearing. You can seek shelter there for the night. The structure should help contain the scent of Sloane’s estrus until her needs have been…sated.”

  I don’t look at Sloane, but even in my peripheral vision, I can see her face turn a deep shade of warm scarlet in the cool light of the comm screen.

  “That’s assuming the house isn’t already occupied,” I mutter.

  Frostgrave nods and strokes his hoary white goatee.

  “Yes,” he agrees. “It will be necessary to proceed with caution. But you must hurry and hide yourselves as quickly as possible. Tomorrow, you can go north to reach the city. Good luck and Godspeed. We’re all depending on you.”

  The monitor goes blank.

  I say Frostgrave’s name again, but there is no response. Apparently he’s said his final word on the matter. There will be no rescue until we have acquired our target.

  I’m about to curse Frostgrave, but I catch myself, remembering that Sloane’s neural implant is picking up everything we say and do, and Frostgrave is no doubt monitoring it closely.
>
  As pissed off as I am at the man, we need to keep on his good side for now.

  Another howl sounds off in the distance, and Sloane’s muscles tense. She draws close to me, as if by instinct.

  “Come on,” I say, taking her by the hand and leading her out of the cockpit. “Let’s go find this house.”

  “Wait!”

  She turns around and takes something from the dead pilot—a small black flashlight, which she tucks into the belt of her shorts.

  “Okay, let’s get out of here.”

  Sloane and I make our way back down the ruined length of the craft, picking our way carefully over the flotsam and burnt body parts. I hop down onto the churned earth. Sloane doesn’t resist as I take her by the waist and lower her to the ground. By the dim light of the gibbous moon, I can see that her eyes are now dilated to near total blackness.

  We have to hurry.

  CHAPTER 8: SLOANE

  Sometime just after midnight, we step into another clearing, and there is the house, right where Frostgrave told us it would be.

  What he failed to tell us, however, is just how colossal the place is.

  The massive, three-story structure is perched atop a slight rise, overlooking the chest-high jumble of grass and weeds that fills the clearing where yellow fireflies are blinking. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen fireflies in real life.

  The mansion itself is beyond ancient. Its pale paint is peeling back like dead skin to reveal the wood beneath, and the shingled roof, which is drooping on one side, is sprouting tufts of grass.

  It’s definitely seen better days, but the structure is mostly intact, even after all these years.

  Dog and I pause for a moment at the edge of the woods, just staring at the pre-Cataclysmic home in awe.

  More howls in the distance break the spell, however.

  “Come on,” Dog says. “We need to get inside.”

  I start to wade forward into the tall weeds, but Dog’s hand on my shoulder stops me.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  In the moonlight, I see the wings of his nostrils flare, and I realize that he’s breathing in my scent. Earlier, when the feral Alphas did that, it disgusted me. But somehow the idea of Dog breathing in my scent gives me a different feeling—a feeling like someone tickling my belly from inside.

  “Your scent,” he says. “You’re going to spread it all over everything you touch. Your scent trail might lead other Alphas right up to the front door.”

  “Shit,” I mutter.

  Dog is right, of course. Traveling through the forest was one matter—there weren’t a lot of weeds or brambles to brush my body. But this clearing is choked with high weeds. If I walk through there, I’ll practically be smearing it with my scent.

  I feel a flush of heat flaring through my neck and cheeks at the thought. It is less from embarrassment and more from anger. I’ve spent my whole life working my butt off to hold my own in a man’s world, only to be saddled with this most feminine of problems.

  “What do you suggest?” I ask, though I already know the solution.

  “I’ll carry you.”

  Before I even have a chance to respond, Dog has picked me up and slung me over his heavily muscled shoulder.

  He’s manhandling me.

  He strides through the high grass and weeds, carrying me toward the house like a caveman bringing his latest catch back to his cave. I start to protest, but I hold my tongue. After all, Dog is right, we need to be careful not to leave a trail.

  Speaking of cavemen, Dog lets out a deep grunt. At first I mistake it for the sound of exertion. He’s super strong, though, and he’s carrying me as if I’m weightless.

  That’s when I realize that with my behind bent over his shoulder like this, my heat-scent must be hitting him full force. I wonder what kind of effect that is having on his Alpha physiology.

  As he climbs the creaking steps up onto the porch, I dip my face and allow myself a quick sniff of his bare skin.

  His scent is deep, penetrating, and overwhelmingly masculine—musk and wood smoke and well-tended leather.

  The effect it has on my body is incredible and totally involuntary.

  My nipples stiffen instantly, becoming as hard as glass beads beneath my tank top. Something clenches hard between my legs, and tingling sensations ripple outward from my core.

  But worst of all is the soft orgasmic whimper that issues from my lips.

  Dog slides me from his shoulder and stands me on the porch in front of him. He towers over me like a giant.

  “Are you okay?” he asks. “Did I hurt you?”

  I shake my head silently, forcing myself to drag my eyes away from his muscled torso.

  “We need to be careful,” Dog cautions. “There could be other Alphas hiding in here.”

  The downstairs windows have all been boarded up years before, presumably at the time of the big Cataclysm. The thin pieces of particle board and two-by-fours would have provided little defense against feral Alphas, however.

  I test the front door. Even though it was once barricaded too, those barricades have been long since broken, and the door groans open, revealing the dank, shadowy interior.

  “Careful,” Dog hisses again.

  He steps past me and leans his face inside the doorway. The sounds of his snuffling nose come from inside.

  “What do you smell?” I whisper.

  He shakes his head.

  “Alphas have definitely been here,” he says, “but they aren’t here now. The scent is too weak.” He sniffs again. “It’s strange. It doesn’t smell like a Farlander Alpha, but it doesn’t match the Alphas who dwell in the city ruins either. It’s like…something in between.”

  “Do you think it’s safe?”

  Dog thinks for a silent moment, staring into the darkness of the interior.

  Another low moaning howl breaks the silence.

  “I don’t think we have a choice,” Dog says at last. “We have to get you indoors. We’ll just have to hope we don’t have any unexpected guests during the night.”

  I follow him inside.

  With the windows barricaded, the downstairs is pitch black. The air is dank and perfumed with the smells of old dust and rotting upholstery. I take out the flashlight that we salvaged from the ship and turn it on. The beam stabs into the velvety darkness.

  I pan around the rooms, licking the light over busted furniture scalloped with tree fungus and wallpaper peeling away in ragged strips to reveal the crumbling, mildew-blackened plaster beneath. The floor is furred with a lumpy green carpet of moss. Pale mushrooms sprout in the corners.

  “Is it safe to breathe the air in here?” I ask.

  “For a normal human, definitely not,” Rampart answers. “But our mutated immune systems should be resistant to the mold.”

  “That’s comforting,” I mutter.

  I’m less worried about the mold. I’m still struggling to cope with the fact that I’m a mutant now. An omega. Strange impulses are taking control of me. I’ve never been scared of walking into a dangerous situation before, and I’m not afraid now. But at the same time, I feel an unaccountable urge to stick close to Dog.

  In fact, I find myself wanting to press myself against him like a cat.

  We head upstairs, and Dog lifts me over a section where the steps have collapsed with age. His long legs step over the gap with ease.

  We find the second floor in much the same condition as the first, and again there are no signs of Alphas, which is good.

  We continue moving upward.

  The third-story windows are not as thoroughly boarded up, and blue-silver moonlight pokes in through the gaps in the slats. Gossamer thin, moth-bitten curtains belly inward on a draft leaking through.

  I flick off the light lest any Alphas see it from outside.

  “We can rest up here for the night,” Dog says in a hushed voice.

  I nod and scan the floor for a comfortable place to lie down. Sleep sounds good right now, considering h
ow weary I am after the day’s events, but my brain and body are still buzzing with leftover adrenaline, cortisol, and the knowledge that we are stranded deep in the zone.

  “Sloane.”

  The unexpected touch of Dog’s hand on my shoulder makes me jump.

  There is something in his voice, a ragged undertone, that makes my muscle’s tense and shiver. I take a moment to get myself under control before I turn to face him. But as soon as I see him standing there, his engraved muscles striped with moonlight, my composure damn near falls apart.

  “Remember what Frostgrave said. This house will help contain your…your scent. But only to an extent. It’s still necessary to…to take care of your needs before you attract more Alphas.” After a brief pause, he adds. “Your scent is strong inside this enclosed space. If you don’t…diminish it soon, it will be hard for me to control my…my urges. I’m afraid I might…harm you.”

  His eyes catch a beam of moonlight and gleam like a wolf’s. They are locked on me with hungry intensity.

  “What about your conditioning?” I ask.

  Dog shakes his head.

  “It’s true, my psychological conditioning is designed to ensure that I don’t cause any harm to my comrades. However, it has never been stress-tested quite like this.”

  “You mean my…my heat could break your conditioning?”

  He stares at me. Although it is dark, I can sense that his body is practically vibrating with constrained tension. When he speaks, his voice is tight and choked.

  “I’d rather not find out the hard way, would you?”

  I back away.

  “No.” My voice is little more than a whisper. Something creaks as the old wood of the house shifts and settles. “I’ll take care of my needs. By myself.”

  Dog nods.

  “And I will take care of mine.”

  He moves off into the shadows at the far end of the room, and I back away into my own dark corner, facing the wall.

  Stimulation, Dr. Frostgrave said.

  Easy enough, right?

  I take a few deep breaths to try and relax, but that only fills my nose with more of Dog’s intense Alpha scent. The smell of him nearly buckles my knees.