by V T Bonds
Dirk stands by the window, his stillness mirroring the death in my heart, but while my insides feel hollow, his expression is anything but. It swaps between intense concentration, worry, and determination.
Vander leans against the counter in the kitchen, his arms crossed in front of his chest. Seeck and Nova sit on the tiny couch along the wall, their sides plastered together as though they can’t handle any distance between them. I sit in the matching seat, able to see everyone’s face. Jumoke braces his elbows on the top of a dining chair, his knees parted around the back.
“Two females were taken to the hospital, and two intensive unit rooms were signed for. I checked both. One was unused—no scent of smoke or any other signs it had been used in the last two hours. The other was a mess.” His eyes flick to Dirk’s back, worry scrunching his usually playful eyebrows. “Almost every piece of equipment had been used, and it smelled of Omega, but was empty. I hacked the logbook again and found claims of death, but no place of bodies. There were no new additions at the morgue. I have a list of places their bodies could have been taken, but my gut tells me that would be a waste of time.”
The silence of the room settles into my being, matching the empty ache in my heart. Hearing words such as death and morgue causes my brain to stumble, my ears ringing in rebellion.
She’s dead. I feel her absence. All my important parts have crumbled to dust, scattered to the breeze like ashes.
But a part of my mind awakens at Jumoke’s words. Her body was taken to a hospital. Someone pretended she was alive. Why?
They took her. They wanted Omegas. Maybe they prey on injured Omegas, snatching them up when things are chaotic and hiding them away before anyone notices they are missing.
But she’s dead. Why would someone want a dead Omega?
Dread blooms in my chest. Vague thoughts float just beyond comprehension, and the nasty cloud of black premonition fills my insides. In the ugly swirl of smoke, horrendous pictures flash in and out of focus.
White walls, white ceiling, bright lights. Strange figures, covered in protective gear. Hazmat masks looming overhead. Syringes, cutting tools, monitors. People rushing, moving with purpose. A bed surrounded by machinery, the figure lying in it peppered with IV’s and odd patches.
Eerie stillness. Breaths held.
A spark. Surges of electricity.
Movement. Excitement.
White flashes of light.
Pain.
I gasp, my world spinning as visions collide with reality. A searing poker lances through my temples, the agony so intense I double over. Vomit splashes onto the floor as I squeeze my head, no relief in sight. My entire body shakes in misery, each cell rebelling at the terrible pain.
As my stomach settles and the misery in my head dampens, a new sensation steals my attention.
Deep in my tired heart, a swell of something foreign forms. A faint echo, almost like a murmur, keeps time with my heartbeat.
It can’t be. I’ve lost my mind.
It strengthens, growing until I can feel it as solid as my own. In disbelief, I focus on it, plucking for information. The twang reverberates through my body, and I can no longer deny the truth.
My lifemate is alive.
Awareness of my surroundings snap into me, and wetness on my face registers. I open my eyes and look up, startled to find Nova wiping my tears away with a cool washcloth. Seeck stands beside her, his hand on her nape as she cares for me. She gives me a worried smile, finishing her ministrations by cleaning the bile from my chin.
Seeck takes the cloth from her and tosses it on top of the pile of vomit at my feet. Nova rests her palm on my shoulder, and Seeck lets out a low, warning growl. She elbows him, but he doesn’t stop.
I train my gaze on his, the shock of what’s in my chest buffering me from his challenge.
“She’s alive. She was dead, but now…”
Silence fills the room, Seeck’s rumble cut off. For a moment, no one breathes. The stillness allows me to inspect the extra sensation in my chest, and worry tightens my spine.
She lives and breathes, but it isn’t right.
It’s unnatural. She’s unnatural.
She has changed on a fundamental level.
“Kwame, don’t throw up on my Omega!” Seeck snarls, his abruptness snapping me out of my daze. With my eyes still locked to his, I see his concern for me. His blue irises are tiny rings around enlarged pupils, proof of his need for his Omega, but he allows her close to me for my sanity.
The seething black cloud of misery in my bones makes me grind my teeth. I glance to Nova, thanking her for her care with an unsteady smile, but turn to Vander.
An urgency like I’ve never felt before ekes out of my lifemate from our link.
“We have to save her. We have to save her now or she’ll be gone forever. Broken and unreachable.” The words come out of my mouth before I plan them, the smoke of premonition guiding my tongue.
Everyone tenses. I feel the pain rushing out from Dirk in waves. He turns to me, the hell of the situation obvious in his expression.
“Mine is stable. If they’ve been taken to the same place then we can rescue them together,” Dirk grinds out, his vocals strained.
I have a nagging suspicion we both sense the truth, though. Their trails may lead in the same direction now, but soon they will part ways.
Our chance of reaching them before they are separated is slim. We must act now.
This is hell come to life.
“What else, Jumoke?” Vander demands, interrupting my spiral.
“I have the names and addresses of the doctors, nurses, and paramedics assigned to the patients. Other than that, I found no other leads. The Omega's scent disappeared; I couldn’t find any traces except from the ambulance to the room. If she’s still alive, then we’re dealing with professionals.” Jumoke's frustration rings clear in his voice. With no hesitation, Vander gives orders.
“Pass the paramedic information to me. I’ll hunt them down. You and Kwame take care of the hospital personnel. Seeck and Nova, stay in your room. Dirk will stand guard.”
Dirk bristles, his growl raising Vander’s eyebrow.
“Sorry, gentle giant. This isn’t a city where you can effectively blend in. You’d get arrested and questioned for your height alone, put in jail if you refused a dynamic test, or executed once the test results showed you’re Alpha. Stay here and keep the lovebirds safe so we can all focus on the mission,” Vander says, his feet planted and his shoulders squared off with Dirk.
Even without Command's influence, Vander is our leader. We’ve trusted him to lead us through the crappiest of situations, and he’s never failed us. I know without a doubt he will give his all for each one of us.
He may be an overbearing ass, but he’s got the skills and knowledge to back up his posturing.
Dirk seems to deflate, the tension in his muscles draining out of him. He lowers his chin and stares at the floor, his arms crossed over his chest as he tries to sort through the war inside him.
I rise from the chair and step around Nova. Reaching up, I clasp his nape and rest my forehead to his. We stand there, statues stuck in a world of confusion, as everyone gathers around us. Hands press in random places along my shoulders and upper back.
“We have two missions. One, keep all of us alive. Two, find your lifemates. We will find her, Dirk. We will save her, Kwame. We will not fail,” Vander vows.
Rumbles of agreement fill the room, and I squeeze my eyes closed, trying to contain the terror coating my insides. My teammates’ determination bolsters me, but the suffering sludging through my veins makes it difficult to feel the full effect of their devotion.
Dirk’s massive hand compresses my bicep, so I press his nape in response. After a moment of commiseration, we pull away.
I walk on unsteady feet, closing the bedroom door behind me. As I gather the gear I’ll need for the day, I let my tears fall unheeded. After I stage everything, I clean my face with the bathroom towel
and peer into the mirror. My tight curls create a dark halo around my head, and my skin tone hides all signs of crying. The red specks around my eyes will fade soon and I’ll be able to blend into the crowds.
A wave of pain steals my attention and I focus inward. Her agony overflows our link and infects my body, so strong I doubt she even realizes our connection exists.
The thought makes my brain stumble. Here I am, with a healthy body and capable mind, and I’m overwhelmed with the situation. She’s out there, just waking from death, confused and traumatized, thinking she’s all alone.
My view of the situation shifts. Instead of trying to block out the horribleness, I absorb the pain, soaking in what I can and working it into my being.
I take more, trying to ease her. My joints tighten with the effort, so I move, leaving the bathroom and grabbing my gear.
Imagining her excess suffering filling my body and floating into the air surrounding me, I open the bedroom door and focus on the mission.
Jumoke and I head down the hallway, our senses alert and our minds focused. If the toxins oozing from my pores affect him, Jumoke gives no sign.
Halfway down the stairwell, I reach into my pocket and pull out the twine I always keep stashed there. With sure movements, I run the sturdy material through my fist and let my fingers fly.
I pour the pain into my digits and expel it into the rope, one knot at a time. On autopilot, my hands don’t need direction from my mind. Knot, unknot, begin a different knot.
We exit onto the street and turn toward the hospital.
No matter what it takes, we will find my Omega. I will find her and claim her, and hopefully that’ll fix this feeling of wrongness. Hopefully it will stop this terrible pain.
Chapter Seven
Britani
White everywhere, yet darkness clouds me. This isn’t right. I’m not supposed to be here. It isn’t supposed to hurt.
Reality slams into me but I cannot move.
I was there. It was perfect. I could feel my mother’s arms around me, hear my father’s voice, and everything was peaceful. I want to go back.
Faces stare at me, but the light glaring down obscures any details. White light pierces my eyes, but I cannot close them, cannot blink or shift my focus. A shadow passes, then moisture drips into them and cold gloves push down my eyelids.
Confined to a dark world, noises bombard my ears. Voices, garbled but distinguishable, form words that make little sense together. Statistics and numbers slash through my skull, and I fight to keep them away. A sentence pierces through my brain, and shock freezes my panic.
Commence Experiment.
The volume and meaning blares inside my mind. I scream in pain as acid enters my bloodstream.
Only no sound releases from my mouth. No vibrations begin in my throat.
My body lies limp as I go through hell.
∆∆∆
Every molecule within me has changed. I feel as though I have suffered through decades of abuse, helpless as my cells have transformed. My memories are distant, as though they belong to someone else. As my nuclei burst and reconstructed, so did my precious recollections.
I am new. I am wrong. I am something that was never meant to be.
Through a haze of disbelief, my lungs inflate and deflate. Slowly, my mind branches out and catalogues my surroundings.
A steady beep in the distance keeps pace with my heartbeat. The ticking of a clock marks the passing of time. Liquid drips into a puddle somewhere to my right, but there’s a barrier between me and the source. My mind supplies a picture to correlate with the sound—an intravenous drip works near my head.
My eyes will not open. After a futile struggle, I realize tape holds my eyelids closed. I try to lift my hand, but the attempt leaves me exhausted and I let my mind fade to blackness.
∆∆∆
My body’s movements do not register. The battle within my mind is too great. Subconsciously, I recognize my muscles strengthen and my vitals improve, but it seems inconsequential. Something other than my brain rules my physical being, accomplishing normal activities.
Logical thoughts hover just out of reach, a barrier stopping them from taking root. A living, seething, evil thing floats between me and my corporeal form. None of my attempts to breach it work, the molecules shifting against each other so I can’t slide through.
Anger laced with confusion burns through my emotions, but I have no way to express them. They keep building until I can’t contain them, cells popping and emotions bursting free until there’s nothing left.
Only an empty, ugly, misshapen shell remains. My fight dissolves and I’m left with a large void.
Time seems to stand still as I float in nothingness. Without my eyes to see or my ears to hear, the world doesn’t exist. My body doesn’t matter.
∆∆∆
My teeth close on something bland, only to open again and repeat the process. The fork in my left hand is warm, as if it has been in my loose grip for a while. Something tickles my nose, but it most definitely is not the plate of food in front of me. White chunks of meat sit in a grey mush, but when the fork pierces into a square, the mush surrounding it rushes into the meat. Instead of dripping, it congeals and makes the food denser. Even though it has no taste, I can feel the nutrients flowing into my body. Again and again, my arm brings the laden fork up and my mouth opens to accept it. The muscles in my face ache as my jaw moves up and down, even the slight resistance of the mush is an effort to chew.
My nose complains again, and a sharp pain in my forehead accompanies my furrowed brow. Knowing the food smells as boring as it tastes, I focus on the aroma.
The harsh smell of cleaning agents surround me, but that isn’t what’s pulling my attention. An almost sour scent lingers in my nostrils, and I wish I could scrub it away. It’s so pungent I can feel it suffocating my senses, and I realize it is the source of my mental disconnect. The thing that owns this scent is manipulating me. They control my body’s movements.
A vague memory flits through my mind, and I remember a deep voice ordering me to eat the entire meal. With the last bite grinding between my teeth, my detachment floats away and I’m left fully cognizant.
The room snaps into sharp focus. I sit ramrod straight on a stool, my right hand resting on my thigh, the fork still in my left hand.
I was right-handed, in my previous life. This stance feels neither right nor wrong, and I replace the subconscious speculation with purposeful attention.
There isn’t much to see. Besides the stool I sit on, the table in front of me, a small cot in the corner, and a large mirror on one wall, the room is empty. The space is not big, but the lack of items within make it feel spacious and barren. Everything is a sterile white, including the fork and my gown.
The woman looking back at me from the mirror is not the reflection I expect to see. Her facial features are familiar, with big lips and an upturned nose, but the skin is lighter than before. Almost as white as the utensil in my hand, she looks like a ghost with a silver mane. What was once beautiful dark brown waves is now a limp sheet of grey and white, her eyebrows the darkest shade of hair on her head. Even those are too light to be called anything but grey.
I focus on the only notable color in the room; her bright green eyes seem otherworldly amidst the drabness.
Those are my eyes, only they aren’t. The shape is the same, but the coloring is different.
A chilling savage stares back at me. An animal driven by instincts lurks inside their depths. Instead of backing away as I would have before, I stare at her, not in challenge but in curiosity.
She’s new, but she’s me. We fit together, almost as though she was always there, just hidden under my biology.
A sense I’ve never acknowledged before wakes inside my chest. The pain of my body fades into the background as I explore the world beyond my sight.
There are beings beyond the mirror, this new woman inside me apt to explore her abilities. She shows me three heartbeats
in the room beyond my own, but she can’t tell anything else about the individuals. She highlights the cameras in the room, ones I wouldn’t have known were there without her acute hearing—they are camouflaged into the walls, but the electronics make a little humming noise. The fluorescent lights carry a different tone, so pinpointing each camera is easy. Where the feeds lead, I do not know.
As I swallow the last of the food, I set the fork on the empty plate and use both hands to move the saucer to the center of the table.
There are more orders to follow. I don’t remember the exact words, but my body moves, and I recognize the compulsive drive to obey.
In Baseon, young students learn early in life the terror of Alphas. Omegas are helpless against their intrinsic need to heed an Alpha’s demands, which is why Baseon was founded. Betas that wanted to live their lives away from the overbearing dynamic began a society that wouldn’t accept Alphas. Then, when laws were concrete and the city was strong, they allowed Omegas entrance, sympathetic of their plight.
Where Betas have the option to walk away from Alphas, Omegas do not. Their genetics will not let them. An Alpha has the power to command any number of Omegas, their desires overriding all else.
That’s what this is. An Omega’s need to obey an Alpha.
The potent scent lingering in my nostrils is from the male that gave me these orders.
Standing on surprisingly sturdy legs, I push the stool all the way under the little table and walk to the cot. The floor is cold under the soles of my feet, but I continue to follow the instructions given. Unsnapping the shoulders of my gown, I let it slide to my knees before I stop its descent. The chilly air makes goosebumps rise along my bared skin, but I do nothing to warm myself. My limbs move without my input, stepping out of my gown, folding it with precise movements, and placing it on the far side of my pillow. As though I’ve done so a thousand times already, I turn away from the cot, lace my hands behind my head, and part my feet further than shoulder width apart.