She was inside him. She knew: that’s how the magic trick worked. Somehow it wormed out your deepest…desire...love…hurt…and used it to tame you.
He would never be tamed.
Omega gagged again.
‘What’s..?’ Omega didn’t need to see Zach to know his boy was running his hand through his carefully waxed hair and worrying at the horn buttons on his navy waistcoat (and who in the furless heavens wore those, like a Victorian doll?). No one else could see it: the snakes coiling though Omega and manacling his wrists to the desk. Violating. No one could hear the music. No one but him and the Charmer. He wondered if it was all a type of hypnosis, and why they’d never covered this at the Omega Training Centre: probably reckoned obedience and cookery were more important life skills. ‘Hey, let up. Are you hurting him?’
‘You saw the were go for me. They’re not puppies.’ Omega wrestled harder to escape, anger blinding him. ‘See? Violent creatures.’
‘But…’ Zach again, this time closer; his fingers were soothing across Omega’s tense shoulder, ‘I’ve been with the bloke all morning and--’
‘Lucky your little face wasn’t savaged then, isn’t it, pretty?’ Not a flicker. The Wolf Charmer’s expression was as closed off as before.
Omega shuddered, as a crimson shadow slid between his legs. The riot in his head was beating so hard, he wouldn’t be surprised if his ears were bleeding. ‘Witch.’
The Wolf Charmer hovered over him; the black cloak of her hair transformed day to night. ‘Yes, beast?’ Omega felt her lips like dry leaves against his ear; her scent this close was pungent and overpowering. ‘If you have trouble curbing your tongue, dog, I can do it for you.’
When the Wolf Charmer drew back, their gazes met. Omega noticed that her eyes were greener than he’d ever seen before. She was studying him, waiting for the moment when he discovered…
He couldn’t move his tongue.
Omega choked; he couldn’t breathe. A red shadow was weighing down his tongue. The thought that she was in his mouth..? He’d be buying a stronger mouthwash tonight: did they make one with bleach in it?
At least he could still glare.
He was so going to glare.
For the first time, the Wolf Charmer looked amused.
Could you ignite someone with a look? Omega reckoned it was worth a try – then he’d have himself a burning.
‘Guys, is this how we greet new members of our team? I think not. Detective Fox, care to explain?’ Inspector Andrew Hawkins’ question – steel hidden beneath the soft velvet – was like being dragged by the scruff of the neck back to a reality: where this was Omega’s first day on a new team and he was splayed over a desk with a woman crawling on top of him.
He was all for making good first impressions.
At last, the music possessing Omega’s brain receded, leaving in its wake a lightning migraine, jagged through his face and behind the backs of his eyes. The light was too bright, every sound amplified to agony and the smells…
Hurling all over the office in front of his Inspector on the first day? Did they hand out commendations for that?
‘Merely handling my were.’ The Wolf Charmer – Detective Fox (and no, Omega definitely didn’t reckon she was pack material), pushed off him with a casual flick of her hair.
‘The correct term is Native Briton, Cora.’
Cora snorted. Just for a moment, Omega thought he saw the same laughter in her eyes, as was dancing in his own. But then it died. ‘They’re Were Units; I’m a Were Handler,’ then Cora added as an afterthought, ‘sir.’
Omega could hear the Inspector’s shrug without needing to see it. ‘We’re heading the pilot project; they’ve invested a lot of faith in us and we’re not cocking it up. So a woman as a handler..? You know me, I’m all for inclusion but--’
‘Then why handicap me with a bitch from Were Town? I was promised a Met were.’
‘Watch your language, Detective. Your…Native Briton…was trained in the London unit. Received highest marks, as it happens. He also grew up in Were Town, which gives him the edge in local knowledge. Use it.’
Omega was swinging between pride in being praised and humiliation at being discussed as if he wasn’t there. Still, he’d be their good little police doggy, if it meant he was one step closer to Were Town. Local knowledge?
The single skins had no idea.
‘I handcuff these Were Town beasts,’ Omega could sense Cora’s fury beneath her calm mask – the thrumming vibrations, ‘I don’t play at partner with them.’
The tendrils tightened around Omega, until even through the crimson gag, he yelped.
‘No one on my team plays at partner,’ Inspector Hawkins’ voice was hard. ‘My Office. Now.’
Omega’s body was marionette-like tugged to his feet, before he was marched after the dark figure of Cora: witch wasn’t taking any chances she’d be mistaken for a were.
Everyone had weaknesses and everyone could be played.
The witch’s Goth chick look, leather corset and skirt with fishnet tights (nothing more than a mask), merely coiled her were hatred closer to her heart.
Weakness number one.
‘Only you, Detective Fox, need delight me with your company.’
The red sea flooded out of Omega at the Inspector’s sardonic bark, seeking comfort in its mistress, tendrils curling from Omega’s mouth, chest, and every intimate…private…part of him. He staggered, finding himself caught in Zach’s arms.
Omega allowed himself a moment’s rest, as he rubbed the agony in his pounding forehead, needing the touch. He wished Zach knew to stroke him, nuzzle and lick.
Like he’d ever had that anyway… Maybe someone had invented an app..?
Omega ritualistically pushed his own curls back, combing his fingers through them to self-comfort. As always, it worked.
He’d faced more merciless monsters than the Wolf Charmer before – and now he was back? He was going to be facing them again.
Omega shook himself, as he grinned.
‘Was that the CID initiation you warned me about? Because I imagined it’d be us getting bladdered, and then tying me naked to the front of the station.’
Zach bit at his lip, his expression troubled. ‘Are all handlers like that then?’
‘Nah, looks like the witch’s just special.’
‘Why do you call her..?’
‘No reason she’d like.’ Omega grimaced when he glanced down at the neat papers on Zach’s desk, which were now sodden with milk. ‘And they say it isn’t all paperwork in the police. Need a hand?’
Zach nodded, but even before they’d started to sort through the damp files, Zach asked hesitantly, ‘Why does Cora want to control you?’
‘Who wouldn’t? I’m adorable.’
But inside? Omega squirmed.
Good question: Goddess Moon, it was all.
Because beneath the coldness of those green eyes – the witch had relished every second.
She’d been consumed by the power.
****
Want to find out what happens next in Rebel Werewolves Volume 1: Moon Broken?
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ROSEMARY A JOHNS is the bestselling
author of the Rebel Vampires series. She wrote her first fantasy novel at the age of ten, when she discovered the weird worlds inside her head were more exciting than double swimming. Since then she’s studied history at Oxford University, run a theatre company (her critically acclaimed plays have been described as ‘uncomfortable, unsettling and uneasily true to life’), and worked with disability charities. She’s a music fanatic and a paranormal anti-hero addict who creates spellbinding worlds, thrilling action, gripping suspense and passionate romances, all uniquely told. When Rosemary’s not falling in love with the rebels fighting their way onto the page, she heads the Oxford writing group Dreaming Spires. She can also be found listening to Nirvana. At full volume. Or not found at all. When she’s dived into her secret worlds again.
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Blood Renegades (Rebel Vampires Book 3) Page 28