Page 9 of Feral Omega

Which is why I've been relegated to the Council's suicide squad. A dog on an iron chain rather than a sellout sitting behind a big mahogany desk like he was by the time he reached my age.

"That's bullshit and you know it," I accuse.

"The choice has been made regardless," he says, leaning back in his chair. "I suggest you prepare your men and accept it. You'll be taking her home tomorrow."

Without another word, I turn and stalk out of his office. A few soldiers carting papers to and from their offices freeze like a tiger just got turned loose in their workplace.

Actually, I think some of them would prefer that.

Chapter

Four

VALEK

The door slams open, jerking me out of my thoughts. I twirl the combat knife I've been toying with after sharpening it, irritated by the intrusion.

I'm sure it's Thane. Always likes us to know where he is by making as much noise as humanly possible. Sees himself as better than Whiskey, but there’s only one difference between the two alphas.

Thane isn't quite as much of a little bitch.

Sure enough, he storms in, his face like a thundercloud. Something has him riled up. It doesn’t take much.

I take it the meeting with daddy dearest didn't go well.

Whiskey looks over from where he's sprawled out on the couch. "What's got your panties in a twist, boss man?"

Thane glares. "Pack meeting. Now." His alpha command ripples through the room.

I tense, resisting the urge to bristle at being ordered.

Slowly, I slide the knife back into its sheath and stand, bones popping. The others gather around, expectant. All except for Wraith, who stays in the back, leaning against the wall in stony silence with his eyes glinting above the gas mask perpetually strapped to the lower half of his face.

Was it deliberately designed to resemble a muzzle?

Not much in this world unsettles me, but that fucker does the job.

And it's not just his freakishly huge stature, either. Those ice blue eyes peeking through his choppy black hair are the only thing about the silent behemoth that suggests there's anything going on upstairs. They're cold and calculating, but when he has one of his "episodes," they turn almost black with rage.

We're all huge, even for alphas, but he's a musclebound Frankenstein's monster gone wrong.

And that's generous, considering the state of oblivion I know the lower half of his face to be beneath that gas mask. All sharp teeth and bone and sinew. How he's even alive, I don't know. I'd say it's a miracle, but that's ironic when it comes to a guy who looks like a demon fresh out of hell.

Thane paces like a caged lion. "I met with my father. He's sending us an omega."

Shock punches me in the gut. An omega? Here? Has the old coot gone insane? We'd tear her apart.

Or is he joking?

No, this is Thane we're talking about. The guy has the sense of humor of an anhedonic school marm.

Whiskey shoots upright, eyes wide like a kid on Christmas morning. "Holy shit, really?" He grins lecherously. "What's she look like? She hot?"

"I don't know and it doesn't matter," Thane snaps.

The room erupts into chaos.

"When do we get her?"

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