Page 115 of Feral Omega

Thane.

Valek.

Plague.

Whiskey.

Treating her as a thing to own and claim.

White-hot rage, vision bleeding red.

Want to hurt them, punish them.

Tear them apart.

My omega.

Mine.

Roar, slam fist into tree trunk.

Bark splinters, tree groans.

Pain bolts up my arm, grounding.

Breathe.

Just breathe.

Rasping, panting through the tubes of my mask.

Can't think like this.

Can't be like this.

I have to be more than a monster.

For her.

Thane's scent on the wind, pine and smoke.

Getting closer.

Tense, grip rifle tighter.

"Wraith."

His voice, low and calm.

Wary.

Like speaking to a rabid animal that cannot think.

Maybe it's true.

Turn to face him, a snarl building in my ruined throat.

He stands there, arms loose at his sides.

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