Page 11 of Feral Omega

"So we don't even get to pick one out?" I ask.

"No," Thane says, giving me a stern look that might work on the little toy soldiers he used to command before he went apeshit on his commanding officer and tore his spine out of his body. "This isn't a fucking shopping trip, this is something the Council is forcing on us. And for all we know, she could be working for them. So I want everyone on their best behavior when I bring her back here tomorrow morning."

"Great," I mutter. "That's just what we need. A narc living in our midst."

“A narc that bites," Plague adds flatly.

I snort.

Thane gives us both a withering stare and looks around. "In the meantime, someone fucking clean up. This place looks like a bomb went off."

"I'm not touching anything that's had Whiskey's dirty laundry on it," Plague says pointedly, standing from the couch to follow him out of the room. "I gave up on picking up after you Neanderthals ages ago."

"Not it!" Whiskey calls, running after them even though he's the one who left ninety-nine percent of the mess littered around the common area.

I turn to Wraith, realizing I'm alone in the room with him now. He just gives me that intense, blank stare.

"Right," I mutter, pushing up off the couch. "Guess I'll get a mop, then."

Considering the state of this place, a bonfire might be more effective.

Chapter

Five

IVY

The heavy steel door to my cell screeches open, the sound grating against my nerves like nails on a chalkboard. I tense, pressing myself further into the corner, my back against the cold concrete. Emilia's boxy form fills the doorway, her thin lips curled in a sneer that sends a chill down my spine.

"On your feet, Six One Seven," she barks, her shrill voice echoing off the bare walls. "You're being transferred."

Ice floods my veins, freezing me in place.

Transferred?

To where?

After all this time in solitary, the thought of leaving this cell—my own personal hell—is both terrifying and oddly disappointing. At least here, I know what to expect.

And so do the betas that have to deal with me.

I don't move, eyeing her warily. She sighs in exasperation, her jowls quivering with the force of it.

"Now, girl. Don't make this difficult," she snaps, taking a menacing step forward. "The Council has finally found a use for you. They've assigned you to an alpha pack."

Terror claws up my throat, threatening to choke me. An alpha pack? After all this time? I'd thought—hoped, even—that they'd given up on me. That they'd let me rot here in peace rather than subject me to the brutality of alpha ownership.

"Which one?" I rasp, the words scraping past my lips, my voice hoarse from disuse.

A cruel smile twists Emilia's features, her eyes glittering with malicious glee. "The Ghosts."

My breath catches, a strangled gasp escaping me before I can stop it. Even as isolated as I've been, I've heard whispers of the Ghosts. The Council's most vicious attack dogs. The deadliest spec-ops unit in the region. Alphas so brutal, so merciless, that even other soldiers speak of them in hushed, fearful tones.

Emilia's smile widens, clearly relishing my reaction. "Oh yes, my dear. Savages, the lot of them. Trained killers with no moral compass, no mercy. They say the Ghosts leave nothing but death in their wake." She leans in closer, her sour breath hot on my face. "And you, my dear, are to be their new plaything."

She grabs my arm, her fingers digging into my flesh as she hauls me to my feet. For once, I'm too shocked to resist as she drags me from the cell, my bare feet stumbling on the cold floor.

"I heard they once wiped out an entire rebel encampment in less than half an hour," Emilia continues as we walk, her voice dripping with sadistic pleasure. "Left the bodies strung up as a warning. No mercy shown to a single survivor. One of them tears out throats and entrails with his bare hands, and the others… Can you imagine what they'll do to a defiant little omega like you?"

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