Page 17 of Feral Omega

Not that he's closing the other one, either. His icy blue gaze pierces me from the shadows of his hood and choppy black hair, intense, unreadable.

Thane's voice cuts through the charged silence. "Plague. Whiskey. Valek. Wraith." He indicates each alpha in turn with a tilt of his chin. I don't miss the way his hand tightens on my shoulder as he says the last name.

It's fitting. Wraith looks like something out of a nightmare.

All of them do, really. Except for the one named Whiskey. He just looks like an asshole.

"What happened to her?" the one called Plague demands, but I can't tell if he's offended he's being presented with a subpar offering or concerned. Knowing alphas, I'm sure it's the former.

"There was an incident at the Center," Thane mutters.

I don't know how much they told him about what actually happened, but given the way he reacted when Emilia brought out the collar and leash, I doubt it was the full truth.

Not that it matters.

If anything, they'd probably return me if they knew how badly I was used by the betas at the Center. I refuse to stay here, but I like my odds of escaping from this place better than back in that dingy basement.

"You did say she was scrappy," drawls Whiskey, his smirk sharpening into something that would make me nervous if he wasn't the one wearing it. "Aren't you a pretty little piece? Gonna be fun having you around, darlin'."

His gaze rakes over me, lingering in all the places it shouldn't before he leans in close enough that his breath disturbs the little hairs on my neck and breathes in deep to catch my scent. I resist the urge to shrink back, to cover myself. I won't give him the satisfaction.

Yep. Asshole.

"Keep your hands to yourself, Whiskey," Thane growls, a thread of warning in his tone. "She's not here for your amusement."

Whiskey's grin only widens, but he steps back, hands raised in mock surrender. "Sure thing, boss. Just appreciating the view."

The one in the plague doctor mask—Plague, I remind myself, not that it's hard to remember—takes a step closer, head cocked. Studying me like I'm some sort of specimen. A moth pinned and fluttering beneath glass.

He leans in next to get my scent, even though I'm not sure how he can smell anything under that strange mask. Seems like the kind of mask built so the wearer can't smell anything.

"She's thin," he remarks as he pulls away, his voice a metallic rasp behind the mask. Clinical. Detached. "Malnourished, actually. If she's to be of any use, that will need to be remedied."

I bristle at that, my nails biting into my palms. I'm not a broken doll for them to fix so they can play with it. Not some fragile bird with a broken wing.

The one called Valek—if that's even a code name—says nothing. But I feel the weight of his stare behind that leather mask, heavy and cold as a blade against my skin. Assessing. Calculating.

Like he's deciding where to cut first.

My whole body stiffens as he steps closer for his turn. He pulls off the hood, revealing a chiseled face that's much more handsome than I expected. He gives me a wolfish grin, all white teeth and sharp canines, and his stone cold gray eyes light when they meet mine.

But I've been in this world long enough to know some of the worst monsters are also the most beautiful.

A malicious gleam of amusement flares in his gaze as he leans down, his platinum hair falling into his eyes. There are three thin scars on his temple, small yet noticeable where they vanish into his hairline, as if someone had scratched his face while they were fighting for their life.

When he gets close to my neck, he takes a deep, savoring breath. I feel more like food than breeding stock.

"Exquisite," he purrs in an accented voice. Must be Vrissian. He sounds like the few soldiers from the arctic region who passed through the camp now and then, but his voice is deeper. Velvety and rough at the same time. An unusual combination that immediately sets me on edge.

Wraith remains motionless, impassive. A monolith of muscle and menace. But I can feel him watching me too, those uncanny blue eyes tracking my every breath, my every tremor.

I feel flayed open. Exposed. Like they can see straight through to all the secret, vulnerable parts of me no matter how deep I try to bury them.

When it's Wraith's turn to inspect me, the massive alpha approaches me like a stalking panther. His heavy boots thump against the floor, covered in leather straps with rivets that jangle faintly until he comes to a stop right in front of me. He has to bend so far down just to get to my neck. My heart hammers in my chest, an instinctive reminder of who is predator and who is prey in this scenario.

He leans in just close enough for the strange sound of his breathing echoing in the tubes and vents of his mask to drown out the thunder of my heartbeat. His breathing grows louder, deeper, as he takes in my scent, and for the few seconds that takes, I find myself unable to breathe at all.

His gaze is empty. The stare of a wild, rabid beast.

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