Page 21 of Feral Omega

Or do they want her to be our fucking downfall?

Chapter

Nine

IVY

The berries stain my fingers purple as I pluck them from the bush, shoving handfuls into my mouth. Juice dribbles down my chin. I don't care. It's been days since I had a proper meal.

I'm back outside the camp, the one place that's ever been home. The one place I've ever felt free.

A twig snaps behind me. I whirl around, heart pounding.

Figures in dark green uniforms move through the trees—soldiers, heading straight for the camp. For a frozen second, I can't breathe. Then I'm running, feet flying over the forest floor. Branches whip my face and tear at my hair but I don't slow down.

Shouts ring out. Heavy boots crunch over leaves. They've spotted me. I swerve and leap over a fallen log. A hand grabs my arm and yanks me back. I thrash wildly, sinking my teeth into flesh. The soldier curses and backhands me across the face. I taste blood.

I bolt upright, gasping, sweat drenching my thin shift. The warm beige walls of my new room swim into focus.

A dream, just a dream—but also a memory. One that still haunts me years later.

Shaking, I draw my knees up and wrap my arms around them. The scar on my left shoulder throbs, a constant reminder of what I am. What I'll never escape, no matter how far I run. My omega mark, still there, even if it is buried under layers of scar tissue.

Because that's all I am in this world. An omega.

Untamed, irreparable, defective.

A wild animal to be captured, broken, bred.

Revulsion rises in my throat like bile.

I think of my mother, her once vibrant eyes dulled by trauma and despair. I'd woken one morning to find her cold and still, an empty pill bottle on the floor of our tent. She couldn't endure it anymore, the flashbacks, the nightmares, the knowledge of what had been done to her. Of the child bred from violence.

Me.

Hot tears spill down my cheeks. I dash them away angrily. Crying is weakness, and weakness gets you killed.

Or worse.

I force myself to uncurl my body and stand. My reflection in the small mirror on top of the chest of drawers is gaunt and pale. I haven't seen myself in so long, and I barely recognize the person I've become.

There's a stack of towels on the dresser, and clothes inside the drawers. They're simple, but they’re not the threadbare rags I wore at the Refinement Center, when I was permitted to wear clothes at all.

Thane was telling the truth about no one entering without my permission. Even the servant he sent last night to bring me food knocked first, but I refused to touch the tray of boiled meat, rice and vegetables. Even if it would have been the first actual meal I've eaten in months.

I don't trust these people. And after starving for so long, save for the food they literally forced down my throat at the Center before I left, I barely even feel it anymore.

What I do feel is the need to take a fucking shower, and even though I'm loathe to venture out of my room, I don't hear anyone outside and I'm pretty sure I slept later than the others.

I grab a towel and unlock my door, peering into the hall. There's no sign of anyone, so I venture out carefully, cursing the floorboards as they creak under each step.

The bathroom is at the end of the hall. I creep toward it, ears straining for any sound of movement.

Silence.

I slip inside and lock the door behind me with a soft click. A row of shower stalls lines one tiled wall. Holding my breath, I peek into each one.

All empty.

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