Page 28 of Feral Omega

Would her hands soothe instead of inflicting pain?

Has a touch ever not hurt?

Strikes and kicks.

Crowbars and stones.

I shake my head viciously.

Stupid.

Weak.

I am not a pup craving softness.

I am Wraith.

I don't feel.

Except I do.

I feel too much.

Always have.

The one thing they couldn't carve out of me.

Drag my fingers through my hair. Grip it. Trying to center myself.

Her bouquet still surrounds me.

A torment and a balm.

Vanilla.

Fresh-baked cake.

Honey straight from the comb.

They can't keep me from her forever.

Sooner or later, someone will fuck up.

My omega.

Mine.

Chapter

Twelve

WHISKEY

The burn in my lungs feels damn good as I push myself harder, running the perimeter of the base. My boots pound the dirt, kicking up dust behind me.

I can't stop thinking about her.

Ivy.

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