Page 32 of Feral Omega

"No," I say, my voice low and fierce. "I will never be like you. I will never condone this... this perversion. If that's what it means to be your kind of leader, then you and the Council can all go to hell."

I turn, striding toward the door, my heart pounding in my ears.

"Thane," my father calls after me, his voice sharp. "Don't be a fool. You can't change the system. You'll only destroy yourself trying."

I pause, my hand on the doorknob, glancing back over my shoulder. "Maybe. But at least I'll be able to live with myself. Can you say the same?"

Without waiting for a response, I wrench open the door and walk out, leaving the man I once admired, the father I thought I knew, behind in the suffocating confines of his office.

Chapter

Fourteen

VALEK

The blade glints in the low light as I turn it over and over in my hands, the repetitive motion as natural as breathing. I've been sitting here for hours, watching the omega sleep. Watching her chest rise and fall with each breath, the pulse at her throat, so delicate, so vulnerable. It would be so easy to end her life, to paint the sheets with her blood.

But I don't. I can't.

I've killed countless times before, felt the thrill of the hunt, the rush of power as the life drains from their eyes. It's always been men who remind me of my father—the same cruel eyes, the same sneering mouth.

I'd stalk them for days, learning their routines, their weaknesses. And then, when the moment was right, I'd strike. Quick, efficient, merciless.

This...this is different.

I've never been so consumed by someone I didn't want to kill. It's like an itch under my skin, a constant thrumming in my veins. I can't stop thinking about her, can't stop watching her. The others feel it too, I know. Wraith and Whiskey, they couldn't stay away, breaking into the infirmary just to be near her. And Plague, ever the cold, logical one, he's given up trying to keep us out.

We're all under her spell, and none of us understand why.

My obsessions in the past, they were like flickering candles compared to this raging inferno. Those men, they were just placeholders, stand-ins for the one I truly wanted to destroy. But I've killed my father a hundred times over in my mind, in the faces of my victims. And still, the hunger remains.

But this hunger...it's different. It's not the desire to destroy, but to possess. To claim. To consume.

I've never wanted anything so badly in my life.

My grip tightens on the knife, the blade biting into my palm. The pain is a welcome distraction, a momentary clarity in the haze of my thoughts. I focus on the sting, on the warm trickle of blood, letting it ground me in the present.

I force myself to look away from her, to stare at the cold, sterile walls of the infirmary. But even then, I can feel her presence, like a physical weight pressing against my skin. It's suffocating, maddening.

I'm not used to feeling so out of control. I'm the one who brings chaos, who revels in the screams and the blood. But now, I'm the one who's unraveling, coming apart at the seams.

And it's all because of her.

A soft sigh escapes her lips, and my attention snaps back to her face. Her brow furrows slightly, a small frown tugging at the corners of her mouth.

Is she dreaming? Remembering the horrors she's endured?

A sudden, fierce protectiveness surges through me, surprising in its intensity. I want to soothe away her fears, to shield her from any further harm. It's a foreign feeling, this desire to comfort, to care.

I don't know how to be gentle. I don't know how to be kind.

But for her...for her, I want to try.

The realization is terrifying, a weakness I can't afford. And yet, I can't bring myself to leave, to tear myself away from her side.

So I stay, a silent sentinel in the darkness, my knife a cold comfort in my hand. And I watch, and I wait, and I hunger.

For her.

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