Page 39 of Feral Omega

Is it a trick, a way to lull me into a false sense of security? Or is there something more to him, something I'm missing?

I shake my head, pushing the thoughts away. I can't afford to dwell on his motives, can't let myself be swayed by a few moments of seeming kindness. He's still my captor, still one of them. And I won't forget that, no matter how gentle his touch or how soothing his voice.

I lean back against the pillows, my stomach finally settling now that it has something to digest. But the relief is short-lived, the ever-present fear and uncertainty creeping back in as I stare at the sterile white walls of my prison.

What happens now? What do they want from me, these demons who have taken me from one hell only to deliver me to another? And how long before they tire of this game, before they show their true colors and take what they really want?

I close my eyes, trying to calm the racing of my heart. I have to stay strong, have to keep my wits about me. I've survived this long on my own, and I'll find a way to survive this too. No matter what they throw at me, no matter what twisted plans they have in store, I won't let them break me.

But even as I cling to that resolve, I can feel the exhaustion tugging at me, the toll of my ordeal weighing heavy on my battered body and mind. How much longer can I keep fighting, keep resisting, when every fiber of my being is screaming for rest, for respite?

I don't know. And that terrifies me more than anything else. Because if I can't trust my own strength, my own will to keep going, then what chance do I have against them?

A single tear escapes, sliding down my cheek and onto the pillow beneath my head. I don't bother to wipe it away, too tired to care about showing weakness.

And so I let myself drift, let the exhaustion take me under, praying that when I wake, I'll find the strength to face whatever comes next. Because giving up, giving in? That's not an option. Not now, not ever.

Chapter

Seventeen

VALEK

Whiskey's shrill yelp pierces the air, cutting through the dull hum of the compound. A feral grin spreads across my face as I round the corner. Sounds like our wild little rabbit has finally awoken.

Could be he just crossed Wraith again, but that was more of a "got kicked in the balls" yelp than a "had every bone in his body crushed" scream.

I stride down the infirmary hallway, the scuffed toes of my boots ringing on the concrete. Whiskey's bitching drifts out from the open door, grating on my nerves.

"She's fucking crazy! I think she bit my finger off!"

I shove the door open to find him cradling his very much intact yet bleeding hand, seething and grimacing dramatically. In the corner, a huddled figure glares at him with icy defiance.

Ivy.

My breath catches in my throat as I drink her in. She's all wildfire hair and feral eyes, her slight frame coiled tight as a snake about to strike. Despite the shapeless cotton shift hanging off her narrow shoulders, there's an innate grace to her, a lethal beauty that has heat unfurling low in my gut.

This one's no tame little bunny, that's for damn sure.

"Well, well," I drawl, crossing my arms over my chest. "What did you do to piss off the pretty little omega, Whiskey? Stick your dick where it doesn't belong?"

He whips around with a glare, flinging out his injured hand. "She just went crazy, man! One minute I was asking her some questions, the next—chomp!"

I bark out a laugh at the indignant look on his face, like he can't fathom why anyone wouldn't fall at his feet. Dumb bastard never could take a hint.

"You're lucky that's all she took a bite out of," I taunt, raking my gaze over him with obvious disdain. "Though I can't say the world wouldn't be better off without your tiny pecker anyway."

Whiskey's cheeks flush, his eyes narrowing to slits. "It's nine inches and as thick around as a beer can. Only time you ever saw it was when I was climbing out of a frozen fucking lake. Asshole."

I snort. "Go show Plague your little wounds before gangrene sets in. God knows where your hands have been."

But for once, the mouthy little prick—though Plague was right, he's not so little lately—knows to keep his trap shut. He shoots me one last venomous glare before turning on his heel and storming out, slamming the door behind him hard enough to rattle it in the frame.

"Fuck you, Valek," I hear him mutter when he thinks he's out of earshot.

An expectant hush falls over the room. Ivy watches me through lowered lashes, her shoulders tense and lips pressed into a thin line. Despite her bravado, I can scent her fear—a sharp, musky undertone to the warm vanilla scent wreathing her. It makes my mouth water, has the darker impulses inside me stirring restlessly.

I hold her gaze for a long moment, letting the silence stretch out between us.

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