Page 44 of Feral Omega

So I swallow my fury, my humiliation, and turn away. I retreat to the corner of the infirmary that has become my makeshift cell, curling up on the narrow cot with my back to them. The collar is a heavy weight against my throat, a constant, inescapable reminder of my helplessness.

I can hear Plague and Thane's murmured voices as they discuss something, but I tune them out. I should have taken my fucking chance when I had it.

Not that I think I'd have had any easier of a time escaping from Valek. Despite his teasing, I don't think he would actually let me go.

But he's right. I would need weapons.

Weapons, rations, medical supplies.

I know what it takes to survive out there. I did it for long enough as a child, but those woods and plains were far more hospitable than these mountains, which are so frigid and filled with carnivorous beasts who would eat me alive in a matter of hours, best case scenario.

Not that these beasts are much better.

I press my face into the thin pillow, trying to block out the world, to escape into the darkness behind my eyelids. But there's no respite to be found, not even in my own mind.

Memories flash through my head, disjointed and chaotic.

The Center, with its sterile white walls and cold, clinical hands. The guards, their leering faces and bruising grips. The other omegas, their eyes hollow and haunted, all fight long since beaten out of them.

And now, these alphas. These monsters.

Thane with his imposing presence and dark, unreadable gaze. Plague, his voice calm and clinical even as he takes away the last shreds of my autonomy. Valek, all sharp edges and mocking cruelty, his eyes glinting with a hunger that chills me to the bone. Whiskey, his boyish face belying the predatory gleam in his eyes, always watching, always wanting.

And Wraith...

I shudder, curling in on myself tighter.

Wraith terrifies me the most. It's not just the constant echoing whoosh of breath in the tubing snaking from his gas mask, or his immense physical size, or his utter silence save for the occasional growl. There's a darkness in him, a barely leashed violence that I can feel like a physical force whenever he's near.

They're all dangerous, all alphas to their core. And now I'm at their mercy, collared and caged, a plaything for their amusement. The thought makes bile rise in my throat and I swallow hard, fighting the urge to be sick.

I can't let this break me.

I can't let them win.

I've survived worse than this, endured horrors that would shatter a weaker soul. I'll find a way out of this, somehow. I'll bide my time, play their games, let them think they've tamed me.

And when they least expect it, I'll strike.

I'll fight my way free or die trying.

Because a quick death is preferable to a life in chains, a life as their pet, their property. I'd rather feel my blood spill hot and red than feel their hands on me, claiming me, breaking me.

But I have to be smart.

I have to be patient.

I can't let my desperation make me reckless, can't let my fear drive me to foolish action. I need to observe, to learn their routines, their weaknesses. I need to gather my strength, to heal and to plan.

And most of all, I need to harden my heart.

I can't let their strange moments of apparent kindness sway me, can't let the loneliness and the yearning for affection weaken my resolve. They are the enemy, now and always.

And I will never, ever let myself forget that.

No matter how gentle Plague's hands may be as he tends to my wounds, no matter how Thane's eyes soften when he looks at me, no matter how Valek's mocking words hold a glimmer of understanding, of kinship in our shared brokenness.

They are alphas, and I am their prisoner.

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