Page 55 of Feral Omega

That asshole just loves to push every last button, doesn't he?

He really shouldn't be going with us on any missions at all until he learns how to stop being a fucking liability. But then I'd have to apply the same standard to my brother.

With an irritated grunt, I shove the thought aside, turning my focus to the task at hand. The screen flickers to life, bathing the dimly lit room in a harsh blue glow. I settle into the worn leather chair before the console, jaw set in a tight line as I initiate the secure uplink.

It takes a few tense moments for the connection to establish. When it finally does, my father's stern visage appears on the screen, those hard eyes boring into me from behind the lenses of his reading glasses.

"Thane." His voice is a low rumble, devoid of any warmth or familiarity. Just another officer addressing his subordinate.

"Sir." I nod curtly, the title gravel in my mouth.

He wastes no time on pleasantries. Not that I expected any. "We have a new mission for your team. High priority target. An oligarch running black market operations close to the border."

The display shifts, pulling up a topographical map riddled with markers and data streams. A thick red border highlights the rugged peaks of the Redtooth range deep in the heart of the contested Outer Reaches.

"This oligarch has been a major thorn in our side," my father continues, fingers steepled before his face. "He's been using his family's mining operations as a front to funnel weapons and other contraband between the resistance factions out there. Financing all kinds of headaches for the Council. We've had our eye on him for months, but he's gone to ground."

I lean forward, studying the map intently as new data floods the screen—comms intercepts, thermal scans, recon footage. "What's the objective?"

"Locate his compound, clear it out. We want this man and anyone providing muscle for him." His eyes glint behind the lenses. "Once you've secured the site, we'll use it as a staging ground to intercept an incoming shipment from one of his suppliers."

"You want us to take out the arms dealers, too?"

"No." The word is clipped. "This is a long-term operation. We need him alive and the connection intact."

The image on the screen shifts again, this time to a grainy surveillance still of a rough-looking man in nondescript civilian garb, his angular face shadowed.

"This is the target," my father explains, tapping a few commands to enhance the image.

I study the grainy photo. "He looks like Valek," I say, leaning closer to peer at the screen.

"He does," my father agrees. "And they both speak Vrissian. With Valek's... unique skills, he should be able to slip right into the financier's role for this mission—and future missions—without arousing suspicion."

I snort at that. "Shit. It's like he was made for it."

"Which is exactly why we recruited him in the first place," my father replies, his lips twisting in a thin, humorless smile. "Thought he might be useful one day, and having an actual serial killer on the payroll does come in handy from time to time. I'm glad I didn't get rid of him back when I doubted his place on the team."

An uneasy chill prickles along my spine at my father's cavalier words. For all his military bravado, all his supposed principles about honor and duty, it's comments like that which remind me just how cold and calculating the man truly is.

That and his utter disregard for the well-being of omegas.

I shift in my seat, clearing my throat.

"Speaking of unconventional additions to the team... how are things progressing with Six One Seven?" my father asks, eyes glinting with something unreadable behind those wire-rimmed glasses. And I don't like it at all.

"You mean Ivy?" I say, keeping my expression carefully neutral. "She's... adjusting. Plague has been working to get her back into some kind of stable condition."

The lie slides easily off my tongue. No need to give this heartless bastard any more ammunition than he already has.

A muscle twitches in my father's jaw, the only outward sign of his impatience. "I trust she'll be ready for greater things soon? The Council was quite insistent that she accompany your team on this operation."

I blink, my stomach lurching. "What? Out in the field?" The words burst from me before I can rein them in. "That's insane! She's an omega. And she's in no condition?—"

"It's not a request, Thane," he cuts me off, that familiar edge of steel in his voice. "The Council seems to think her presence will have a… stabilizing effect on your team's more volatile elements. After that last incident on the battlefield with Wraith, I can't say I disagree with their assessment."

White-hot rage surges through me, heating the tips of my ears.

"With all due respect, sir," I grit out from between clenched teeth, "taking an untrained omega into a hostile warzone is tantamount to a death sentence. For her and for the rest of my team. She would be a huge distraction. Protecting her would be a huge distraction."

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