Page 57 of Feral Omega

Me, a stabilizing presence? On a team of vicious alphas?

The Council must be utterly delusional.

Thane arches a brow, his dark eyes glittering in the low light. "You think it's funny?"

I shake my head, still fighting back laughter. "No, I just... I didn't expect it."

He blinks as if he's surprised and caught off guard to hear me actually speaking to him.

Don't get used to it, alpha, I think to myself.

"Neither did I," he admits once his surprise lapses, raking a hand through his shaggy hair. "But orders are orders. The Council seems to think your presence will make us fight harder, be better warriors if we have a constant reminder of what we're fighting for."

A chill skitters down my spine at his matter-of-fact words. Of course that's their twisted logic—treat me like a tethered goat, dangling me in front of their attack dogs to make them more vicious.

I should be terrified at the prospect of being dragged out into the fray, surrounded by uncontrolled alphas with nothing to lose. Should be cowering at the mere thought of the danger, the violence that's sure to erupt.

But strangely, I'm not afraid. In fact, a thrill courses through me at the idea of escaping these stifling walls, of finally being free to breathe fresh air again—even if only temporarily.

"You're not scared?" Thane presses, leaning in as if scrutinizing me for any tells. "We won't let any harm come to you, of course, but… Being out there, in the middle of a war zone... it's not for the faint of heart."

I lift my chin, meeting his intense gaze head-on. "I'm not afraid of your war games," I say, keeping my tone carefully neutral. "I've seen worse than anything you alphas can dish out."

Surprise flickers across his rugged features again, gone as quickly as it appeared. "You shouldn't underestimate the situation," he warns, something like grudging respect bleeding into his words.

"I'll take my chances," I say, allowing a hint of challenge to creep into my voice.

Thane regards me for a long moment, something inscrutable flickering behind those dark eyes. Then he nods, straightening to his full, imposing height. "Fair enough. But I meant what I said—having you out there will be a distraction. Protecting you is going to make our job a hell of a lot harder."

I bristle at that, the flare of defiance in my chest warring with the pragmatic voice whispering that he's right. An untrained omega on the battlefield would be a massive liability, no matter how capable I might be.

"I can take care of myself," I say stiffly. "I won't need any protecting."

There's a wry twist of his lips, not quite a smile. "We'll see about that. For now, I want you to come to the training room and run through some basic self-defense drills. Just in case."

I arch a brow, a hint of challenge creeping into my tone. "I'm ready now if you are."

Thane pauses, clearly taken aback. He searches my face, those intense eyes boring into me as if he can see straight through to the truth lurking beneath my words.

Whatever he finds there seems to satisfy him. With a curt nod, he turns and heads for the door, leaving me to follow in his wake.

The corridor beyond is a dim, featureless maze of concrete and steel. I trail a few paces behind Thane, my senses on high alert as the scents and sounds of the compound assault me. The muffled thump of weights hitting the floor, the sharp tang of sweat and exertion.

We pass through a set of heavy double doors and emerge into a cavernous space lined with mats and training equipment. Whiskey is already there, his handsome face and muscular arms gleaming with sweat as he pounds away at a heavy bag.

His head snaps up at our entrance, lips peeling back in a mocking sneer as his gaze lands on me. "Well, well. If it isn't the little biter. Can't believe those psychos are making you come with us."

I bristle at the insult, shooting him my most withering glare. But before I can respond, Thane cuts in with a low growl.

"That's enough, Whiskey. We're working on some basic drills for Ivy's benefit. I expect you to show a little professionalism for once."

Whiskey snorts, delivering one last vicious blow to the bag before turning to face us fully. "Whatever you say, boss. Just don't come crying to me when she tries to take a chunk out of your pretty face."

"On second thought, keep running your mouth. She hates you enough that you'll make an ideal sparring partner for her," Thane retorts dryly.

"I hate all of you equally," I clarify.

Thane's brows knit together at that, a flicker of what I think might actually be hurt crossing his chiseled features before his mask of stoicism slips back into place. It amuses me to realize I've managed to get under his skin, if only for a moment.

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