Page 60 of Feral Omega

With deft, practiced motions, I slide the needle into the crook of her elbow, depressing the plunger. Ivy doesn't so much as flinch, her gaze locked on mine with an intensity that sends tendrils of heat licking along my nerves.

As the last of the amber liquid disappears beneath her skin, I withdraw the needle, pressing a square of gauze to the tiny pinprick of blood that wells up. Her scent is already beginning to fade, that heady bouquet of honeysuckle and vanilla dissipating into the stale air of the infirmary.

"Is it working?" she murmurs, her voice pitched low as if she's afraid to shatter the strange tension thrumming between us.

"Yes," I breathe, unable to tear my gaze from the delicate sweep of her lashes, the full pout of those lush lips. Her tantalizing scent is already beginning to fade, and I can't help but feel a twinge of melancholy, even if it's for her benefit. "It's working."

She holds my stare, gaze glittering with a challenge I can't quite decipher. Silence stretches between us, thick and weighted, until at last I force myself to break it with a soft clearing of my throat.

"How are you feeling about the mission?" I ask, keeping my tone carefully neutral. "Any... hesitation?"

Ivy arches one elegant brow, the ghost of a smirk tugging at the corners of her full mouth. "I'll be fine," she says simply, that bravado bleeding back into her voice.

I study her for a long moment, searching for any hint of deception, any flicker of uncertainty lurking beneath that steely exterior. But all I see is that same unwavering defiance, that indomitable spirit that first drew me to her like a moth to the flame.

No matter what happens out there in the unforgiving wilderness, no matter what we might face, I will not let any harm befall this creature.

This omega.

My omega.

The words echo through my mind, startling in their intensity. Where did that possessive impulse come from? I am a healer, a soldier, and both duties require me to treat all those in my care and under my authority equally.

And yet...

A shrill blaring shatters the tense quiet, the klaxon's wail reverberating through the compound. Ivy tenses, her head whipping toward the door as a burst of adrenaline hits my senses.

"That's the signal," I say, already moving toward the exit. "We need to join the others at the landing pad."

Ivy falls into step beside me, her brow furrowed with determination. As we stride through the dim concrete corridors, I can't help but steal sidelong glances at her, drinking in the proud set of her shoulders, the fierce tilt of her chin.

She's like a wildfire, this one—beautiful and devastating. Part of me longs to possess that flame, to bend it to my will until it burns for me alone.

But the wiser part knows the folly of such thoughts. One does not tame a wildfire. One can only hope to contain it, to channel its destructive power in a controlled burn.

We emerge into the harsh glare of daylight, the rhythmic thud of rotor blades already shredding the air. The rest of the team is already gathered near the landing pad, a sleek military transport chopper warming up as the pilot runs final checks.

Ivy falters for a split second, her eyes going wide as she takes in the hulking aircraft. It's the first time I've seen her look even remotely shaken, that mask of slipping just enough to reveal a flicker of uncertainty.

Of course. She's probably never flown before coming here, let alone in a war bird like this particular beast.

Squaring her shoulders, Ivy sets her jaw and continues forward, her spine ramrod straight. I can't help the swell of admiration that blossoms in my chest at her sheer force of will, her refusal to be cowed. Thane offers his hand to help her into the chopper's hold and she hesitates a moment before reluctantly taking it. Always loathe to take even the slightest offering from her captors.

I can't help but wonder if she'll ever see us as anything more, and decide I'm probably being naive.

One by one, the others board the chopper, strapping themselves into the reinforced seats lining the cargo bay. Valek pauses as he brushes past me on my way into the chopper, those dark eyes glinting with an unspoken challenge from the shadows of his mask as he catches me staring at Ivy.

The message is clear. Keep your baser instincts in check, Doctor. Don't let your newfound obsession cloud your judgment out there.

I incline my head in the barest of acknowledgments, letting my gaze drift to where Ivy has taken her seat near the rear of the bay. She stares out through the tinted plexiglass, her features unreadable as the chopper lifts off, carrying us deeper into the rugged heart of the Redtooth Mountains.

As the harsh, unforgiving terrain unfolds beneath us, I find myself unable to tear my eyes away from her. The way the wind whips tendrils of her fiery hair, the proud tilt of her chin as she drinks in the sweeping vista of snow-capped peaks and plunging valleys.

This is her first taste of true freedom in who knows how long. Despite the dangers awaiting us, despite the grim mission that lies ahead, there's something almost... transcendent about the look on her face in this moment.

I force myself to look away and my gaze lands on Whiskey instead. He's watching her, too, but seems to sense me looking and quickly averts his gaze from her.

He's been avoiding me ever since our little encounter in the infirmary, for some reason. I'm not sure if it's regret, or simple embarrassment. He's always getting himself worked up over nothing.

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