Page 63 of Feral Omega

The frigid mountain air stings my lungs with every breath. Snow crunches underfoot as we forge deeper into the rugged wilderness, the imposing peaks of the Redtooth Mountains looming all around us. I keep my eyes trained on the massive, hunched form of Wraith ahead, using his hulking frame to blaze a path through the deep powder.

With every grueling step, icy flakes swirl up to sting my face, clinging to my lashes. The cold seeps through my layers of tactical gear, raising goosebumps along my bare arms. But I grit my teeth and push onward, determined not to be the weak link.

The deep drifts swallow my combat boots up to the knees, the powdery resistance making each stride feel like I'm wading through wet sand. My thighs burn with the exertion, calves screaming in protest. Sweat trickles down my spine despite the bitter chill, plastering stray tendrils of hair to my flushed cheeks.

A huff of frustration escapes me as I lose my footing yet again, pitching forward. I brace for the full-body impact, ready to be swallowed by the snow...

Only for a massive hand to seize my bicep in an iron grip, hauling me back upright with dizzying ease.

I suck in a sharp breath as I'm righted, snow exploding in a frozen cloud around my boots. My gaze snaps up, pulse thundering in my ears as I find myself staring straight into Wraith's shock-blue eyes.

The feral alpha towers over me, that strange, whooshing rasp of his breath filling the air between us. He regards me for a tense heartbeat, giving no hint of the thoughts lurking behind his frigid gaze, even more unrelenting than the sharp wind rushing through the mountains.

Then, without a word, he simply releases my arm and turns away, continuing his loping strides through the fresh powder.

I swallow hard, rooted in place for a beat as I stare at the massive set of footprints stretching out before me. The path he's cleared seems to mock me, daring me to keep up with that brutal, unhurried pace.

A snicker from behind me snaps me out of my reverie. "You need me to carry you, Princess?" Whiskey's mocking drawl rings out, that mischievous smirk evident even in his tone. "Can't have you slowing us down before we even reach the good stuff."

God, I'd take "rabbit" any day over that.

Heat flares in my cheeks, a spike of humiliation and anger rushing through me. I whip around to face the smug alpha, jaw clenched and hands balling into fists at my sides.

For a beat, I teeter on the razor's edge, warring with the urge to unleash a blistering retort, maybe even throw a punch. Anything to wipe that infuriating grin off the bastard's face.

Keeping my face carefully blank, I simply raise my middle finger in a rude salute, holding the defiant gesture for a beat before turning on my heel and resuming the trudge after Wraith.

Whiskey's laugh rings out behind me, a deep, rich sound that carries on the frigid wind. To my surprise, it holds no trace of malice or condescension—just pure, unfettered amusement. As if my crude gesture was the funniest thing he's seen all day.

I risk a glance over my shoulder, brow furrowed in confusion. Even Thane's granite facade seems to soften a fraction, the barest hint of amusement glinting in his eyes.

I don't understand. Any other alpha would have retaliated instantly at such a brazen display of disrespect, especially from an omega. I've seen it happen countless times at the Center—a defiant look, a muttered curse, and suddenly there's blood on the floor and a broken body being dragged away.

But these alphas... they just laugh it off like it's nothing.

The realization sends a strange pang through my chest, an odd mix of relief and confusion. I quickly shove the feeling down, burying it deep. I can't afford to let my guard slip, not even for a moment.

Just because they didn't lash out this time doesn't mean they won't eventually. Alphas are all the same at their core. Brutal, domineering beasts who live to control and subjugate. It's only a matter of time before the Ghosts show their true colors.

I turn my face back to the wind, letting the icy sting numb my flushed cheeks as I focus on putting one foot in front of the other. The snow crunches rhythmically beneath my boots, a soothing metronome that helps drown out the nagging doubts swirling in my head.

Time seems to blur as we trek onward, the rugged peaks of the Redtooth Mountains sliding past in an endless procession of snow and stone. My lungs burn with each labored breath, the thin air leaving me lightheaded and queasy. But I grit my teeth and push through the discomfort, determined not to show any weakness.

I can feel the others' gazes on me like physical weights, assessing and calculating with every step. Waiting for me to falter, to prove myself the fragile little omega they all believe me to be.

But I won't give them the satisfaction. I've survived far worse than a little cold and exertion. I'll be damned if I let a bit of snow bring me to my knees.

So I keep my head down and my strides steady, ignoring the burn in my muscles and the ache in my chest. One foot in front of the other, over and over, until the rhythm becomes almost meditative.

I lose myself in the monotony of it, letting my mind drift as the miles go by.

Chapter

Twenty-Six

VALEK

My boots crunch on the frozen ground with each step as I stride through the snow-laden forest. The frigid mountain air stings my lungs with every breath, but I relish the icy burn. It keeps me sharp, focused on the hunt.

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