Page 81 of Feral Omega

His gaze snaps to mine, something raw and aching flashing in his eyes. Shame and guilt that catches me off-guard.

Alphas aren't supposed to hate themselves.

He turns away, hunching in on himself. A gargoyle poised to leap from the roof of a crumbling cathedral.

I hesitate, then reach for his pack. The ration bar crinkles as I unwrap it, breaking it in half with a decisive snap.

"Here," I say softly, holding out a piece. A peace offering, trembling between numb fingertips.

He stares at it for a long moment, the rise and fall of his chest speeding up. Then, cautiously, he takes it. More staring, then he looks away, even deeper self-loathing bleeding into his gaze as he motions stiffly to his mask.

"Oh," I murmur, looking away. "Sorry."

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch him glancing back at me as if to make sure I'm not watching as he reaches for the buckles on the back of his mask. He turns his whole body so there's no chance I can see his face.

We eat in silence, the dry crumbs sticking in my throat. When I finish, I lean against his back, too exhausted to care about propriety or pride.

He stiffens, but slowly—so slowly—relaxes. The tension bleeds out of him by degrees until he's a solid wall of heat and strength at my back.

I close my eyes, letting the steady drum of his heart lull me. I should be terrified. This beast of an alpha choked me into unconsciousness and dragged me into a fucking cave.

And yet, inexplicably, I feel safe.

Safer than I have since those soldiers hauled me kicking and screaming from my forest den so many years ago.

It's a dangerous feeling, I know.

A deadly illusion that could shatter at any moment.

But for now, in this frozen moment suspended between life and death, I let myself believe. Let myself hope, just for a heartbeat, that maybe I'm not as alone as I thought.

Chapter

Thirty-One

WHISKEY

The biting wind lashes my face as I haul Valek's dead weight down the treacherous slope of the cliff. Fuckin' lightweight went and got himself knocked out cold by a little omega. Or at least that's what he claims happened.

Figures. It's always the ones that run their mouths.

"Pick up the pace," Valek snarls, his gravelly voice dripping with venom despite the gash oozing crimson down his temple. "I think you've been 'bulking' a little too much."

I huff out a breath that fogs in the frigid air, lips curling in a sneer. "I could drop two hundred pounds right now if you wanna know what those jagged rocks down there feel like going straight up your ass."

"One ninety," he shoots back, boots scrabbling for purchase on the ice as he hangs off my back. "I'm not packing enough blubber to keep a small village warm through the winter."

A muscle ticks in my jaw as I shift my grip on his arm, fingers digging into the thick insulation of his tactical gear. "You know what they say, bro. Muscle weighs more than fat, and I’m ninety-nine-point-nine percent muscle.”

"Sure," he scoffs, one dark brow arching at me. "And I'm a saint."

I open my mouth for a scathing retort of my own, but the words die on my tongue as my foot skids on a patch of black ice. I windmill my free arm, fighting for balance as we both teeter precariously on the edge of the sheer drop.

Valek chuckles, low and mocking. "You are graceful despite your size, I'll give you that."

“You could show me a little gratitude for saving your ass,” I mutter when I’m steady on my feet again. “You’re damn lucky I’m big or you’d be a Popsicle right now.”

He barks out a harsh laugh in my ear.

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