Page 35 of Captive Omega

I fell asleep. That’s a given.

As I rub the sleep from my eyes, the ugly purple-blue bruise on my shoulder is a painful, throbbing reminder of the last twenty-four hours.

My mind flashes back to shoving Rupert to his death from the factory, his head cracking open like a coconut. And Vaughn, a flirty beta, saved me from certain death in the bottom of an alley and brought me to a mansion where I came face to face with my scent matches.

They’d been outside in the hallway, their voices pitched low, but I’d known they were talking about me.

Why else would they move away from the door to continue their conversation?

Someone had knocked when I had my head between my knees, struggling to breathe.

They hadn’t left, even though I hadn’t answered that knock. Gasping for breath as tiny bright lights danced across my vision, I’d hobbled over to the bathroom, started up the shower and waited for whoever was knocking to get the message to stay the fuck outside.

And they had.

Eventually.

More surprisingly, the tightness in my chest had eased, and I’d sat with my back to the bed, my knife in hand, watching the door in case someone forced the lock. It’s a miracle I didn’t stab myself in the leg.

My feet still throb, though the pain isn’t as bad as it was yesterday. When I lift one foot, then the other to check, there’s only a little blood spotting my dressing.

The sound of muffled laughter draws my gaze to the door. It doesn’t come from right outside, but farther away. Maybe even downstairs.

I hesitate for a beat. Conscious I can’t stay in this room forever, I tighten my hold on the knife, unlock the door and open it, braced to slam it shut at the first sign of trouble.

Right outside my door are two white bags. Both with designer labels.

That’s not the only thing out there.

There’s a handsome blond beta sitting cross-legged as he juggles three palm-size, silver, spiked edge throwing stars.

Vaughn’s hair is loose around his face, the damp ends brushing his shoulders, and he’s dressed all in black. If my feet weren’t killing me, I’d think I was dreaming this up.

I watch him for several seconds, struggling to believe what I’m seeing. “How are those not cutting your hands?”

I have a brief flash of tropical sea-storm eyes when he peers at me, but he keeps up his juggling. “Practice. That and I’m good with my hands.”

Why do I think he’s flirting with me?

“Juggling and shooting?”

“Among other things.” His lip quirks in a half smile.

There it is again. More evidence of flirtatious behavior.

Instead of telling him to go away, I lean my head on the side of the door and watch him.

He never slows his act as he uncrosses his legs and pushes himself to his feet. “The clothes are for you. Sadie sent vitamins and painkillers as well. Breakfast is downstairs when you want it.”

Sadie must have gotten up extra early to have it to me first thing.

Vaughn ambles down the hallway. I was sure I’d left bloody footprints in my wake, but there’s no hint of blood at all, just bright white carpets a beta is juggling down.

“You’re not going down the stairs like that, are you?” I call after him.

“Why not?”

I open my mouth. Then shut it again.

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