Page 125 of Knot Their Omega

“That…”

“Doesn’t happen?” Dr. Malcom questions with a head tilt. He looks to Nathaníel. “I know you were in Europe for some time, Nathaníel. Tell me, is the cafe fighting scene over there still hush-hush, or are they boldly advertising the idea of Alphas fighting one another in cages in hopes of winning an Omega acceptance into her pack of feral Alphas?”

When I look at Nathaníel, his eyes darken.

“Bold and proud,” he mutters, trying not to look as devasted, despite it showing bluntly on his face. “Met a survivor and her pack. She got a massive tattoo on her back. Her pack that came in was five men, but she had tried to save more. Got those that perished names tattooed within the petals of blooming pink flowers. They call that shit the Feral Omega Games. Maddening shit that people spend millions on daily to keep going. The Omegas are orphans, volunteers, or kidnapped survivors.”

“Who would volunteer for that shit?” I whisper.

“They don’t know what they’re getting themselves into. Most are in dire situations where they’re either forced into arranged marriages that will lead them down to an early grave of torture and mayhem or take their chances going to a place that is unknown,” he reveals. “If they cherish the idea of freedom andlife enough, they’ll take the hopeful chance, despite obviously regretting it later.”

“Fuck…” I whisper. The whole scenario makes me remember how that other pack was trying to take Astraea away that night. If they had been successful, what would have stopped them from selling her to those types of industries, shipping her off, and receiving the loads of money they were desperate to have so they wouldn’t go bankrupt?

“Icarus.” Nathaníel’s hand is gripping my shoulder, forcing me out of my imaginative thoughts. “What’s upsetting you to go on a growling fit?”

Oops.

“The day I met Astraea, she was almost kidnapped by a pack who she rejected. They were just informed that their pack would be bankrupt in a few hours or some shit, and unless they got an Omega, they were screwed,” I confess. “I stopped them from hurting Astraea, but the idea of her…” I can’t even finish the sentence because it makes my blood boil.

From the growl that floats through the room, I know Nathaníel agrees that we’d never dare allow that to happen to our Rae.

“It would never happen,” Nathaníel assures me, as though reading my mind. “We wouldn’t allow that to happen. She’s ours now.”

I simply nod and look back to Dr. Malcom, who observes us.

“When you become a feral Alpha, the chances of reversing the effects are almost impossible,” he confesses.

“What?” I gasp.

“No fucking way,” Nathaníel adds on.

“It’s true,” Dr. Malcom admits. “And to be honest, I’d rather die from disease than face a fate like that.” He pulls out a different file and opens it up, displaying a bunch of charts.

“Which brings us back to Nathan Jr. As often as this scenario happens to Alphas across the world, it’s currently incurable.”

“It happens so often, yet there’s no cure,” I mutter. “No form of chemotherapy? How about radiation? I’m sure there has to be something.”

“Alphas aren’t like Omegas where if they have issues in their womb, they can just increase their risk of survival by having a hysterectomy,” Dr. Malcom emphasizes. “As I explained, there’s not enough funding or research being done to prevent this problem, which is why it’s deemed incurable. Even if you guys made the unanimous decision to be the first pack to try forms of treatment not ventured in, Nathaniel’s life expectancy is far too short. Vigorous tests would cost millions of dollars for quick results, and there are always chances of error. I also wouldn’t want you spending so much money on this, only to be a failure.”

“Money can be replaced,” Nathaníel quietly mutters. “My brother’s life can’t.”

“You realize money isn’t the issue here,” I stress. “We all have means of income. We can band together and get him the test he needs.”

We’re both stunned when Dr. Malcom laughs.

Actually laughs.

“Do you guys think money is the problem here?” When he looks between our confused expressions, he sighs. “You can order every test possibly available, whether they’re in a trial stage or give the best survival rate in the world. At the end of it all, if the client doesn’t want to take them, all you’re doing is wasting money.”

“W-What?” I’m confused enough to look at Nathaníel in hopes he can figure out what scenario is being painted here.

Cause I clearly don’t get it.

“We don’t understand,” Nathaníel reveals.

“Your brother won’t take the test.”

“How would you know?” Nathaníel argues and gestures to the bed where Nate is sleeping away. “He’s been unconscious this whole time.”

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