Page 67 of Rebel Fates

Without letting me go, he asks, “How long have you been off of your world?”

“What?” I shake my head. What does he care?

“How long?” he asks with a stern tone.

“Uh, several Earth days?” I answer. “I don’t really know how much time has passed.”

He sniffs the air. Not creepy at all.

“You were near Hathorans?” he asks.

“The guys? Yes, I was. I… uh, escaped the furballs and stowed-away on their ship.”

“Furballs?” He sounds like he’s smiling. That’s a good sign, right?

I’ve always thought it was odd how one can hear a smile in someone’s voice.

“Tirbs? Whatever, the slavers.” I shrug. “But then they captured me again.”

Hood inspects my neck and shoulders by lifting my hair.

“What are you doing?”

“Checking for marks.”

“What do you mean by marks?” I frown and try to turn away, feeling self-conscious.

“Bites.”

“Okay… Why would I have bites?” Then I remember in the guys’ passionate talk, they mentioned biting a few times.

“You don’t know what’s happening to you?” he asks.

“I was sold. And now I expect you will either have me do chores around the ship, experiment on me, or rape me. Maybe all the above?”

“You have no idea what you are? What an omega is?” he sounds fascinated.

“Not really. Is that good or bad?” I ask, finding my feet again.

“Both.” He turns and doesn’t explain, instead leading me into a room. A medical bay. “On the table.”

It’s much like Rok’s exam table, but the rest of Hood’s set up has twice as much equipment. Perhaps he’s a doctor or scientist. Or maybe he just likes gizmos.

Instead of following orders, I glare at the table because I don’t want to be immobilized again.

When I hesitate, he says, “I asked you to get on the table.” Hood points at the table. When I don’t move, he tilts his head like a confused dog. “Why are you resisting?”

I confess, “I don’t want to be locked down on the table, unable to move.”

“If you cooperate, I won’t need to activate that feature,” he assures me. “On the table,” he says again, but his tone is not as domineering.

I hop up onto the table before he throws me onto it. I’m sure that would be his next step after niceties didn’t work.

Hood moves in close as I lay down. I now notice he’s not only wearing a hood, but there’s a shield, so I can’t see his face.

A scanner beam runs over my body. Then he studies his computer, reading my results.

“Why do you wear the hood and the mask? Are you disfigured or something?” I ask.

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