Page 23 of The Omega Thief

Shite. What did he do? They would give him a third dose. Attiker knew without a shadow of a doubt he would rather be dead than turn out like his ma. He didn’t know how he was thinking clearly now.

Rough hands dragged him to his feet, but he let his head lull and gave them all his weight.

The next slap was across his face, but he was prepared for it. “S’what?” he slurred, then made a good impression of being senseless.

“Attiker,” Grape snapped out and the next hit was to his belly.

He wanted to vomit, but he managed to simply groan, grunted a little, and kept up the pretense.

“Give him a third,” Grape ordered, irritation and suspicion in his voice. “This is taking too long. I want him begging for it.”

Attiker knew he had to get to a blade, something to slit his own throat with, but he didn’t even know if either of these goons had any weapons, and he daren’t open his eyes. He remembered the slight sting he’d felt as someone stumbled into him, and he guessed they’d fashioned tipped darts laced with fever white.

“Not if you want him alive,” the second man said. “A third this soon can cause convulsions. Seen it plenty. Give him until last bell. He’s tied and ain’t going nowhere.”

Attiker nearly cried in relief and collapsed on the floor as they both let go. He didn’t move his body, but his mind was in overdrive, and he concentrated on calming his heart. He needed a plan. He had no idea how long it was until last bell. It had to be at least the day after he’d met Eryken if they’d given him two doses.

What would Raz be doing?

Unbidden, his prince came into his mind, and Attiker shook his head mentally. His? The great and utterly beautiful Raz’mar Kinsharae would never be his. He’d know Attiker was missing by now and probably sat with his courtiers, thanking his lucky stars that Attiker had run and saved him the bother of trying to get out of the embarrassment.

He knew the myths surrounding bondeds. That they were for life, but—Attiker froze as the memory slammed into him. My wolf. He had a wolf. How did it work? Could he shift? Did that give him a chance to get out of there? A little hope curled in his still-sensitive belly. He pressed his fingers slightly against his gut, still careful to seem out of it. He thought hard and tried to ignore the soreness creeping into his limbs.

His throat tightened as he remembered Raz’s thumb gliding over his hand, urging him to say what he saw. And the powerful Fenrir wolf that had seemed to wander into his mind, and the smaller white one that the Fenrir guarded. Another emotion sprang to mind, but Attiker pushed it away. He remembered the feel of the fur as Raz had touched him and searched for it again.

Nothing.

But he’d seen it, seen them. He’d felt it. But he felt no awareness now. More a big gaping hole inside him where something should be. An ache started in his chest. What was wrong? He almost shook before he remembered not to move, but what if his wolf was dead? He had no idea how the fever white would affect it, and a sudden and unexpected cramp in his guts had him struggling not to react. He pressed his lips together hard to stop the whimper escaping that bubbled up his throat and something that felt too much like grief seemed to reach out with bony fingers, their sharp nails scraping his sensitive skin, burrowing almost inside him and clutching much too tight.

Attiker couldn’t help the gasp at the next cramp that the two goons heard and came to investigate. He rocked a little against the hard ground, trying to escape the intrusion. He felt rough hands check and tighten his bonds, but he almost didn’t care. Whatever was happening to his body consumed more and more of his mind.

Time slipped away as Attiker seemed to descend into the fiery depths of hell. His skin burned. Pain like he’d never felt in his life wracked every part of his body. He shivered, sweated, then tried to curl up as Grape’s voice echoed around the space.

“What in seven hell’s is wrong with him?”

Attiker would have laughed if he could have gotten his too-dry tongue to move. He was dying. He knew that. Wasn’t it obvious?

“I didn’t give him anymore. I daren’t.”

Attiker wanted to screamplease. He would gladly take any fever white to dull his torment. He wouldn’t live anyway. He just wanted it to stop.

“I reckon he’s dying,” came a tentative voice.

Yes, Attiker agreed, regret as painful as the invisible knife stripping his skin, piercing flesh and twisting into his heart.

Grape shouted something, but he couldn’t seem to grasp individual words.

The other man swore. Then he thought he heard hurried footsteps. Had they left? Not that it made any difference. He just wanted it over. He had another image in his mind of a large black wolf searching for something. Maybe the white one? But he knew that one was already dead and gone.

He just wished it had taken him, as well.

Razclutchedtheplaincloak tight and tried to hunch over as they left the passage that took them to the west of the city gates. Even disguised, his height made him difficult to hide. The exit wasn’t ideal as it was some trek to the docks, and they couldn’t use horses. It wasn’t quite dark either, which would have made things so much easier.

Raz could easily shift, but that brought about its own problems. His wolf was distinctive. If…when…they found Attiker, he needed Thakeray to be able to bring transport and the healers, and no human could keep up with his wolf.

They picked up a pace that ensured Thakeray just stayed with him, skirting the edge of the cottages and trying to stay in the shadows as the sun dipped. He knew his bonded would be feeling the effects of their separation by now, and he knew this entire mess was his fault. If he believed in a higher power, he would beg for one more chance. One more chance to prove he was a worthy mate.

Even at a clip, it took way too long to reach the Bluebell. At least it was dark enough to hide him. He stepped close to Thakeray as the man seemed to have to gulp in air. “I have to shift into my wolf. Bring the cloak, but hide the clothes.” He would worry about those later.

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