Page 20 of The Omega Project

“It’s not necessary-.”

“I’m going to insist, Finn.”

I doubt Finn Visser hears that very often, but he just shrugs and leaves the room, clearly expecting us to follow. All eyes track our movements towards the elevator, and some of that sizzling tension soaks into me as we step inside. Finn hits the button for the basement, and I bite my lip, curious about where they’re taking me. We didn’t visit the bottom floor on the tour, Langston telling me it’s mainly for storage and servers, but when the doors open, we’re met by two security guards dressed all in black.

Beyond them is the type of reinforced door you find on a bank vault, but it doesn’t stop the richest, most potent scent from sneaking through the cracks and swirling around us. As my breath catches in disbelief, Finn turns to me with storm clouds in his eyes and asks, “If you were to switch, Ms. Nash, what would it be? Alpha or omega?”

Emily

“Alpha or omega?” One of the security guards is punching a code into the panel next to the door, and Finn is in front of me, so all I can see is his broad back in his leather jacket. It’s cooler down here, and I shiver as we enter the next room in single file. “I’m not sure, but since switching is a very rare phenomenon, I don’t think it matters.”

I’m not sure what he thinks of that answer because he doesn’t look back, continuing on down a narrow hallway. “And what do you know about the triggers that cause a switch?”

I shift a little on my feet, both from the chill air and the fact that I seem to be undergoing some kind of pop quiz my first day on the job. “I haven’t really got that far into the research materials yet, but I believe stress, danger, and compatibility all play a part.”

He pauses now, and I can see a hint of interest in his eyes. “Compatibility?”

“Well, I know arousal is cited as a factor, but that seems too broad. We all experience sexual arousal from our teenage years, and yet switching tends to occur in our twenties.” Finn doesn’t comment, but his brow lifts, encouraging more. “If it was just arousal, wouldn’t more switches trigger at an earlier age? It makes sense that it’s incited by someone we’re either genetically or emotionally compatible with. Perhaps there even has to be some kind of latent connection that’s triggered at the geneticlevel.”

This is just shooting in the dark in terms of theories, but Finn doesn’t look put out by my speculation. “And how would you measure that compatibility? Arousal often comes down to scent and physical reactions, but how could we determine if two people share that latent connection?”

“If I knew that, I’d be making a fortune in the matchmaking business,” I quip, and Finn gives me a small smile before continuing into the next room. The scent is even stronger than when we stepped out of the elevator, and I glance back at Langston. My mentor smells as alluring as he did in the car, but it’s nothing on the siren’s call ahead of us. It makes my stomach clench, both in anticipation and some kind of primal warning, and Langston grips my shoulder. I shiver at his touch, and I can’t tell if he’s trying to console me or steer me forward into whatever waits beyond the next reinforced door.

“So, is it genetics, compatibility, or a random stressor response?” Finn asks as we stop in a small room with a glass wall and a row of chairs. They all face the opaque glass, and I watch as a blurred shadow moves beyond it, striding in one direction before turning and moving rapidly back in the other. Finn makes no move to sit, but his gaze tracks the shadow across the glass, and his alpha dominance feels like hot oil spitting on my skin. “Which do you think is the more likely trigger, Ms. Nash?”

“Call me Emily,” I murmur, tearing my gaze from his profile and turning towards the glass. This room is even colder than the last, but a trickle of sweat is working its way down my spine. The cheap material of my suit jacket feels like sandpaper on my skin, and I cross my arms, pinching the tips of my elbows to keep myself focused. “Maybe it’s a mix of all three. There could be a switch ‘gene’, predisposing us to designation change, and a particular stressor is the trigger. But back to the matchmaking comment, what if there’s also a mating preference? I mean, thetheories can be rationally connected. With cross-trait mating, tall people mate with rich people, for instance, and eventually it shapes the genome…”

My voice trails off, and I don’t realise I’ve lifted my hands until I feel the cool glass of the tinted wall under my palms. The shadow has also stopped its frantic pacing and now that it’s stepped closer, I can see that the outline is a few inches taller than me. Its features are indecipherable, but it doesn’t stop another shiver from skimming down my spine.

“Or maybe it’s just fate,” Finn ponders, his voice so low I barely catch it.

“Fate?” The word dies in my throat, because he’s pressed some button on the wall and the glass is changing, the opaqueness seeping away. The room that materialises is much larger than I expect, with a daybed against one wall, a round table with two chairs in the centre, and a small but well-equipped kitchenette fitted next to a rear door. The floor is the same polished concrete under my feet, but there are rugs scattered around, and the walls are painted a soft dove gray. I’dalmostcall ithomey, if it didn’t also feel like a jail cell.

“Is it feeding time at the zoo?” A husky voice drawls, so thick with sarcasm I can feel the edge of my lips quirking up. But the guy standing on the other side of the glass isn’t smiling. In fact, he’s staring down at me with so much heat in his eyes I feel my face go red. “Such a pretty, little snack. I’m assuming she’s here for me?”

“Hello, Soren,” Finn says in a casual tone that doesn’t match the dominance coming off him in waves. “No wonder you’re hungry if you haven’t eaten your lunch. Was there something wrong with the soup?”

I’m vaguely aware of a tray on the table, with a bowl of soup, some cut up fruit, and a couple of bottles of water. None of it has been touched, and when I study Soren a little more closely,it’s hard not to react. Unlike the picture in his file that was taken at the beach, he’s lean to the point of malnourished, his tanned skin is now waxy, and the skin around his expressive eyes is sunken and sallow.

“It tastes like arse,” he responds with a sneer, his haunted eyes still glued to mine. “I want pancakes, especially if they taste as good as she smells.”

“Ms. Nash is a new employee,” Langston says quietly, standing so close behind me I can feel his suit jacket brush my back. “She’s here in a professional capacity, so how about you ease up on the flirtation, Romeo?”

“Ooh! Jealousy looks good on you, Fall. But she doesn’t smell like you, does she?” The apparition behind the glass lifts his nose and gives a long, deep sniff, his eyelids fluttering. “I’m getting notes of fresh cut grass and prime beta meat.” He gives a happy sigh. “Deliver methatbeta burger, and I might choke down the slop you keep serving me.”

“Eat your lunch, Soren,” Finn says in his calm, businesslike way, “and after I’ve caught Ms. Nash up on your case, she might sit here a while.” He touches the back of one of the chairs. “For observation purposes, but I don’t think you’d complain about the view.”

“Here’s a counteroffer, Alpha,” Soren purrs, lifting an arm and leaning against the glass. He’s wearing a white robe knotted at the front, and from the way it hangs off his broad shoulders, it’s clear that he’s naked underneath. “Invite the delicious Ms. Nash in here to eat with me, and I’ll scrape my plate clean. Plus, if she’s really here toobserveme, she can hear my story straight from the horse’s mouth. Isn’t that the basis of good ethnographic interviewing, Professor Fall?”

I don’t know a lot about anthropological methods, but it’s a good reminder that Soren is a scientist himself, and I can’t hide my smile at the way Langston rolls his eyes. But Finn isunmoved. “You know the drill, Soren. No more lunch dates until you show us you can follow your schedule.”

All the humour flees from Soren’s dark eyes. He opens his mouth like he wants to protest, but Finn is already leading me away from the window. Instead of retracing our steps, we head into another room, this one with an observation deck and a small meeting table with four chairs. It’s on the side angle to where we were just standing, and the glass is tinted differently. I realise it’s a one-way mirror and look at Langston with a frown. “Does he know we’re still watching him?”

“Soren knows all our tricks,” he says with a touch of regret, staring down into the room. “Unfortunately, none of this is new to him.”

I walk over to his side, watching as our ‘subject’ starts to pace again. His movements grow increasingly jerky, his breath coming in shorter, shallower pants. His eyes now look wild, and I’m not surprised when he turns and kicks the table over, sending the lunch tray crashing to the floor. But instead of diffusing his anger, it seems to feed it, and he tears at his white robe, raking his ragged nails across his chest in the process. As he finally rips the garment loose, he’s not only naked underneath, but also highly aroused. He’s sheened in sweat, his pale skin glistening around a red, throbbing erection that looks too large for his slim frame. I tear my gaze away, but not before I catch the look of abject misery on his face as he falls on the bed and starts ripping the silky sheets and pillows to shreds.

The violence is so potent it makes my head spin, and I can’t swallow the gasp that rises in my throat. “What’s he doing?”

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