Page 13 of Terror

“Yes.” I trim the bushes.

Sotay is quiet, then: “Kitten is that good, huh?”

I hang up.

Chapter 5

Tabby

Pain wakes me. It’s the stabbing pain of an empty belly and heat coming together in an explosion of headache that makes me wince as I roll to my back. Cold sweat drips down my brow. I cover myself with a cotton blanket and wipe my face, neck, and arms. My skin is sensitive. A gentle brush of my fingers between my legs feels like my pussy might explode into thousands of pieces. I need Betaren now.

Walking proves almost impossible, but I manage to use the bathroom and get to the landline. I dial Travis. He doesn’t pick up. I dial again. He ignores me. I dial Korea, and my family lets it ring too. Fine! I punch in the number I found on Travis’s phone that one time he forgot it at my house. It picks up on the second ring. “Ms. Park.”

I snort. Go figure everyone knows little ol’ me, but I know nothing of them. “Send me the Betaren, you bastards, or you’ll see no money next month.”

“Negative. The Alpha Collector is at your house.”

“Are you watching me?”

“Yes, Omega. We have eyes everywhere.”

It’s only then that I listen more closely. A rattle comes from the background. I stare at the phone. It’s a Regha male. They’re the only ones who can produce these sounds when they breathe.What the hell?“If I do not have the pills within one hour, I will stop the funding.”

“Do not threaten me, little girl.”

“Send me the pills!” I shriek, then cover my mouth. The phone drops from my hand and my knees fold. Pain sears my middle, liquid trickles out of my pussy, and I need ice.Terror is cold.Damn him. His body feels like a summer breeze, cooling my skin while I sunbathe. The Omega heat is just another way for my biology to saygo find ice for your pussy or get an Alpha to keep you cool.

With the tech coming and going, ice is almost impossible to make. Downstairs, I check the fridge anyway. It’s fully stocked, and my belly growls at the steak Terror put in there. Where is he anyway? I turn to make a round of the house and spot his duffel bag. It’s wide open, so I peek inside. A change of clothes, and a little box that I shamelessly open to find floss. The Hordesman flosses his teeth. That’s unexpected. I drop the box back in and search the ground floor, using my legs while they still work. I know I’m gonna have to crawl up into my nest and ride out this damn heat again. Going through Betaren withdrawals along with heat will be a hell I’m not looking forward to.

A peek out the back door, and I freeze. There’s an army of Collectors in my backyard, and judging by the leaves floating in the pool and all over the garden, they’re landscaping. Dear Lord, what in the world? I slide open the glass door, whining when the pain hits my middle, my pussy dripping liquid. I rub my thighs. There’s no sense in wearing underwear. I’ll just have to do more laundry.

Terror is shirtless, his back turned to me so I can see the myriad glowing yellow tattoos, inviting my fingers to trace them. I fist my shaking hands. He rises his head as if sensing, or perhaps smelling, my presence. He drops the tools and turns around. There he stands, big, broad, hard, and tattooed.

I must’ve gawked because he smirks. I think he likes me looking. I think he wants me to, so I don’t blink as I trace the serpent’s tail tattoo all the way to the low-hanging waistband. How far does the tail go?

Terror tsks. “Forvem, erect yourself a pole.”

“Oh, come on, Alpha, I just glanced.”

“Quit whining like a pussy and do it.”

The Collectors all wear uniforms complete with red capes, as if they’re some kind of heroes. They’re not. They terrorize people when they barge into homes to find and mark Omegas. I notice none besides Forvem acknowledged me, though I’m sure they know I’m watching. I guess they’re really into clipping bushes.

The old clock in the den dings, and I check my watch. It’s nine o’clock. The power hours are from four to eight. “The tech hours changed?” I ask.

Terror wipes his hands on his pants and, in one fast move, slips them off.

I gape. He doesn’t let me get a better look but dives inside the pool, swims closer to me, then leaps out and walks toward me. There’s a wet god coming at me. All I can do is hold on to the door so my knees don’t collapse and open my mouth wide so I can receive the nectar that is his seed.

But the heat ignites and takes me down anyway.

Terror holds me up and carries me over his shoulder.

“I’m going in!” he shouts. Hooting follows us inside the kitchen, where he drops me off on the island. I bend over in pain.

“The nest,” he says gently and strokes my cheek.

His touch cools my skin. I almost want to tell him where it is, but I shake my head. “My room.”

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