Page 9 of Bound to the Guard

Damien’s attention lingers on my bare arm, on the thin scars that form a crisscross pattern up the length of my forearm and the track marks left by needles. “You have a lot of old wounds.”

Ashamed of the shiny patches of skin, I curl my arm to my chest, hiding it behind my knees. The scars are a roadmap of my suffering, each one a reminder of the countless violations inflicted upon my body and soul.

I want to disappear, to melt into the shadows and escape the revulsion sure to follow. But there’s nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. I’m trapped.

My breath comes in shallow gasps, and I brace myself for the inevitable condemnation.Ugly Omega. Worth nothing more than the organs stored in your rotten flesh.

“You had a pretty nasty wound on your bicep.” Damien gestures to my arm, the motion slow as if trying not to spook a frightened animal. “What happened to you?”

Silent, I curl tighter as shivers wrack my body. How can I tell this Alpha about the tracker I dug out of my flesh? The desperation that drove me to mutilate myself for a chance at freedom?

He wouldn’t understand. He couldn’t.

Damien senses my unease, and he changes tack. “Do you know where you are right now?”

Tongue darting out to lick my dry lips, I repeat the address Jade gave me.

“That’s right,” Damien encourages. “What’s your name?”

I roll my wrist, exposing my barcode. “07825.”

Damien’s face remains gentle. “That’s going to be hard for me to remember. Do you have a nickname?”

“Seven.”

“Nice to meet you, Seven.” He smiles to put me at ease. “How old are you?”

My tongue prods at a crack in my lip. Should I lie and say that I’m younger than I am? Or older? Unsure what this Alpha wants, I go with the truth. “Twenty, I think.”

Unfazed that I don’t know for sure, he asks, “Do you remember why you came here, Seven?”

Am I still where Jade told me to go?

The medical room, the sterile white walls, the gleaming equipment and the silenced monitors raise prickles of suspicion on my skin.

Damien’s expression turns thoughtful. “You don’t like this room, do you?”

Throat tight, I shake my head. The clinical atmosphere, the antiseptic smell, and the cold metal surface all remind me too much of the lab, of the endless experiments, the searing pain, and the moment I lost hope.

“Your arm was badly infected,” Damien explains. “You slept for two days. Lost a lot of blood, too. We used the medical supplies on hand meant for my cousin’s fiancé, in case he has complications with his delivery.”

Excited, he leans closer to confide, “I’m going to be an uncle.”

“First cousin once removed,” I whisper, the words slipping out before I can stop them.

Damien chuckles. “Uncle will be easier for the kid to remember, don’t you think?”

How do I respond? What’s the best answer to appease him?

This Alpha confuses me with his gentle words and unexpected kindness. I’m not used to being treated like a person, like someone who matters. It’s terrifying because it makes me feel human again, and I’m not sure it’s safe to allow myself such freedom.

Sensing my discomfort, Damien changes the subject once more. “Would you like to go somewhere more comfortable in the house?”

Torn between the desire to escape this sterile room and the fear of what awaits me outside of the lab, I stay silent.

When I don’t respond, Damien reaches out and touches the leg of the cart I hide behind. “Can I move this?”

Blood rushes through my ears, and I freeze in place. I should say something, agree or refuse, or give some sign of my wishes. But indecision leaves me paralyzed as self-preservation and the desperate need to trust this man war within me.

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