Page 19 of Feral Alphas

I look up and find him leaning on the railing overhead, smirking at me. “Please don’t!” I clench my fists, trying to push back the icy terror rising through me.

He hums, considering. “It could be quite a show. Would go viral on the dark web.” His vicious laugh floats across the room. Most of those alphas would tear me apart like greyhounds with a rabbit, or maybe their baser instincts would take over first, even without a heat.

I glare up at Petrov, fear turning to hot anger. “Don’t you need me in one piece?”

He nods and grins. “That we do. Got to get our money’s worth from you.” He shoves off the railing and disappears, his boots thumping as he comes down stairs I can’t see. A moment later the outer door opens, and he walks in.

He’s toying with me and he finds it funny. I want to lash out at him, to make him suffer, but I’m powerless. He handles dangerous killer alphas every day of the week, so what can a weak omega ever do to him?

“Do you want to swim?”

I cross my hands over my body and shake my head. “No.” This doesn’t seem like the place for getting into an even more vulnerable state in water. Every time I want to relax somebody snarls or threatens me, and I wind up fearing for my life all over again.

“Another time maybe. Beats trying to shower the dogs. Let’s go back.” He clicks his fingers and beckons me toward the door.

The familiar prickling sensation of tears works up the back of my throat as I follow, and I swallow hard, not wanting to give Petrov the satisfaction. He seems like the kind of jerk who’d get off on my tears.

The alpha noise picks up as we walk back. Petrov growls under his breath. “What’s all the racket?”

Zazu, one of the younger-looking alphas, roars, trying to reach through his bars.

Owen shrugs. “Mufasa set them off.”

Petrov pulls the metal rod out of his pocket and flicks it against the bars at the end of the row. Mufasa bears his teeth, rumbling faintly.

The kennel manager laughs darkly. “I reckon they know a big fight’s coming.” His beady eyes slide my way, and his grin deepens. “Or maybe it’s your scent still.” He snakes his arm over my shoulder and across my front, trapping me against his chest. He sucks in a whiff of air noisily. “Even not in heat you smell fucking good. Now I can’t wait for championship night to smell the real deal again!”

Mufasa throws himself against the bars, raging at Petrov as he walks me backward into my cell. If he wasn’t an insane killing machine, I could almost imagine he’s angry on my behalf.

“Keep up the good work, Rose,” Petrov says as he pushes me in and slams the door closed. “Keep them keen.”

I set my green slop bowl on the floor and climb onto the bed, hugging myself.

“Come on, Owen. Let’s go service the truck.” He salutes me from the far end of the room. “We’ve got a championship to win.”

I wait until the door shuts behind him before flashing him a rude finger, then wrap my blanket around myself to ward off the chill settling in my bones. I’m all alone with no one looking for me.

Mufasa leans against his bars, watching me with those intense gray eyes of his. He quietened down the moment Petrov left and now his nostrils twitch as he sniffs the air. Maybe I’ll sing him a song and see if he likes it.

I smile thinly. At least I’m not completely alone, and it feels good, even if that person is a prisoner the same as I am. But in just over a week, he’ll face off in another fight to the death. And to make sure they fight their hardest, I’ll be forced into my first heat.

My smile fades.

Chapter eight

Liam

I lean back against the interrogation room wall where I have a good view of both the haze dealer and Colt Nesters. My new case partner lays his arms wide on the table, the subtle move making him appear vulnerable through the chest while also framing the criminal on both sides, hedging him in.

The dealer’s sweating already, and Colt’s only just sat down. I rub my chin to hide my smirk. This fellow in orange with his hands cuffed to the table doesn’t know what’s about to hit him.

“Where should we start, Ethan Randall? Possession of five-hundred mils of unregistered omega haze? Or resisting arrest?” Colt clicks his tongue. “I guess your favorite interior design is prison cell.”

“It wasn’t mine,” the man grumbles.

“Come now, you’ve had a day to think of a better excuse than that,” Colt says, his voice pleasant. “Not to mention I took you down myself with the money in your hand.”

One could be tempted to miss the power locked under Colt’s calm exterior, but after fourteen years in the Bureau together I know it’s there. I switch my gaze back to Ethan, watching for any minuteexpressions that could be useful. If I can pull my weight in this case, Colt will have to acknowledge me, and not only as his rival.

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