Page 8 of Feral Alphas

The alpha from the opposite cell swivels toward the sound of my voice and his nose lifts in the air. His hair has been buzzcut too, but the bleached top looks unnatural when his brows are thick and dark. His cheeks hollow like he’s underweight, and the eyes above them slant down, narrowing as he sweeps me with a long look. From here he looks shorter than the other alphas.

I lick my dry lips. If they’re responding to the sound of my voice, should I keep going? “I’m O—ah, no, I’m Rose.” I bite back the tears threatening to spill as I consider my name. I thought my future pack would gift me a name when we matched, but it seems all the dreams I clung to are shattering around me. No special name, no pack. Just this room full of feral alphas.

“I’m not sure exactly why I’m here, but I feel like I should apologize for whatever happens.” I open my hands, indicating my body. A faint flush runs up my neck as I consider what it might meanto go into heat with all these alphas in the room. Doesn’t an omega need an alpha to break her heat?

I glance through my lashes at the sleek men, wondering if Petrov truly plans to let them have me. One or two, I could maybe survive, but any more and I might die. And what about nesting and the first heat being special? I chew my lip, swallowing down a thick stone of self-pity lodged in my throat.

The blanket has an annoying wrinkle, and I wriggle over to smooth it out. A minute later I’m up on my feet to pace the room, stepping out twelve feet by nine feet. At the far end, there’s a ridge in the wall marking a sealed doorway, meaning I don’t even have a solid wall at my back. Besides the bed, which is bolted down (I checked), there’s a tiny wash basin and metal toilet which is cold as ice on my ass when I use it.

From across the room, I notice the blanket on the bed hasn’t even been tucked in on the ends, and I fix that post haste, before sitting back down and dragging the pillow into my lap. But I’m not planning on sleeping, so should I fold the blanket up and lay it at the foot of the bed?

I freeze in place. Am I nesting? I clap my hands to my cheeks, finding them hot. After so many years of thinking I was broken, now it’s starting, but surrounded by gray concrete walls, metal bars, and a single blanket instead of a special nest. My throat constricts with tears instead of joy. The thickness travels down through my chest to lie in my abdomen, leaving me feeling heavy and achy.

Jumping to my feet, I return to pacing the room. Sweat trickles down my shoulder blades and my nose tingles as an unfamiliar scent hits me, thick and floral. My legs quiver with a need I don’t even havewords to express, weighted and empty all at the same time. The ache in my belly grows stronger and a whimper slips between my teeth.

The alphas in the room sense it too, their noises rising and growing deeper. If I close my eyes, it really sounds like a pack of dogs snarling. I throw myself onto the bed and pull the blanket over my head, but it’s too thin to shut out the lustful chorus.

The worst thing is, sane or not, part of me wants to squeeze through the bars and offer myself to them.

The pain is tolerable now, but if it gets worse, I’ll be in real trouble. Maybe omegas can die without help. Fear tiptoes across my skin, leaving a trail of goosebump footprints and I clutch at my throat, finding it difficult to breathe.

My pussy throbs with sexual urges that leave me quivering as I huddle on the bed. I close my thighs together against the strange desire to thrust against something, or even to touch myself. Nothing helps. I clamp my hand over the heated pulses in an attempt to hold myself together. Even the ground seems to hum, which means my senses must be completely deteriorating.

My own scent is too cloyingly sweet without an alpha to offset it and I choke. I never had to consider this, but what happens if an omega doesn’t have a pack to help her through a heat? Would I get desperate enough to seek out one of these wild creatures? Not that I can reach them.

I peek out of my blanket and immediately lock eyes with the black-haired alpha. He hasn’t moved the whole time, standing rigidly against the bars, gazing at me. His nostrils flare and quivers run through his body, but he’s not snarling like the other men along the corridor.

I can’t help wondering what that coiled tension means. Would he tear my throat out with his bare hands, or would his instinct to protect an omega override whatever torture they’ve subjected him to?

By the time Petrov comes back later, I’m moaning in pain and barely coherent through fever.

“Oh, fucking alpha’s balls, would you take a whiff of that?” He sounds elated.

A stranger answers him with a deep laugh. “And look how worked up the mutts are.”

“He chose a good one,” the driver from before adds.

I hug my pillow with a death grip as they walk the length of the room, looking into each of the cages. The alphas inside throw themselves against the bars, attempting to reach the three men, growling and scratching like they have rabies.

The tall stranger comes closer, and I catch the unmistakable whiff of an alpha coupled with the dominating aura I’ve heard about all my life. His broad shoulders seem to fill my line of sight and the muscles in his arms bunch like grapes as he crosses his arms. On instinct, I drop my eyes momentarily as he stops in front of the bars.

“Fuck, Petrov. Are you sure this is just a pre-heat?” The stranger grips the bars.

“That’s what the quacks at the clinic said, boss.”

The boss groans and runs his hand down his crotch, stroking a ridge in his pants. “No matter what I say after this, do not let me in there with her, you hear? It’s so bloody powerful, I wouldn’t be able to hold back until the true heat.”

Petrov snickers. “She’s enough to float even your boat? No wonder the dogs are so responsive.”

A faint timer buzzes and Petrov checks his watch. “First match is about to start. Let’s get ready to load the chute.”

Through the fever fog, I watch as they return to the end of the room and activate a panel on the wall. The caged alphas vibrate with rage, the ferocious sounds pouring out of them beyond belief.

I kneel up, clutching my aching belly. “What are you doing to them?”

The boss swivels my way, the faintest of smiles tugging up his dark lips. “They’re going out to fight in the ring, darling.”

A series of warning beeps sounds, and Petrov speaks into a radio, confirming something. Then a grating sound drags at my bones. The boss pulls out a metal rod, long like the one Petrov used, but my sensitive ears pick up a crackling sound as he shoves it between the bars.

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