Page 133 of Unhinged Omega

Sighing, I glance over the shredded raiders. "Waste not, want not," I mutter under my breath, my stomach coiling at the idea of touching the corpses. But the raiders' clothes are mostly intact, if a bit bloody. The biggest raider's tattered black jeans fit the Knight when I have him tear them off at the knees, and the trench coat works like a cloak with the sleeves tied around his broad shoulders.

Sort of.

He's beyond huge, even in comparison to that brick wall of a raider. I'm almost impressed with myself for taking his cock last night without dying. Especially when I let my mind wander back to what I just saw him do with those claws. Good thing he isn't completely feral and is clearly aware he could filet me like a damn fish without much effort.

For myself, I grab a relatively clean pair of pants—the other pair had piss in them—and a shirt that's way too big but better than nothing. Tied around my waist with a belt, it's sort of a dress. It's sure better than the robe.

I'm surprised clothes stolen from the corpses of raiders isn't a trendy style yet. Maybe I'll be a fashion pioneer when I get back to my normal life.

When I turn back around, the Knight is gazing at me like I'm the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. Which is… strangely endearing, considering I know I've never looked like more of a mess in my life. But when I offer him a little smile, he looks away quickly so I can’t see his face. My heart sinks.

"Wait here," I tell him before going over to one of the bikes.

Raiders always have saddlebags full of useful shit. Sure enough, I find what I'm looking for. A long scarf, probably stolen from some merchant caravan. It's dark gray and surprisingly clean. Although my standards for "clean" have admittedly dropped lately.

"This'll work," I say, turning around just in time to see him picking up one of the dismembered arms like he's about to take a bite out of a chicken wing. His long tongue curls out through his sharp teeth.

"Hey!" I yell.

The Knight freezes.

"Leave it! Unless you never want to lick my pussy again."

He drops the arm into the dirt with a low growl, slouching in clear shame. I feel a twinge of guilt, but after digging throughraider corpses for food, I can't stomach him taking "waste not, want not" tothatlevel. If he wants to eat raiders, he can do it when I'm not watching.

Once I'm sure I'm not going to get sick, I hold up the scarf. "Come here."

The Knight approaches cautiously. I have to gesture for him to bend down so I can reach, but once he does, I carefully wrap the scarf around his head and face, covering everything except his eyes and what remains of the upper corner of his mask. The fabric settles over his lower face, hiding the worst of the damage.

"There," I say, stepping back to examine my work. "That should help. At least until we can find you a new mask."

He reaches up to touch the scarf with his human hand, something almost like wonder in his eyes. Then he dips his head again, but this time it feels less like hiding and more like he's grateful for some reason. Why? Because I'm being nice to him and treating him like a person?

"Don't mention it," I mutter, suddenly uncomfortable with the intensity of his gaze. "We should get moving. Someone might have heard the gunshots."

I eye the motorcycles, but they're too small for the Knight's massive frame. Plus, the noise would just draw more attention. On foot it is.

I grab a few more supplies from the saddlebags. All the money the raiders had on them, a flask of water, some dried meat jerky that looks edible and hopefully isn't human, and most importantly, a bottle of what appears to be the world's most offensive cologne. The scent makes my eyes water, but that's the point. Combined with the Knight's alpha musk all over me, it should help mask my omega scent.

I douse myself in the cologne, grimacing at the smell. "Sorry about this," I tell the Knight when he recoils slightly, looking like I've done something grievously offensive to him on a personallevel. "But it's better than advertising my presence to every alpha within ten miles."

He makes a sound that might be agreement, or might just be disgust at the cologne. Hard to tell.

We start walking again, following the river north. The Knight stays close, but not too close, like he's trying to give me space while still being near enough to protect me if needed. It should be weird, having the monster I’ve always been terrified of acting as my personal bodyguard.

But somehow, it just feels... right.

Like this is how it was always supposed to be.

My legs and feet are killing me, but I'm trying not to make it too obvious so he doesn't worry. Can't complain, really, when the Knight is trudging along beside me without a word despite his injuries.

Some of the bandages I applied yesterday have come loose or fallen off entirely. The wounds beneath are already starting to heal, but they still look painful. His incredible healing factor seems to be working overtime. Injuries that should have killed him are now just angry red cuts and dents in his skin.

I wonder what other modifications they made to him, besides the obvious metal parts. How much of him is still human? How much was changed in whatever facility made him this way?

And what happens when we reach the black market?

I can't exactly walk around with an eight-foot-tall killing machine forever. Someone's bound to recognize him eventually. And then what? Do we fight our way out? Run again?

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