Page 6 of Feral: Part One

Every so often, someone will send a letter to the main house. It’s usually a family member or a friend just checking in but the letters soon die off and all communication is cut when people realize we’re not going to be the same as we came in.

For us, though, our fathers twisted the narrative and made us the enemy. I got a letter from my mother within the first couple of months but haven’t heard from anyone since. “No. You?”

“Nope, and I don’t expect to. They cut me off right before I went to jail. Got the letter a month in that all finances and everything in my name had been transferred to the executive who took my sister’s spot. Fantastic. I’m not bitter at all,” he muses, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

I snort. “Well, let’s get this shit over with and then we can prove our fathers are pieces of shit for whatever they’ve been hiding.”

“Deal.”

The main path weaves into this extravaganza that matches the rest of this compound and tries to dull the reality of this place. I don’t knock, pushing in through the front door, Graves leaning back in his chair as we enter. He’s wearing the same shit eating grin he always is and I’d beat him to hell for it if it didn’t mean jail time for me.

There’s too many cameras and security even if we can’t see it. I’d be stripped of my limited permissions if I did anything stupid. And we can’t afford stupid.

“Graves,” I mumble.

The Alpha just stands, nodding toward the hallway. “Follow me.”

There’s no words between us, no questions, no explanations needed. This is just part of the routine. He’ll hand us the Omega, we’ll break them in, and then return them when the Omega submits willingly.

Graves stops just before the door at the end and turns to us. “The council believed that your pack would be the best for this Omega. He’s feral and can be very volatile. You’ll bond him, break him, and then fully rehabilitate him to secure your release. If you can’t accomplish that in the next year, you’re back in your cells or worse depending on the judge.” His smirk widens as if he finds that thought amusing.

There’s just a few problems with this arrangement, the main one being that no one said anything aboutbondingthe Omega into our pack. However, I can’t start with that so I ease myself into that question. “What’s in his file?”

“It’s pretty thick. Apparently, he’s a problem. He’s been rejected six times and he’s fully broken. Pretty, but broken. The medical records say that other than the biological designation, he’s not much of an Omega. Can’t scent, no heats, doesn’t submit.” Graves places a hand on the knob, his words tumbling out like this is just no big deal.

Yeah, this isn’t happening. “Graves, I’m not bonding a feral fucking Omega into my pack.” I don’t add the fact that I’m not sticking my dick in crazy and I’m sure as hell not bringing this Omega back to Preston.

Graves shoves the door open, a sudden drop in temperature filling the hallway. “You don’t have much of a choice. Because if you don’t, that pretty little Omega of yours will be having your son behind bars.” He leans forward, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Oh yeah, I know about that shit. Doesn’t bother me, so I haven’t reported it. I will, though. Now, one of you get in there and bond the asshole.”

Graves knowing about Preston is just another problem on top of all the others but we wouldn’t be able to keep it secret forever. I tamper down my anger, my attention darting to Thane who seems to be taking this a whole lot better than me. “Isn’t this against some kind of law?” Forcing a bond is more than just illegal. It’s taboo and an Omega can have an Alpha thrown into jail if they can prove it was involuntary.

The problem is that most Omegas won’t publicize that kind of abuse.

“Kael, seriously? You should know by now that you don’t have rights at Wolfscorge. The only law you answer to is the council’s at this point. Rock, paper, scissors, or whatever you have todo. Bite that fucker’s neck. Make it good. Looks like your new Omega, Slate, can take a hard fuck.”

Thane’s hand lands on my shoulder, a warning to keep my cool. I want to smash this guy’s face in, but I know he’s got us by the balls. No rights, no choices, just orders. My mind flashes to Preston, his soft curls, his swollen belly, the way he looks at me when he thinks I’m not watching. I can’t let him end up in a cell, can’t let our kid be born in chains.

“Fine,” I say, the word bitter on my tongue. “I’ll do it.”

I step further into the room, confused at the state of the place. It’s nothing like the pristine hospital-type room I’m used to greeting these Omegas in. No, everything has been upended, ripped to shreds, blood splattered along one of the walls, a crimson handprint on the window, and the shallow breaths of an Omega hitting my ears.

The corner has a mound of pillows and blankets, the strangest nest I’ve ever seen as a small form crawls from beneath it and then rushes right at me. His eyes are nearly black, a snarl twisting his face. He’s feral, no question, but something in his stare makes my gut twist.

He’s all teeth and claws, a blur of rage, lost to this newest part of his biology. I grab him by the back of his neck, my fingers digging into skin, and slam him against the wall. The impact sounds through the room, the Omega hissing as he scrapes his nails down my arms, trying and failing to release himself.

I see then where the blood is coming from, my gaze traveling the room again to put the puzzle together. He’s been trying to get out for however long he’s been in here. Most Omegas would make a nest and hide away from the world. Not this one.

“How long has he been here?” I growl out, directing my question to Graves.

“Hour? Maybe two.”

Thane steps into the room and shuts the door behind him, leaving us alone with this Omega. Slate’s nostrils flare, his eyes flashing with a mixture of anger and fear as I let him go. Instead of rushing at me, he tries for the door, Thane stepping in his way.

I stare down at my arms, a scrape cutting through my shirt, a small wound in my flesh. There’s something wrong with Slate—aside from the feral part. He smells like death, not the sweet musk of an Omega, but something sour, like rot and terror.

Now that I can see him up close, I can see that he’s not all there, his mind fractured, and I know this is gonna be a disaster. Bringing him into our house is a fucking nightmare waiting to happen. Unfortunately, I don’t have many choices. The pool house out back will have to be good enough for Slate until we figure out what to do.

The Omega’s eyes lock on me, defiance mixed with fear, and I realize he’s not just fighting us—he’s fighting the idea of another bond. Graves mentioned something about six former packs and I wonder if he was bonded each of those times. There’s no fucking way he’s survived six surgeries like that but if he removed even one bond, it makes sense he’d be terrified.

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