Page 22 of Feral: Part Two
Malik's face goes red at the suggestion, and I can practically feel the heat radiating from his skin. The idea is definitely appealing, the thought of completely overwhelming him with sensation.
"Thane and Malik don't fuck, Alpha," Preston points out, though there's curiosity in his voice.
"They might," Kael counters. "Seems as if this whole feral bullshit is going to make us a bit hornier for each other. They've already kissed."
"I want to see!" Preston exclaims, his excitement clear despite his current compromised position.
Kael snorts. "Stop moving, princess. You’re going to make me come again. Besides, you need to rest first. The council will probably swipe through later and I need you awake."
Malik
A few hours later, after that entire knotted scare, Slate has calmed down, the five of us sprawled out across the courtyard. Thane mentioned something about fresh air and Kael agreed, Slate even becoming comfortable enough to shift back. Which was just as well since Ulysses was coming back to the house to check on our Omegas.
I still feel awful about what happened earlier. The memory of Slate scrambling away from us, shifting immediately into his fox form because we overwhelmed him, sits heavily in my gut. The panic in Slate's eyes when it happened will haunt me for a while.
Despite that, Slate seems more receptive to all of us now. The walls he usually keeps up are still there, but they're lower somehow. He's quiet, no more of his usual snark or defensive quips, but when I helped him walk out here, he leaned into mychest instead of pulling away. That small gesture of trust means more than he probably realizes.
Thane has Preston in his lap on one of the outdoor loungers, our pretty little Omega dressed in a sunburnt orange panty and shawl set that makes his skin glow in the afternoon light. The fabric is sheer enough that I can see the outline of his swollen belly. He shivers despite the warmth of the evening air, Thane holding him a little tighter as Preston's hands move in slow circles over his bump. It’s a gorgeous sight set against Thane’s dark skin, the Alpha I’m slowly becoming interested in, throwing me a smirk.
Slate sits a few feet away on another lounger, his dark eyes fixed on the entrance back into the house where Kael disappeared to grab Ulysses. There's tension in every line of his body, that familiar coiled energy that tells me he's ready to bolt at the first sign of trouble. Not that I blame him. None of us particularly likes the council members, but Ulysses is one of the worst. He’s just so… dry. I always wonder if he gets laid when he goes home.
I move closer to Slate, settling onto the edge of his lounge. "It'll be okay. Ulysses will come through, ask some questions, and then leave."
Slate's gaze doesn't shift from the doorway. "I'm not worried about that, not really. I just feel uncomfortable. Everything is changing so fast and I can't trust it."
The honesty in his voice catches me off guard. This is more open than he's been since arriving at Wolfscorge, more vulnerable than I've seen him outside of his most desperate moments.
I hum in acknowledgment. "I totally agree. Would it help to actually sit down and talk about it? Most of the time you've been here, it's either eating, fucking, or doing our own thing."
Between the constant crisis management, we haven't had much time for actual conversation or getting to know each other beyond the surface level.
"I have no fucking clue," Slate admits, defeat lacing his words. He huffs out a sigh and leans back against the cushions, his hands falling to either side of him.
I shift closer, close enough that our thighs are touching. "Well, I have a suspicion that everything you went through is all connected to the shit that got us locked up in here. Kael and Thane figured that bullshit out, and we're pretty sure it's bigger than just creating a feral pack."
Slate finally turns to look at me, his dark eyes searching my face. "Of course it is. No evil scientist stops at one experiment."
"You know what pisses me off the most?" I continue, needing to get this out. "It's not even that they’re using us in a goddamn experiment. It's that they made us believe we had choices when we never did. Every decision we thought we were making, every path we thought we were choosing—It was all predetermined."
Slate's expression darkens. "Welcome to my entire fucking life. You think this is the first time someone's manipulated me into thinking I had agency? At least you guys got to live free for a while before ending up here."
The bitterness in his voice is understandable, but it also makes me realize how different our experiences have been. We had years of freedom, of making our own choices, before The Collective destroyed our lives. Slate has been trapped in their system since he was barely an adult.
"That's exactly what I mean," I say. "They didn't just create you as a feral Omega. They systematically destroyed your ability to trust, to form healthy bonds, to believe you deserved better. All so you'd be the perfect test subject when they finally placed you with us."
Slate goes quiet for a long moment, his hands moving to fidget with the hem of his shirt. When he speaks again, there’s an uncertainty to his voice. "Do you think it's real? What's happening between all of us?"
"I think it doesn't matter," I tell him. "Real or manufactured, it's what we have. And what we have feels good in ways that go beyond just chemistry or programming. If we want it, I don’t know why we have to care how we got here."
Slate looks skeptical. "Easy for you to say. You've been with them for years. You know what genuine connection feels like."
"Do I?" I challenge. "Because looking back now, I'm not sure how much of our original pack formation was organic and how much was engineered. The timing of when we all met, the circumstances that brought us together, the way everything fell into place so perfectly - it's suspicious as fuck when you really think about it."
The realization has been building for days, but saying it out loud makes it feel more real. What if our entire relationship history has been guided by unseen hands? What if even our love for Preston, our bond with each other, has been part of some grand design? Granted, I fucking love my mates and I’m slowly falling in love with Slate and Thane isn’t far behind, but that doesn’t mean we were put into a situation where love was possible.
"Fuck," Slate breathes out, the Omega processing the same uncomfortable possibilities.
"But here's the thing," I continue. "Even if it started as manipulation, what we feel now is real. The way you look at Preston, the way you've started trusting Kael and Thane, the way my heart races when you lean into me—that's not programming. That's choice."
