Page 34 of Knot Their Soldier: Part One
My scent blooms… or at least it should.
I sniff the air, seeking out my perfume that should be swirling in the tent. Instead, I sneeze violently. An artificial scent clings to me. It’s unpleasant and strong.
“The collar has scent-canceling properties,” he says, holding his hands behind his back after wiping his hands on his trousers, and looking down at me with his signature frown etched into his features. “It’ll help with your… odor.”
I splutter. Odor?!
How dare he comment on my scent when I can smell the Alpha pheromones dripping off the canvas walls of this tent.
My nose twitches at the musky smells mingling in the space. What did they do in here? Spray the whole thing down with spunk?
I shake my head before my horny Omega brain runs off with the thought, and expel the lingering scents in my nostrils. I’ll have to get used to dealing with unmated male scents. If they have shitty personalities like Alpha Prime Knox, then I’ll be fine.
What a fracking cockwomble.
I chew the inside of my cheeks to keep myself from spitting curses at him while I squirm and adjust the collar around my neck. It’s stiff and digs into my skin, but it’s not too uncomfortable. It’s more the indignity of being forced to wear a damn collar that stings. As an Omega, I’ve always known that I’m at the mercy of those with more authority than me, but this collar is a physical reminder of my submission. It’s humiliating and degrading.
With one last withering stare, he turns and marches away, leaving the flap of the tent hanging wide open.
Prime Alpha Knox is a grade-A douchebag, and no matter how good he looks or smells, I’ll never forgive him for treating me like an animal.
A clipped bark shouts from outside, “Omega. Come.”
So much for a warm welcome.
I take a step, and the silver tag at my throat jingles.
If this collar is for practical reasons, then why is ‘Sparkles’ engraved on it like a pet?
Chapter Thirteen
Halley
I trail reluctantly in his wake, unwilling to strain myself to keep up with his long strides. I tug at the collar, adjusting it to feel comfortable and failing.
He comes to a halt on the outskirts of the dense forest, surrounded by towering trees and a hushed stillness broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves. In a deft motion, he picks up a shovel and etches a rough circle in the dirt before driving it into the stony ground.
“As part of your punishment, you’ll be digging a hole,” he declares.
I blink up at him, incredulous. “Punishment? For what?”
“For disregarding an order from your Prime Alpha to put on the bite collar.”
“You’ve got to be joking.”
A humorless smile tugs at his lips. “I assure you, I don’t joke about protocol. It’ll serve you well to grasp that swiftly. And it’s ‘You’ve got to be joking,sir’.”
His words hang heavy in the air, leaving no room for negotiation.
Oh, he issoon my shit list.
In fact, I’m going to make a whole new list:‘The grand encyclopedia of douchbaggery by Prime Alpha Knox.’
“Now get to work.”
I stare at the dirt patch of ground, and then back at him. I can’t dig a hole! What has this got to do with training as a soldier?
“Uhhh, why do you want me to dig a hole?” I ask, a tinge of frustration leaking into my voice. I’m not opposed to hard labor. Working in the warehouse isn’t a picnic, but I’m struggling to understand why he’s asking me to dig a random hole.
