Page 88 of Scent to the Feral Cowboys
The distinct thrum of engines penetrated my consciousness first.
I was sitting on something plush.
My feet were against a floor that vibrated, sending gentle tremors traveling upwards throughout every part of me. I flexed my fingers against my lap, silky material gathering in folds. I didn’t open my eyes. My brain was trying to make sense of where I was, because everything felt wrong, out of place within the timeline of memory. I tried to think, to picture the sequence of events which led me to this place.
Arriving at work.
Walking into my boss’s office.
Gathering my belongings from Club Midnight after… after…
I bit back the pain of it all—of Vince finding out I was Omega, of losing the new life I’d fought for, of saying goodbye to Crystal.I made myself keep recalling the details, as best I could through the haze.
Getting in that grim vehicle with the Betas.
The shadowy parking garage.
The elevator.
The memoires tried to escape me. I shook my head a bit to bring them back into focus.
The man named Grouse was saying something.
You’ve already been matched! You’re so lucky!
But I didn’t want it.
I didn’t want any of it.
I’d kicked someone, then hit someone.
I’d drawn blood!
But then everything went blank.
One thing I knew for sure—I wasn’t in a downtown Seattle high rise anymore, because nothing I felt or smelled in these moments aligned with what I remembered before passing out. A spot on my neck suddenly pricked, as if the simple act of remembering caused the past sting of the doctor’s needle to ghost against my skin.
My eyelids resisted opening. They felt weighed down, as if my lashes had changed to steel instead of featherlight hair. When I could finally pry my eyes open, unfamiliar surroundings swam into focus: leather seats, oval windows, the antiseptic smell of recycled air deliberately infused with artificial vanilla. I blinked hard, present reality connecting the dots. For some reason, the world was still hazy, as if I gazed at it through gauze.
I lifted my hand to rub my face and froze, unfamiliar fabric brushing against my fingertips. I skimmed my palm across the material. It terminated below my chin, hanging loosely. It flowed over my hair, seemingly connected to the dress.
The dress?
Looking down, my eyes took in the long, flowing dress that currently pooled around my ankles. Expensive. Shimmering. My feet bore silver sandals made of delicate woven straps that caged my feet. A quick inspection discovered delicate tennis bracelets encircling each wrist. Not mine. None of this was mine.
An ugly truth hit me.
I’d been drugged, undressed, and redressed into this outfit. Stranger’s hands had been all over my unconscious body.What else had they touched? How else had they violated my autonomy?
My tongue felt thick, coated with the bitter aftertaste of something medicinal. I swallowed hard, wincing at the dryness in my throat.
A plane. I was onboard a plane.
Through one of the windows, I could see the runway. We weren’t moving now, a few people in vests were outside checking over things. The giant turbofans were on, blades spinning in a blur, despite the passenger entry door being opened. Was that normal? Didn’t they close that before starting the plane and taxiing onto the runway?
The sun was in view, hovering above nearby trees. Was it rising or falling? Was the day beginning or ending?
I looked around for a clock but found none.
