Page 3 of Stray Omega

But the omega knew how to deal with dogs.

She practically was one, after all.

The omega decided to go for it. She crept forward on all fours, moving as silently as the smoke wafting from the campfire.

As she got within a few paces, the dogs sensed her presence, just as she knew they would. The leader of the pack lifted his gray, wolfish head and looked straight at her, wide awake and alert even though he had been sleeping just a moment earlier. Ears went flat. Snout rumpled. Bared fangs glowed white in the moonlight.

The dog growled, but it was a quiet throaty sound that did not rouse his alpha masters.

The little omega was undaunted. She purred and huffed softly in response.

Easy, gray one. I mean you no harm. I am dog-friend.

For the space of several heartbeats, the gray dog just stared her down, eyes like polished onyx, body utterly still except for the twitching of his wet nose. Then his ears raised and he whined appeasingly.

The omega moved closer. Slowly, she extended her arm and petted the gray dog’s thick coat. Her touch was cautious at first, but soon she was scratching generously behind the pack leader’s ears, and his tail wagged happily. His companions looked on in quiet curiosity, one black and one white.

Good. See? Dog-friend. Dog-friend.

The other two dogs each received a gentle petting before the omega turned her attention to her goal—the animal-hide satchels sitting inside the perimeter of the small campsite.

She paused momentarily on the threshold.

Once she was inside that perimeter, she would be surrounded, and if the alphas woke up, she would certainly be trapped. But the giant men seemed to be sleeping soundly, and she needed the food that she knew was stashed in those satchels.

Cautiously, the omega moved inside the ring of the campsite, eyes darting from one sleeping alpha to the next, searching for even the slightest sign of movement.

One of the alphas snorted.

The omega froze.

He was enormous. All three of them were, but this one seemed to be the biggest, and the omega guessed he was the leader of the pack. He was all bulging muscles and brutality. His dark hair and beard were flecked with a touch of gray.

The omega shivered at the sight of him, fearful that he had awoken.

But the alpha was still asleep. His huge fingers unconsciously scratched an itch on his rock hard abdomen, and his breathing returned to the slow steady rhythm of sleep.

The omega let out a silent sigh of relief.

Time to get what she had come for and then disappear into the night before one of these big brutes really did wake up.

The omega crept to the first satchel and opened it.

No sooner had she pulled back the animal hide flap than her nose filled with the scent of food, and her mouth began to water.

Meat.

She reached inside, took a piece, and bit off a morsel to taste. It was venison, pounded into flat strips, seasoned with salt and crushed berries, and left in the sun to dry. It was flavorful and surprisingly tender. And more important, it would give her the energy she needed to get through her lonely and painful heat.

The omega lifted the satchel and prepared to scurry away into the darkness and safety of the woods. The gray dog whined softly, his dark eyes still fixed on her.

Sorry, but I need this. Your masters can easily find more food.

The dog dropped its ears, but it did not growl or bark or make any attempt to alert its alpha masters to the omega’s theft.

Before she departed, the omega looked once more at the sleeping alpha pack leader, and something throbbed deep inside her core.

He was no Farlander alpha, and neither were his companions, that much was clear. For one thing, there was the craftsmanship of their satchels and other gear. The Farlanders couldn’t make such things.

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