Page 70 of Stray Omega

Suddenly a female appeared. An omega. She was crying, and she followed after the fleeing alphas. The others tried to call her back, telling her she did not have to go, but she refused to listen.

Even though he was very young, Orwen understood. The omega was in love with the three criminals and she wanted to be with them, even if it meant joining them in exile.

Orwen was strangely touched by the omega’s self sacrifice.

She is pregnant, Orwen thought to himself. She is carrying their babies.

Lightning flared…

Darkness. Pain. Orwen was no longer himself. He was the pregnant omega. He was inside her mind now, looking out through her eyes.

It was night in the forest and he was going into labor, an experience that was nearly incomprehensible for his male brain. Hot daggers of agony stabbed at his insides as the muscles of his pelvic floor contracted painfully. It went on for hours. He experienced the weight of the children dropping one by one through the birth canal—through his birth canal. omega-Orwen groaned with exhaustion and relief when the last one was out.

It was a little baby girl. An omega. Her eyes were squeezed shut and her tiny features twisted in rage as she screamed and screamed.

More lightning…

Now Orwen was the omega child. He was little. A little girl. Three years old maybe. Four at the most. Orwen wasn’t sure. In the vision, it was a beautiful spring day. A clearing in the forest. His mother was cradling him in her arms while his alpha fathers played with his brothers nearby.

“I love you, Embla,” his mother said, tenderly stroking his soft golden hair.

“Love you,” a tiny voice answered back.

This was Embla! Orwen was seeing the little omega’s life and memories. He was experiencing them through her own eyes.

There was a sudden commotion from the depths of the forest. The trampling of feet and a crash of bodies charging through the underbrush. A savage roar that made his blood run cold. He began to cry.

A group of Farlanders burst from the trees with weapons in their hands—spears and clubs and stone axes. With violent growls and snarls, they attacked, massacring everyone in a matter of minutes.

Everyone except for Orwen-Embla.

Another flash, and Orwen was again looking out through Embla’s eyes. She had been taken back to the Farlander camp where they tossed her into a big crude wooden cage with a dozen or so hungry dogs. The canines growled, rumpling their snouts to expose nasty looking fangs dripping with saliva. They started to close in, preparing to attack and eat the child.

But at the last moment, one of the dogs leapt forward. A brown-furred female. She positioned herself protectively in front of Embla’s helpless body and stood the other dogs down. She was only one dog against many, but she was the biggest and meanest of the bunch.

When the other dogs finally backed down, the brown female sat down and dropped her head into Embla’s lap, tail wagging happily, dark eyes full of intelligence, patience, and love.

Embla sniffed back her tears. She buried her fingers in the dog’s thick, soft coat and gratefully scratched behind her ears.

Friend. Best friend.

Flash…

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