Page 72 of Stray Omega

Her heart ached with longing to be near them again.

Embla knew what she had to do.

She had to return.

It would not be easy. Her alphas would no doubt be very upset with her for running away like this—especially right before the Ritual of Claiming. They would undoubtedly punish her thoroughly, taking out all of their discipline on her poor little backside. Especially Orwen. That alpha never passed up an opportunity to spank her long and hard.

That thought scared Embla, but it also sent a sexy trembled running up her inner thighs.

She would go back and face her punishment like a good little omega.

Embla set her feet in the direction of the Central Ruins—it was not difficult for her to locate that place; she could feel the throb of the source tugging at her soul—and she started to walk, her bare soles crunching on the dead leaves underfoot.

But Embla had only gone a few paces before she froze.

Her nose twitched.

She was not alone here. Someone—or something—was nearby.

Embla sniffed the breeze again. The scent was difficult to place at first because she had only smelled it on rare occasions.

It was a beta.

The omega calmed slightly. Betas did not pose a threat. The braindead creatures were essentially harmless. They were also quite uncommon. Lacking the power of thought or will, the zombie-like beings could not survive in the wilderness for long. If a predator didn’t get them, then they would soon wander off the edge of a cliff or into the swirling waters of a river and drown. In fact, the only betas Embla had ever seen were the ones that the Farlander alphas kept in pens and butchered for food.

That thought sent a shudder of repulsion wriggling through Embla’s veins. She had experienced intense hunger in her life, but she couldn’t imagine eating a beta, even if she were starving to death.

But what could a beta be doing out here in the woods?

Embla tested the air again.

It was not a lone beta. There was more than one. A lot more. The fine hairs on Embla’s arms and neck stood erect. Her danger sense was tingling. Something was not right with this situation. She needed to get out of here now.

Before she could start to run, however, there came a whistle of air and a sharp hornet sting at the base of her neck.

Instinctively, Embla’s fingers touched the place where she had been stung.

A dart.

But it was not the type of primitive dart the Farlanders sometimes used for hunting. This one was hard and cold, fashioned from metal and glass.

Embla felt the poison surging through her body, leaving only numbness in its wake. Her head felt simultaneously heavy and empty. Her legs faltered. She stumbled and fell on the dirty leaves. She should be frightened, angry, something. But nothing seemed to matter very much. The forest seemed very far away.

There was a shuffling of feet on the leaf-strewn ground. Many sets of feet closing in on all sides. The beta scent grew stronger.

“Excellent,” someone said. It was an ugly, inhuman voice. “Look, this omega has been marked. Her alphas will certainly come searching for her. She will be perfect bait.”

Bait?

Embla did not know this word.

She did not have much time to wonder about its meaning. Within moments, the poison robbed Embla of her senses, and she passed into a dark, dreamless sleep.

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