Page 57 of Unlikely Omega

And yet his scent is so enticing, I can only compare its attraction to Finn’s.

Why? Why do I find the scent of these two annoying men so mouthwatering? Why does it draw me in, a hook sinking into me, pulling, until I notice how handsome they are under their infuriating façade?

And why am I starting to like them, like how hard they grip me, how their eyes darken when they look at me, when I shouldn’t be wanting either of them?

A priest who won’t sleep with me.

And a commander who is about to deliver me to his General and then back to the Temple.

Only a madwoman would want such men—but my body isn’t giving me any quarter.

An omega will waken her alphas—and once they are awakened, that’s catnip for an omega. Alpha and omega. Head and tail. A loop of desire and need.

If a man smells good to me, it means he’s an alpha I should mate with. Right?

Ha. As if.

And Finn? Is he my alpha, too? He smells so good to me, but an alpha who doesn’t want sex—at least not with me? Is it possible? This doesn’t add up.

If I really were one of the fabled Fae omegas of the prophecy, wouldn’t I already be having wild bunny sex with the men I lust after?

And as exhausted as I am, physically and emotionally, cold and tired and scared, I want them. I want the Commander to touch me. I want Finn to lie with me.

If this is what being an omega is like, this ball of mindless need and arousal, then I see why nobody wants us around. I mean, who would want to be one, or be near such a union where sex trumps will and emotions? It makes total sense.

I wish I could be someone else, too.

“What’s going on here?” The guards come back, frowns on their faces, then realize who they are talking to and halt, standing at attention. “Commander. The army priest said they were going to perform a ritual—”

“That appears to have been a lie,” the Commander says from between his teeth, his grip on my arm bruising—and arousing.

Holy goddess, how is it possible that where the army priest’s hold on me repulsed me the Commander’s does the opposite? I swear I can feel myself getting hot and wet down below as I feel the strength in his hand, the force driving him, the fury I glimpse in his gray eyes, the swagger in his steps as he parts his men and stalks past the guards to return me to the camp.

I can hear Finnen swearing somewhere behind me, but I don’t get a chance to look as the Commander hauls me between tents and straight to the ornate one I had noticed earlier.

The General’s tent.

“I hate you,” I mutter, my jaw clenched, as the Commander heads that way. “Don’t you care at all what happens to Finn and me?”

“Why should I?” he mutters back.

“You respond to me. We are alike. Must be. We’re kin, marked by Fae-blood. You must feel it. You’re perfuming, too, you must know it. You and Finnen could be my alphas. We should look out for each other.”

A bitten-off, dark chuckle. His strides slow down as his profile hardens. “I don’t have any kin, apart from the army. Certainly not with you and that blind priest. So stop talking.”

“If they have turned against us,” I say, “they will turn against you, too. Can’t you see that? You’re helping the Empire divide and go to war with its own people. Bigotry and racism won’t stop at me and Finnen. Soon, the entire country will be bathed in blood.”

“Nonsense.”

“Help us escape. For the blood we share, please, Commander—”

“Gods below,” he grinds out, “shut your trap. I’m not perfuming, I’m not an alpha, and the army is a den of vipers. Don’t talk like we’re friends. I’m a Commander. I obey orders. The General will send you back and that’s the end of it.”

“And you’ll do whatever he wants?”

“He’s my General.”

“But not mine.”

---