When they’ve been out of sight for a few moments, Dirk blocks the doorway.
Shya and Britani remain in their seats.
Kwame’s hand squeezes my shoulder, offering me silent support.
Vander waits a few more moments before he breaks the silence.
“We have to move out. Once Nova confirms Anastasia is set, grab your things and head Northeast. Seeck, get two emergency kits from the infirmary. Dirk, haul extra food in case we’re out longer than expected. Kwame, grab the special gear from the loading bay. Jumoke, bring the case from under the console, as well as any other electronics we need. I’ll check the Sky-Flyer and meet everyone up the coast. If the weather turns sour, don’t wait. Find shelter in the mountains.”
His directives distract me enough to give me marginal control over my urges. One by one I loosen my muscles, taking the pressure off Seeck’s arm around my throat.
“You good?” Vander asks, flicking his eyes up and down me.
“Always.”
“Fucking smartass,” Seeck mumbles from behind me.
They release me, watching as I shake out my limbs and crack my neck.
The sound of my popping joints sends an idea into my brain.
I can help her.
Not by giving her what her body needs, but by figuring out how to take down her tormentors.
Because no matter how strong she may be, they deserve death.
I need answers.
Chapter Eleven
Anastasia
I am in his den.
Again.
This time the temptation of his bed seems tenfold, the fragrance wafting up causing my womb to tighten even though his residual pheromones are stale.
My body mourns the separation from heady, robust Alpha presences, but the still-sane part of me relaxes in relief.
Instincts creep closer, larger than I’ve ever experienced.
Yet the sunken bed in front of me causes trepidation as well.
I’ve never actually made a nest before.
When my time came for an unrequited cycle, they’d move me to a Grey Room.
In the midst of Jumoke’s den, even the light blue walls and simple décor seem extravagant compared to my life below ground.
Grey Rooms allowed me the safety of solitude, even if they held less comfort than my normal place of bedding.
Concrete floors and walls supported a ceiling containing pipes of various uses. The drain in the center of the floor always smelled of decay and antiseptic, but I learned to find comfort in the reminder of what was required to clean the room after my heat.
One sheet would be awarded as my casualty, since anything used during would be sent to the incinerator.
The entire room would be sanitized, the risk of spreading my disease nullified. A simple task requiring nothing more than a hose since only myself and a sheet would be within.
My joints creak as I crouch next to the bed. Reaching my gloved hand into the mess of material and pulling out a single sheet, I spread it out in the center of the floor.
It isn’t nearly as enticing as the mound of fabric on Jumoke’s chaotic nest, but it smells of him. I’ve chosen the one holding most of his scent, subconsciously grabbing the sheet he kept against his bare flesh.
A wave of heat explodes from my abdomen, forcing my breaths into erratic gasping.
My mouth retains zero moisture.
Shaky legs carry me to the food storage.
The fabric encasing my body turns into sandpaper, the lifesaving barrier between my diseased skin and the world becoming unbearable.
Accepting the horrible clenching in my lower abdomen, I open the food storage and twist open a bottle of water.
I try to take only a sip, but when the cool liquid touches my tongue, I suck down the entire bottle. Still parched, I empty another, my breathing ragged between gulps.
My vision loses focus at the edges, another cramp sending slick down my legs, soaking my tights.
A glance at the door confirms it’s firmly shut.
Two round lids scatter when I set down the bottle.
Too much risk.
Gathering the trash, I take small steps across the room, my balance precarious despite the even flooring. I pull open the garbage only to pause.
What if they don’t burn their trash? What if their recycling unit fails?
I turn and search the room, hoping for inspiration.
I don’t know if secondary contact will result in infection, but I’m not willing to find out if it does.
Chapter Twelve
Jumoke
“Stop pacing, you’re driving me nuts,” Seeck grumbles, kicking a few rocks at my legs.
“Shut up asswipe. Damn it, what the hell is taking him so long?”
“It hasn’t even been ten minutes, Jumoke. Calm down,” Dirk says.
I don’t want to calm down. I need to know she’s safe. I saw the locked and barricaded door on my way out but I need to know the Sky Flyer has been properly sealed.
We found suitable sleeping arrangements—one cave large enough for two couples and two smaller enclaves big enough for two people each. Two lifemated couples will be in the bigger cave, another couple will sleep in the smaller cave up the mountainside. Vander and I will share the one lower down.
Dirk, Seeck, and Kwame each brought extra bedding, their arms overflowing with blankets as they walked through the mountains looking somewhat comical.
This display of pampering would have made me scoff a few hours ago. I would have been disgusted.
My father never did such things.
He never needed to.
His Omegas knew where they stood.
Don’t get me wrong, it was a happy household, he just knew if he favored one Omega over the other, his carefully crafted harem would crumble.
My childhood home seemed indestructible, the network of support and love upheld by my strong and exacting father. There was zero budge in the male, except for with his sons.
We were the future, expected to find our own niche in the world, make tons of money, and rule our own harem. We could do no wrong unless we embarrassed him or dishonored the family.
It was such a carefree existence, at least for myself and my brothers born later in the line of succession.
The crunch
