Emily
“Alpha or omega?” One of the security guards is punching a code into the panel next to the door, and Finn is in front of me, so all I can see is his broad back in his leather jacket. It’s cooler down here, and I shiver as we enter the next room in single file. “I’m not sure, but since switching is a very rare phenomenon, I don’t think it matters.”
I’m not sure what he thinks of that answer because he doesn’t look back, continuing on down a narrow hallway. “And what do you know about the triggers that cause a switch?”
I shift a little on my feet, both from the chill air and the fact that I seem to be undergoing some kind of pop quiz my first day on the job. “I haven’t really got that far into the research materials yet, but I believe stress, danger, and compatibility all play a part.”
He pauses now, and I can see a hint of interest in his eyes. “Compatibility?”
“Well, I know arousal is cited as a factor, but that seems too broad. We all experience sexual arousal from our teenage years, and yet switching tends to occur in our twenties.” Finn doesn’t comment, but his brow lifts, encouraging more. “If it was just arousal, wouldn’t more switches trigger at an earlier age? It makes sense that it’s incited by someone we’re either genetically or emotionally compatible with. Perhaps there even has to be some kind of latent connection that’s triggered at the genetic level.”
This is just shooting in the dark in terms of theories, but Finn doesn’t look put out by my speculation. “And how would you measure that compatibility? Arousal often comes down to scent and physical reactions, but how could we determine if two people share that latent connection?”
“If I knew that, I’d be making a fortune in the matchmaking business,” I quip, and Finn gives me a small smile before continuing into the next room. The scent is even stronger than when we stepped out of the elevator, and I glance back at Langston. My mentor smells as alluring as he did in the car, but it’s nothing on the siren’s call ahead of us. It makes my stomach clench, both in anticipation and some kind of primal warning, and Langston grips my shoulder. I shiver at his touch, and I can’t tell if he’s trying to console me or steer me forward into whatever waits beyond the next reinforced door.
“So, is it genetics, compatibility, or a random stressor response?” Finn asks as we stop in a small room with a glass wall and a row of chairs. They all face the opaque glass, and I watch as a blurred shadow moves beyond it, striding in one direction before turning and moving rapidly back in the other. Finn makes no move to sit, but his gaze tracks the shadow across the glass, and his alpha dominance feels like hot oil spitting on my skin. “Which do you think is the more likely trigger, Ms. Nash?”
“Call me ,” I murmur, tearing my gaze from his profile and turning towards the glass. This room is even colder than the last, but a trickle of sweat is working its way down my spine. The cheap material of my suit jacket feels like sandpaper on my skin, and I cross my arms, pinching the tips of my elbows to keep myself focused. “Maybe it’s a mix of all three. There could be a switch ‘gene’, predisposing us to designation change, and a particular stressor is the trigger. But back to the matchmaking comment, what if there’s also a mating preference? I mean, the theories can be rationally connected. With cross-trait mating, tall people mate with rich people, for instance, and eventually it shapes the genome…”
My voice trails off, and I don’t realise I’ve lifted my hands until I feel the cool glass of the tinted wall under my palms. The shadow has also stopped its frantic pacing and now that it’s stepped closer, I can see that the outline is a few inches taller than me. Its features are indecipherable, but it doesn’t stop another shiver from skimming down my spine.
“Or maybe it’s just fate,” Finn ponders, his voice so low I barely catch it.
“Fate?” The word dies in my throat, because he’s pressed some button on the wall and the glass is changing, the opaqueness seeping away. The room that materialises is much larger than I expect, with a daybed against one wall, a round table with two chairs in the centre, and a small but well-equipped kitchenette fitted next to a rear door. The floor is the same polished concrete under my feet, but there are rugs scattered around, and the walls are painted a soft dove gray. I’d almost call it homey, if it didn’t also feel like a jail cell.
“Is it feeding time at the zoo?” A husky voice drawls, so thick with sarcasm I can feel the edge of my lips quirking up. But the guy standing on the other side of the glass isn’t smiling. In fact, he’s staring down at me with so much heat in his eyes I feel my face go red. “Such a pretty, little snack. I’m assuming she’s here for me?”
“Hello, Soren,” Finn says in a casual tone that doesn’t match the dominance coming off him in waves. “No wonder you’re hungry if you haven’t eaten your lunch. Was there something wrong with the soup?”
I’m vaguely aware of a tray on the table, with a bowl of soup, some cut up fruit, and a couple of bottles of water. None of it has been touched, and when I study Soren a little more closely, it’s hard not to react. Unlike the picture in his file that was taken at the beach, he’s lean to the point of malnourished, his tanned skin is now waxy, and the skin around his expressive eyes is sunken and sallow.
“It tastes like arse,” he responds with a sneer, his haunted eyes still glued to mine. “I want pancakes, especially if they taste as good as she smells.”
“Ms. Nash is a new employee,” Langston says quietly, standing so close behind me I can feel his suit jacket brush my back. “She’s here in a professional capacity, so how about you ease up on the flirtation, Romeo?”
“Ooh! Jealousy looks good on you, Fall. But she doesn’t smell like you, does she?” The apparition behind the glass lifts his nose and gives a long, deep sniff, his eyelids fluttering. “I’m getting notes of fresh cut grass and prime beta meat.” He gives a happy sigh. “Deliver me that beta burger, and I might choke down the slop you keep serving me.”
“Eat your lunch, Soren,” Finn says in his calm, businesslike way, “and after I’ve caught Ms. Nash up on your case, she might sit here a while.” He touches the back of one of the chairs. “For observation purposes, but I don’t think you’d complain about the view.”
“Here’s a counteroffer, Alpha,” Soren purrs, lifting an arm and leaning against the glass. He’s wearing a white robe knotted at the front, and from the way it hangs off his broad shoulders, it’s clear that he’s naked underneath. “Invite the delicious Ms. Nash in here to eat with me, and I’ll scrape my plate clean. Plus, if she’s really here to observe me, she can hear my story straight from the horse’s mouth. Isn’t that the basis of good ethnographic interviewing, Professor Fall?”
I don’t know a lot about anthropological methods, but it’s a good reminder that Soren is a scientist himself, and I can’t hide my smile at the way Langston rolls his eyes. But Finn is unmoved. “You know the drill, Soren. No more lunch dates until you show us you can follow your schedule.”
All the humour flees from Soren’s dark eyes. He opens his mouth like he wants to protest, but Finn is already leading me away from the window. Instead of retracing our steps, we head into another room, this one with an observation deck and a small meeting table with four chairs. It’s on the side angle to where we were just standing, and the glass is tinted differently. I realise it’s a one-way mirror and look at Langston with a frown. “Does he know we’re still watching him?”
“Soren knows all our tricks,” he says with a touch of regret, staring down into the room. “Unfortunately, none of this is new to him.”
I walk over to his side, watching as our ‘subject’ starts to pace again. His movements grow increasingly jerky, his breath coming in shorter, shallower pants. His eyes now look wild, and I’m not surprised when he turns and kicks the table over, sending the lunch tray crashing to the floor. But instead of diffusing his anger, it seems to feed it, and he tears at his white robe, raking his ragged nails across his chest in the process. As he finally rips the garment loose, he’s not only naked underneath, but also highly aroused. He’s sheened in sweat, his pale skin glistening around a red, throbbing erection that looks too large for his slim frame. I tear my gaze away, but not before I catch the look of abject misery on his face as he falls on the bed and starts ripping the silky sheets and pillows to shreds.
The violence is so potent it makes my head spin, and I can’t swallow the gasp that rises in my throat. “What’s he doing?”
“Destroying his nest,” Finn says from behind me, and when I glance at him, he’s sitting at the table, his gaze fixed on the polished wood. “There’s no scientific name for his condition, but in simple terms, he’s caught in a mid-switch. At all times, he has the urges of both an omega in heat and an alpha in a rut. Since he can’t satisfy either, it causes him extreme pain, which results in bouts of uncontrollable rage.”
I can feel the blood drain from my face as I slump into the nearest chair. “For how long?”
“Since Vast Horizons kicked him loose from the program. He’s been here, in this facility, for nearly a year.”
I try to control the thoughts crashing through my mind, but it’s impossible. I’ve never experienced a heat or a rut, but I know that going untended through either is torturous. How the fuck has he survived a year or more of being in this state? Do they sedate him? How close are they to finding a cure? I can’t imagine suffering like that for a day, let alone a year. “What about Creed? He’s his mate, isn’t he? Why isn’t he here, helping him through it?”
My own history with alphas might be a mess, but it’s scientifically proven that the bond between mates is one of the strongest, most nourishing connections in the natural world. Where the hell is Creed, goddamnit?
A pained sound from Langston makes me jerk back to the window, but he rests a comforting hand on my shoulder. “It’s okay, he’s wearing himself out now. He’ll fall asleep soon.”
I look past Langston to find Soren curled up in the foetal position on the floor. His nest is a torrent of feathers and fabric scraps, but his rapid breathing is slowing, and his eyes are drooping shut. He’s still a long way from calm, but at least he’s not in a rage anymore.
“Tyler will have to tell you his story himself,” Finn says, still staring at the table. “What we’re here to discuss is your role in the study. Lang is the only alpha Soren can tolerate, and that’s only if he keeps his distance. Omegas are also a trigger for him, and to put it bluntly, he either tries to fight them or fuck them.”
I guess that makes sense, given he’s got the instincts of two designations burning inside him. “But he didn’t seem to mind you.” I look curiously at Finn, since despite his calm exterior, he’s clearly affected by what’s going on in the next room. “I mean, other than the sarcasms and sneers, he talked to you quite normally.”
Finn lifts his eyes, and the pain in those grey depths makes my heart clench. “That’s because I don’t give him a choice, .”
I sit back in my chair, replaying the encounter in my mind. I’d been enthralled by Soren’s scent, his appearance, by his sharp wit, and predatory attitude, but I wasn’t so distracted that I missed the wave of alpha authority coming off Finn. “You were commanding him somehow, weren’t you? Not with words, but I could feel your dominance directed his way.”
“I can regulate some of his more extreme reactions, but it’s not pleasant for either of us.”
He doesn’t elaborate, and I feel too heartsore to push him. I remember the prickles of jealousy I felt towards this pack, and a wave of shame washes over me. It also makes me more committed than ever to help them, because if they really are working towards a cure for Soren, I can’t imagine a better use of my time or skills.
“Okay, so what do you need me to do?” At Finn’s startled look, I shrug. “I’m a beta, a scientist, and Soren obviously has some interest in engaging with me. You brought me here to help him, right? Then I want to get started right away.”
“Even after what you saw in there?”
“Was it scary? Yes. But so are bees, in certain circumstances.” I turn to study the scene beyond the window. After all that sass and fury, Soren looks so fragile and alone. “Did you know that the so-called killer bee is a genetically modified species? They’re smaller than other honeybees, have shorter wingspan, and carry less venom, but their defence of their nest is unmatched. Instead of ten percent of the colony leaving the hive to defend it, they pretty much empty it out. With each sting, a pheromone is released, signalling more bees to join the onslaught, until the swarm can number over half a million. All because we wanted a bee that could produce more honey and survive in warmer climates.” I turn back to find both alphas staring at me and blush a little at my rambling. Derek always says that once I get started on my pet subject, I can talk the birds out of the trees. “I’m just saying that nature tends to make sense if you leave it alone. It’s only when we get involved that complications arise.”
“I agree,” Finn replies, his gaze hardening. “Which is why I’ve been dismantling the Vast Horizons program ever since I became aware of Soren’s condition.”
“Really?” I haven’t delved into them much yet, but if Soren’s pain is a product of their experiments, then I hope he shatters them down to the last test tube. “And the army is okay with that?”
“I didn’t ask their permission.”
No, I bet you didn’t. I think of how my father and his cronies must have reacted to a man like Finn Visser taking offence at their program and fight a smile. “I hope you make them regret every moment of it.”
Instead of smiling back, a flash of pain tightens his mouth, but he just takes a tablet from the table and passes it to me. “If you agree to it, I’d like you to take charge of Soren’s daily routine and observations. This device is loaded with his schedule, case notes, past observations, and progress reports. Lang will advise and assist you in any way you need, but as I said before, we’re interested in new eyes on the subject.”
“New eyes on Soren , you mean.” I glance between the two alphas. “I just want to be very clear that I haven’t worked with human subjects before. I’m not sure I have the clinical… detachment that this situation might need.”
Finn Visser leans back in his chair, looking more relaxed than I think I’ve ever seen him. “Since you entered this basement, you’ve smelled frightened, aroused, curious, intrigued, amused, sad, sympathetic, and determined. Soren has advanced senses, akin to the most powerful alpha, and he knows all this, just like I do. You treated him like a human, not a subject, and that’s exactly what this situation needs.”
I try to ignore the heat climbing my neck, but it’s not easy after a speech like that. “Then I’d be happy to take over his observations.”
“Thank you, Ms. Nash. I appreciate your help more than you will ever know.”
After the heavy mood of the basement – a term that needs correcting fast, since it’s Soren’s current residence – Finn leaves without another word, and Langston takes me back to my desk on the project floor. I spend the next few hours reading through the tablet’s contents, my heart growing heavier with every report. It’s not like clinical findings are new to me, but the language feels painfully cold after having met Soren in person. Reading about his struggles with weight loss, dehydration, insomnia, and night terrors feels intrusive instead of informative, especially after he invited me to hear his story from the horse’s mouth, as he put it.
The next time Langston passes my desk, I ask, “Can I go down and see him again?” I hold up the tablet. “There’s a few things I need to check on here.”
“It’s nearly seven. You don’t want to head home soon?”
“Is it really?” I look around and realise that most of the floor has cleared out. “Wow. Okay, I should go check on Derek. Is there a bus around here that goes into the city?”
“Creed will set you up with a vehicle to use while you’re with us. If you’re ready to go, I can walk you down to the security floor and talk to him about it.”
“Seriously?” There wasn’t anything in the contract about a company car. I thought those kinds of perks were for shiny sales executives. “That seems a bit over the top.”
Langston clicks his tongue at me, his hand touching the middle of my back as we enter the elevator. “It just makes good business sense. Having your own transportation means you can be here longer.”
It still seems pretty extravagant, but Derek doesn’t have a car, either, so I guess this way we can carpool, saving us both time and money.
As we step out onto the security floor, I realise I still haven’t talked to Langston about the study part of this arrangement. My contract says I’m paid for all hours worked in a week, but two days are ringfenced for my thesis. Given that I’m taking on Soren’s daily routine, I can imagine my hours quickly blowing out. I hate to cut ties with my other employers, since neither the bookstore nor the pub will hold my position for three months, but there’s no way I can juggle three jobs, my PhD, and my family life.
“Ready to go home?” Creed asks, walking towards us in his black suit. He nods towards the same stretch Hummer we arrived in, but Langston shakes his head.
“Can you set up with a vehicle? She’s been asking about bus routes.”
Creed turns his dark eyes my way, his thick brows knotted in disapproval. “Buses don’t come out to the industrial area. I’ll set you up with a car, but not until tomorrow. You’re too tired to drive right now.”
I blink at this high-handed assessment of me, but Langston just laughs. “Creed’s not known for holding back when it comes to his safety rules.” He strips off his suit jacket, rolling it into a ball as he walks over to another red and black motorbike, only this one is sinfully sleek. “I’d give you a ride home, but it’s only built for one.”
“That’s because the Superleggera is the only street-legal bike with a carbon fibre frame.” I don’t bother trying to disguise the awe in my voice. This is a limited-edition superbike that most riders would kill to get their hands on, even if it was just to stroke that unbelievably light chassis. “If this is a company perk, where do I sign up?”
Langston’s grin only grows at the look on Creed’s face. “He disapproves of two-wheeled vehicles. Don’t let him get you in a quiet corner, or he’ll talk your ear off about the lack of safety features, and the likelihood of ending your days as a smear on the pavement.”
“Lang!” Creed barks, sounding every bit the drill sergeant. “Not the time and place.”
Langston just gives us a wave and pulls on his helmet, while Creed walks me over to the stretch Hummer, before turning and pointing to a black Mercedes. “My personal car is over there, if you’d prefer.”
“Ooh, that’s pretty.” I know less about cars than bikes, but I recognise the luxury logo on the front. This one probably even has seat warmers.
“I’ve had it adapted to include a reinforced chassis, bulletproof glass, a self-sealing fuel tank, and the underbody is a blend of steel and carbon-fibre. It’s bombproof, under most conditions.”
“Pretty and safe,” I amend, earning a small smile as he clicks the remote. But when he goes to open the back door, I slide around him and climb into the front passenger seat. “I’m tired, not a toddler. I don’t need to curl up in the back.”
He grunts, but gets behind the wheel, and we leave the heavily reinforced garage without a lot of fuss. As expected, the seats are buttery cream leather and the dash glows with a warm blue light. Creed’s car isn’t just safe, it’s soothing, and I have to fight heavy eyelids to stop myself from drifting off to sleep.
Exactly like a pooped-out toddler, I realise.
“You really like bikes?”
I sit up straighter, rubbing at my tired eyes. “My sister and all her friends were into them when we were growing up. They were very cool to a young girl, so I hoped that liking what they liked would make me cool by association.” I snort at the memory. “Now it’s more books than bikes, but a girl can still dream.”
“Don’t forget the bees. Why did you choose them?”
“Now on that topic, I really could get you in a quiet corner and talk your ear off…” I realise that might sound a little flirtier than I meant it and clear my throat. “I guess the short answer is because bee populations are under threat in this country. Habitat loss, intensive farming practices, pests, and disease are all having a negative impact. And yet 65% of our crops need honeybees to reproduce. They’re what we call powerhouse pollinators.”
“It’s important work.”
“So is what I’m doing here.” I peek at him carefully, wondering if it’s too soon to bring up Soren. “I’ve started going through the background documentation, but I’d really like to get your perspective when you’re ready.”
There’s no missing the tightness across his shoulders, or the firm grip he has on the wheel, but he gives me a curt nod. “Okay. Maybe not tonight, but we could set something up tomorrow.” I must look surprised by his cooperation, because he shrugs. “I’ve got a lot invested in this. If I can help in any way, I’m all yours.”
Words that convince me to close my eyes, because I don’t really want Creed watching me right now. There’s just too much going on in my head about everything I’ve seen and learned today. With so much heartache involved, it’s hard to feel hopeful, and while the scientist in me is intrigued, the rest of me just feels raw. I’m not surprised my brain chooses to retreat from it all, but I’m not expecting to wake up with my head cradled on Creed’s shoulder, the car dark and quiet around us. There’s a slight crick in my neck from the awkward position, but I feel toasty warm, mainly because Creed has covered me in his black jacket.
“Oh, God. Sorry.” I jerk upright and blink in the dim light, trying to make sense of why we’re sitting in a stationary car. “What’s going on?”
“You fell asleep on my shoulder.”
“Seriously? While you were driving?” I bet that failed his safety standards, big time. “Shit, it’s nearly two in the morning. Have you really been sitting here that long?”
“Yep, because so has he.” His voice is grim as he nods towards a familiar car parked across the street from us. There’s a streetlight right next to it, and the sickly yellow light provides a perfect view of Rick’s furious face. “And I get the feeling your ex is about to do something he’s really going to regret.”