Chapter 6 Talon
When I got to the bar, Ryker was sitting outside on a bench across from the entrance. He was lounging with his big thighs stretched wide, and his hands interlaced behind his head. Chewing on a toothpick, he looked relaxed and mellow, as always.
Ryker took very little seriously, and he was pretty lazy.
I had no clue how he maintained his physique because while the rest of us worked out in the fitness center at the barracks; he hung around our dorm, scarfing down Fruity O's and watching cartoons like a kid.
He was always sitting or lounging, strewn out on whatever poor object had to hold up his bulking mass.
A few beta soldiers passed him on the sidewalk, cocking their heads as if to question what he was doing in front of their bar, but he ignored them, humming a tune and bouncing his knee up and down to the tempo.
When he saw me coming, he scooted to the side, freeing up space on the end of the bench.
He tapped his lap, telling me to sit on it.
I rolled my eyes, taking a seat next to him.
“Suit yourself,” he scoffed, acting offended that I didn’t want to sit on his lap.
He was beyond irritating.
“I thought we were going inside, Ryker? What exactly is going on? What are you planning?”
He was annoying me already, but my wolf howled. It liked Ryker and whatever trouble he was going to get us into. The beast thought my composure was too much, too clean, too buttoned up. It enjoyed being let off its leash.
The wolf was too close to the surface tonight; I was having trouble maintaining my composure. I needed to shift or dip my dick into something badly. Cracking my neck from side to side, and then my knuckles, helped me to maintain control over it.
I was getting impatient with Ryker, who was still humming and now playing absentmindedly with something he had pulled from his pocket. It was a long, black string. I grabbed it from him quickly, holding it out in one of my tattooed hands.
“Stop humming. What exactly is this? Focus, Ryker! Answer my questions. Why are we here?”
His ADHD made conversation impossible sometimes. He was always jumping from topic to topic.
Ryker sat up, giddy, looking at the string in my hand, grinning from ear to ear.
“It’s a magic fucking string, Talon.”
“A magic string? Are you high? What the hell is going on? Why are we at a beta bar? What do you mean by a magic string? I'm not in the mood for this shit tonight!”
I had had enough. I needed a release, and if I hurried up, I was sure I could have one of the beta women at The Rusty Tap on my dick within the next ten minutes.
Debating with my wolf, we ultimately agreed to leave on the promise of something warm and wet to sink into.
There was no doubt I would find that at the alpha bar, and Ryker’s games were on my nerves.
“Fuck this, I’m out. Have fun with your magic string. I’m going to The Rusty Tap,” I told him as I stood up, holding the string out for him to take back.
He jumped up quickly, blocking my path with his bulky mass. I was taller than him, but Ryker was a tank. Where I was lean, sleek and toned, Ryker was all dense muscle.
“Wait! Wait. Hear me out. Smell it or rather, have your wolf smell it. I need its nose. I think that string came from a fucking omega.” He winked at me and resumed humming.
That got my attention quickly.
An omega…
“Explain. Now!” I demanded, putting a little of my alpha bark into my command, hoping it would help him concentrate. What was he talking about?
“Why do you think this string came into contact with an omega?”
“Okay, here’s the deal. I was on checkpoint duty today and stopped a van with a woman in the backseat. She was little and looked like an omega. She had this string in her hands and scent-marked it really well.”
“Okay…” I said, staring at the unremarkable black string dangling between my fingertips. “That still doesn't explain why you think she’s an omega. Focus, Ryker. Why do you think that?” I asked again, frustrated.
I was tired of asking the same question over and over.
“I don't know, man. Her ID said beta, and the fucking thing scanned, but I'm telling you when I pulled her out of the car, blood shot right into my dick. I’ve never been so fucking hard in my life. Even just looking at her picture made it hard,” he said, pointing to his dick, which he often referred to as his “star player.”
I groaned. Was he capable of finishing a story coherently? Most of the time I tuned out his endless chatter, but right now I actually needed this information.
“Continue, Ryker.”
“Thanks for your concern about my star player, Tally. He was all squished up in those uniform pants. It was painful. Anyway, I tried to scent her, but she smelled horrible. She was wearing a nasty lotion that made me feel sick. It was like she was trying to hide something, so I tried to smell her natural scent underneath, but it was so faint and my nose isn’t as good as yours.
Maybe I’m wrong, but even if she isn’t an omega, we can still fuck her.
She’s here at the bar. Just have your wolf give it a good sniff and see what the beast thinks. ”
“For the millionth time, stop calling me Tally.”
“Jeez, you're fucking touchy tonight, Tally! Just smell the fucking string.”
"I will. If you stop talking, Ryker."
He fell silent for a second... then started humming.
I shot him a glare. "And no humming."
That finally shut him up.
I dangled the string in front of my nose.
I hadn’t tried scenting an item quite so small, but a shifter’s sense of smell was stronger and more accurate than even an alpha’s.
If I couldn’t smell her natural scent, it couldn’t be done.
Our olfactory receptors were 100,000 times more accurate than beta receptors.
We could smell things from miles away and track targets better than the military hounds.
That’s what made shifters so valuable to Arca.
I regularly led search and recovery missions for high-value targets because of my tracking skills.
When I first enlisted, Arca had also used me for a shocking amount of experiments and testing.
I’d sit in the sterile science lab, the smell of antiseptic thick in the air, my arm outstretched as they drew vial after vial of blood.
Every week, without fail, they forced me to take part in shifting tests.
I was monitored, measured, and pushed to my limits like some kind of lab rat.
They poked, prodded, and observed, jotting down notes on their stupid clipboards as if I weren’t even human.
The process was always the same: needles, questions, cold metal instruments, and the low hum of machines that seemed to watch me as closely as the scientists did.
Repeatedly, like I was just a specimen instead of a person.
I suppose that's where I developed my sexual preference for pain and inflicting pain.
That, and the familiar pain I felt during a shift of course.
A decade later of working my way through the ranks, I was valuable enough that I was no longer at the mercy of the Arca scientists' never-ending experiments and testing. Shifters were harder to come by when I had first enlisted, and now there were newer, younger shifters more than willing to fill the test subject role in exchange for comfortable postings, luxury Arca housing, and extra privileges. Only a few of us existed, but it was enough to keep me off the science department’s radar.
My wolf was rabid. It was howling, clawing at the inside of my skin. The second Ryker mentioned an omega, it started pacing, desperate to break free and scent her for itself.
I lifted the string to my nose and inhaled deeply. Instantly, I recoiled. The stench hit me like a slap. A grotesque, floral smell, sharp and chemical, so overpowering it burned my nostrils and turned my stomach. I shot Ryker a pissed-look, but he just motioned for me to try again.
Reluctantly, I brought the string back to my nose and this time I let my wolf rise a little closer to the surface. Its senses were sharper than mine. I inhaled, and sure enough, beneath that thick layer of perfume, something else was faintly present.
There it was.
Warm. Sweet. Barely there.
But real.
A subtle hint of almond, vanilla, and honey, delicate enough to miss unless you knew what you were looking for. There was no way it was detectable by anyone other than a shifter.
At first, I thought the smell was too faint to be an omega scent, unless she was taking suppressants. Weeping violet had unusual properties and could alter scent, hence why Arca had made it illegal. I had no idea how the hell Ryker figured it out, but I was pretty sure he was right.
Beneath it all, she smelled like an omega.
A hidden one.
A suppressed one.
“Well, shit, I guess we aren’t going to The Rusty Tap. Let’s go recover this omega,” I said, confirming Ryker’s suspicion.
He grinned from ear to ear, and my wolf howled with excitement, reciting the same word over and over in my head: Mate.