Chapter 30 #2
I feel dizzy with it all. Like I’m simultaneously watching my body from above and experiencing more sensation than I’ve ever felt in my entire life.
“Yeah, your new home,” he grins, dragging me down the steps.
My feet scramble for purchase against the dirt, but my fuzzy socks do nothing to help give me purchase.
He stops outside the open door of a transport cage, holding me up against his body.
I want to vomit. His thick, moldy scent grows even more intense with his obvious arousal and attraction.
But instead of my strawberry shortcake scent turning sour and bitter with disgust, to my absolute horror, it grows sweeter. Even to my own senses, it has a nearly overpowering artificial aftertaste, but that doesn’t seem to bother Jett at all.
He lowers his head, trailing his nose up the column of my neck.
“God, your scent,” he growls.
I try and squirm away from him when I feel his wet tongue against my skin. His grip on my wrist just turns punishing at my struggle, a growl rising in his chest that sends terror skating down my spine.
I dry heave, my insides trembling at the implications of what’s happening.
That seems to snap Jett out of whatever territorial alpha haze he was in because he immediately shoves me away, practically throwing me inside the transport cage.
I guess he doesn’t want me to vomit on him. Again.
As he drives me to the concrete box-like building I first met Rage, the one with the thick metal doors and cells, my shoulders start to tremble with not-so-silent sobs.
This can’t be happening.
He’s obviously injected me with something. A drug of some sort.
Shame threatens to choke me when I realize that pulsing heat has made its way between my legs.
There’s no denying it now.
This is a heat inducing drug.
The cool morning air does nothing to calm the burning, throbbing heat pulsing through my veins. My skin feels too tight for my body.
Were things this bad back at the facility? I can never remember.
I think that’s on purpose. I imagine it would be much harder to keep the omegas in line if we know that the procedures we undergo to supposedly help people include this much pain.
The engine cuts off and Jett drags me out. I think he finds a lot of pleasure wrapping my hair in his fist and making me stumble behind him. I don’t think he’s let me walk a single time since I’ve gotten here.
Even when Rowan had an actual leash attached to my neck, he never treated me like this.
The thought of Rowan makes a desperate pang twist low in my belly.
As I’m dragged into one of the cells, or should I say torture chambers, I’m plagued by thoughts of my alphas.
I wonder where they are. How they’re doing.
And as I stare at the metal bed frame bed in the center of the room with restraints hanging off the four corners, I wonder whether I’m ever going to see them again.
This room makes me feel like I’m going to die here.
“Don’t fight me,” Jett grunts before he shoves me on the bare mattress. “Or do. You know how much I like a good fight.”
My stomach roils before assaulting me with a violent cramp that has a keening cry leaving my throat.
It’s starting.
“Damn, this drug works fast.” He tugs my right wrist first, snapping the metal handcuff around it with a definitive click.
My left wrist is next.
He has a harder time wrestling my legs into the restraints because I’m writhing about on the bed, the sweatpants and t-shirt I’m wearing feeling far too thick and heavy for my skin.
I want them off. They’re too much. Everything is too much.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask him to help me, but I bite back the words. The last thing I want is for his eyes to be on my naked body. Not again.
“There we go.” Jett stares down at me, standing at the foot of the bed, his hands planted on his hips and his smile wide. “God, this is going to be fun.”
I scrunch my eyes shut, bracing myself for whatever’s going to happen next, but nothing does. The thick metal door slams shut, leaving me alone in this cell I think I’m going to die in.
And for whatever reason, my inner omega riots at the thought.
I can’t be left alone. Not like this.
I thrash against the restraints, tears streaming down my cheeks and soaking into my hairline. They even drip into my ears. But even as they cool on my face, nothing about me is cool.
Everything is burning hot. Like I’m being cooked alive from the inside out.
I don’t know how long I lay there, thrashing about like that, fighting the restraints, fighting against the restrictive feel of my clothes, fighting against the sensation that my skin is too small for me to fit.
When the door finally opens again, a relieved sob leaves my throat.
I don’t even care who it is. They just need to put a stop to this.
I can’t take it. I feel like I’m going to die.
“What the fuck is this,” Dr. Stetson coughs.
“Told you what your job would be, Doc,” Jett sneers, positioning himself at the foot of my bed, his gaze roving over my body, taking in my tears and my face that’s already starting to get drenched in sweat.
“This is—this is—“
“You’re here to do a job, not give your opinions,” Jett barks.
Dr. Stetson snaps his mouth shut, stepping up bedside my bed. His face is pale as he looks down at me.
“H—help me,” I whimper.
His jaw ticks, but he ignores my plea, avoiding my eyes. He catalogues my body, though far more clinically than Jett did.
That rejection sends me spiraling and as another wave of cramps hits me like a truck, I break down into more sobs.
“These restraints will not do,” Dr. Stetson growls, reaching up. His fingertips against the skin of my wrists sends electric shocks down my arms.
It makes a startled gasp leave my lips. All the doctor does is swallow hard, averting his gaze.
As he draws his hands away, I see they’re wet with blood.
Oh. I guess I’m bleeding.
“These kinda cuffs work fine for the dogs,” Jett grumbles.
“Well, they won’t work for her,” Dr. Stetson snaps. “She’s an omega, not a feral alpha. Her tolerance for physical injury, especially while put through—put through this artificial heat are far less robust.”
“Fine, fine,” Jett rolls his eyes. “I’ll find different restraints.”
“Preferably padded leather,” Dr. Stetson instructs. “I will set her up with two IVs, one for fluids and one to... collect her blood.”
“Wonderful! But what about IV food? That’ll mean we can keep her like this longer, right?”
Dr. Stetson’s dominance explodes out of him, making a whimper leave my throat as my senses are assaulted with the intensity. It’s like being shoved face first into a bucket of cologne and left to drown.
“You must be joking,” he snarls. “Do you know how much work is put into TPN, I can’t just ask for a random bag and—“
“Well, that’s your issue,” Jett shrugs, waving over his shoulder. “I’ll be back with the new kind of restraints as his majesty orders.”
The thick metal door slams behind Jett, leaving the two of us alone.
“P—please help me,” I beg again, blinking up at the doctor. “Please.”
“I—I can’t,” he says, kneeling beside my bed, his heartbreak evident on his face. “I wish I could.”
I close my eyes, the last shred of hope I have drifting away before I give him a jerky nod.
“It’s okay,” I croak out, my natural instinct to soothe making an appearance. “I know you have a family you have to take care of.”
Instead of helping, my words just seem to make him more upset.
He shakes his head, opening up his briefcase and pulling out some medical supplies.
“I have to ask,” he murmurs softly. “This is the normal protocol for unbonded omegas undergoing their heat, I know it might not mean jack shit in this place, but I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I didn’t ask while you’re still cognizant.
Who would you like to service you through your heat, if its’ allowed. ”
I blink up at him, the question catching me off guard. In the normal world I’d get to pick?
Someone would be able to help me through this pain?
“Rowan.” He was the first person to ever help me and he’s done so time and time again, since I’ve been here.
Dr. Stetson shakes his head and a pang of panic shoots through my chest. Did I answer wrong? Am I in trouble now?
“That won’t work,” Dr. Stetson explains. “At least not alone. Rowan can help, but he’s a beta. You’ll need an alpha.”
“Then my alphas,” I answer automatically.
“The fighters?”
I give him a jerky nod as another wave of pain hits me.
The world starts to grow hazy around the edges. I barely feel the prick of my forearm as he gets started on the first IV.
“I understand, Mirabelle. Thank you for sharing that with me. I’m so sorry. You don’t deserve to be treated this way.”
Those are the last words of kindness I remember before losing myself to an unending world of indescribable, all-consuming pain.