Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
I’m beginning to wonder if omegas going extinct on Khanos was a mercy.
Or an evolutionary device to protect Roktusians from our own madness.
Am I insane?
Possibly. I know I’m hopelessly, desperately aroused. Bitterly afraid. And fucking pissed.
She isn’t here for me. I’ve accepted that.
But I cannot bring myself to leave the alcove outside her chamber.
Even if it means sharing air with our supposed king.
Zolkan paces the round, auridian floor. The precious pastel stone gleams, its silver veins glimmering in the low light, twinkling along the ceiling’s seams.
Perfect for an omega.
Which is, of course, the whole point.
And my whole problem.
Perhaps I should not have Selected her. She will be a special sort of temptation for me. I knew it the second I saw her small, pale form. Not because I desired her, but because I admired her.
Embers of pride still glow in the grate at my center, thinking of the way she hissed and spat through her cage. Too fierce without fangs. Too fragile despite the fire burning behind her eyes.
And, gods.
Her eyes.
Twin signs from Stelaris. In Her beloved opalescent blue. As sparkling and clear as the sacred sands under Rholoko. Flecked with the one precious color missing from our world.
Gold.
I asked my favored deity to grant me strength and reveal the perfect omega to me. The moment the human’s gaze met mine, I knew my goddess had spoken.
It was this one.
Or it was no one.
Never mind my inconvenient reaction to every move she makes.
While Zolkan wears a track back and forth, I sit forward, resting my bent arms on my spread knees. Listening. Ignoring my rudely pungent musk and the raging erections practically hanging from the leather kilt pooled around my lap.
If the “king” has anything to say about it, he’s wise enough to keep that shit to himself. Gods know he has no room to talk, given the bulges in his breeches and the stench emanating from him.
It’s only natural. We’re alphas. She’s the first omega on Khanos in hundreds of orbits. Of course our bodies want her.
That’s all this obsession is.
Carnal desire.
I hope.
Zolkan groans under his breath, shoving his hands over the shaved sides of his head for the hundredth time. Mumbling the same nonsense he has been for an hour. “She’s so upset. And I made it worse.”
We both did, really. I’d never give him the satisfaction of relieving his guilt, though. Not as we sit among the ruins of the mess he made.
My sister’s voice reaches my ears, muted by the thick slab sealing the portal to the omega’s chamber. She has explained the human’s situation to her many times, but my little blue-eyed warrior refuses to accept it.
Which makes no sense. They said the omega volunteered to be removed from her crumbling planet. Were they lying? Or did she want to be rescued until she saw it was me who would be taking her?
I didn’t exactly handle the situation with grace.
Once the deal had been struck—twenty thousand fresh Roktusian cadets in exchange for this one warm-haired, opal-eyed creature—I refused to allow anyone else to touch her.
I told Norabi it was pure prudence. Obviously, the female represents a significant investment.
But, in truth, as soon as I touched her, her entire body went lax. And as I pulled her from the cage, reeking of stomachs-churning fear and cocks-thickening need, my arms simply locked into place. I couldn’t have put her down if I wanted to.
Therein lies the problem.
I didn’t want to.
The entire ride back to Khanos, I kept her tucked into my lap. Ignoring my raging blood and acting like I wasn’t fucking purring. Then pretending I only did it to keep her calm.
It worked, though. My rumbling chest had a tranquilizing effect on her, even through the barrier of Zolkan’s gods-damned breastplate.
Something dark and dangerous settled into my soul as I watched her sleep, with her round, soft cheek pressed into the Zortaire’s crest. I refuse to examine it now. I can’t afford for it to grow while he’s within reach, or he’ll have an axe between his scarred shoulder blades.
The bastard tries to keep them covered with a leather plate of his own, obscuring some of his shame. Covering himself, like he’s some sort of Northerner guarding against the cold.
But I see the scars where his wings once were, peeking around the edges of his facade.
Our whole world does.
The sooner he accepts that, the sooner our gods will end the fucking curse climbing its way through my veins. This heated envy and terrifying need.
Morfu’s ball sack, how am I expected to return to the barracks? Continue commanding our army? Fighting to turn bucks into males worthy of battle?
How can I go back to my life—knowing she’s here—and pretend I haven’t touched the very stars themselves?