Chapter 12 #2
Mav finally speaks, his voice deeper than I realized. “We’ve watched your footage from the refuge. Hours of it.”
The reminder of Dr. Montgomery’s surveillance chills me. And the fact that these dingalings have watched it irks me. I don’t even know what kind of footage exists. “Creepy,” I mutter.
“Training, hunting, river baths…” Carter’s grin widens. “Impressive form. You’re very thorough.”
Nathaniel leans in, his gaze catching mine. “And then you killed four women after we’d already been chosen to help you through your heat. Your brutality is something we find appealing.” The curve of his mouth dares me to flinch. I don’t.
“They had it coming.”
“No argument there.” He sips his wine. “Whitney was a pain in the ass. Her friends were worse.”
“Speaking of appealing,” Carter’s gaze slides over me. “You’re in good shape. Although…” He tilts his head. “A bit small up top for my taste.”
“That’s fair,” I shoot back with a sweet smile. “You looked a bit small down below for mine.”
He chokes on his wine. Mav actually cracks a smile, a flash of white teeth in the low light.
“Would you like a closer look?” Carter recovers, his grin wicked. “Happy to prove you wrong.”
“The rules,” Nathaniel cuts in. “After dinner, you get a three-hour head start. You’ll have supplies for basic survival. We get the same kit.”
“Weapons?”
“Knife. Small bow. Same as us.”
“Boundaries will be respected unless you cross the line.” Challenge flashes in his eyes. “Any violence will be met in kind.” He looks at me like he’s hoping I’ll give him an excuse.
“Why would I believe you?”
“Because we signed a contract, too,” Carter says.
“I have a mate.” Four, actually.
They laugh.
“Weller,” Nathaniel says. “We’ve met him. A little uptight, isn’t he?”
Carter shrugs, his lips curling. “If we decide to keep you, he’ll never see you again. Distance weakens bonds. It’ll fade.”
Keeping me isn’t on the table, is it?
“You’re wrong.”
Mav speaks. “We can take as much time as we need to find out. And if he’s a problem…” His eyes gleam, the implication hanging in the air. “There are ways to handle that.”
He’s threatening Weller. I hate it.
But Weller isn’t here. None of them are.
It’s just me. I have to figure this out myself. Like always.
I stay quiet. My mind is spinning. I can’t think. This is a setup. Their fathers want me broken, dead, or vanished. The Havershams are just the weapon. A trap designed to look like a choice. They’ve been playing me from the start.
“When does the hunt begin?” I ask, my voice bored even though my heart is hammering against my ribs.
“Now, if you’re ready.” Nathaniel gestures to a large door and moves to a panel on the wall. “Your backpack is here.” I see it on the floor.
“Oh, and one more thing…” Carter says, joining his brother. He presses a different button, and the room goes silent.
Then it happens.
The air rushes back in all at once, but it’s not clean like before.
I smell them.
Nathaniel is pine and rain. Carter is leather and something sweet. Mav is citrus and cardamom. Each scent bypasses my brain and goes straight for my vagina. A cocktail designed to short-circuit every defense I have.
They smell like home.
What.
The.
Fuck.
If I didn’t know better, I’d think they were mine. My scent matches.
But they’re not. This is a trick.
Unfortunately, my body doesn’t care about that irrelevant detail.
I gasp, biting back a whimper. I’ve been wet before, but this is instant, almost violent. My underwear—soaked, my thighs trembling, every nerve screaming.
The omega I once wanted so badly to make an appearance goes on red alert.
Traitorous bitch.
They watch me, smirking, like they’ve been waiting for this.
“Surprise,” Carter says mockingly as the door slowly opens.
I snatch my pack and bolt, their dark, amused chuckles following me into the night.
Cold air slams into me but does nothing to stop the inferno under my skin. My body feels alien, hypersensitive, desperate. Too alive.
I don’t know this version of myself, and I already hate her.
A drone hovers overhead, humming. I grab a rock and hurl it. The rock hits but doesn’t take it down.
“Go fuck yourselves,” I tell the camera, flipping it off. Sick bastards. I have to move.
I run. Distance is everything. I need to think of what to do.
Hiding won’t work. Running won’t work forever. Climbing a tree might be an option. If I climb high enough, what are they going to do? Fuck me at the top of it?
Once I’ve been running for thirty or so minutes, I stop to breathe and check the supplies.
The pack is stocked with water, freeze-dried meals, matches, first aid, a sharp but tiny knife, a small bow, and…
a dildo. How thoughtful. Because nothing says omega like getting yourself off in the woods while you’re being hunted by strangers and watched by drones.
Will I be desperate enough to give them a show? Fuck, I hope not.
Focus. I need a plan.
Three hours isn’t enough. Not even close.
How well do they know the land? Is this their first time here?
I think about the guys. They’re locked down tight, no doubt, their fathers making damn sure of it.
Every move I make, someone’s already thought it through, written it down, set a trap.
It’s a performance, a rigged match, and they want to see me break.
They want to watch me fold and accept the fate they chose for me. Well, I won’t make it easy.
I grit my teeth, anger spiking hotter. Fuck them. All of them. Except anger doesn’t burn away the rest, the deeper need. It’s crawling beneath my skin, restless, hungry, impossible to ignore. Something inside me is shifting, stretching, aching for release.
The air thickens, laced with vanilla and amber.
It takes me a moment to realize it’s me.
I’m awakening. For the wrong alphas. My pheromones pour out of me, a flood soaking the woods.
An undeniable beacon. My omega presented for the wrong fucking alphas.
I want to rip her out of my body and strangle her.
Each inhale is a reminder that they’ll find me.
Moonlight slices through the trees, lighting my path and making me a target. I crash through brush, branches whipping my legs, lungs burning.
Water. I need water. A river, a stream, anything. Water means mud. Mud means I can smother this cursed scent.
It takes thirty minutes to find it—a dark slash of river carving through the trees.
I wade in, biting back a gasp as the cold cuts into my skin.
My hands shake as I scoop up mud from the bank, packing it over every inch of exposed skin.
Gritty, wet, and freezing. It’s not perfect, but maybe it will dull the scent enough to buy me time.
My heat is coming. A physical certainty barreling down on me, and I’m standing right in its path. Soon, they’ll be right behind me.
Everything is too much. My skin prickles. The night air burns my lungs.
I need to get as much ground between us as I can.
Dr. Montgomery set me up. Not the way he did with the alphas, not with drugs, not with force—but with his own special twist, and I was fool enough to play right into his hand. I should’ve seen it, should’ve known better.
“Fuck. Fuck. FUCK.” The words rip out of me as I break into a sprint.
No looking back now. I run, every muscle screaming, the night a blur of panic.