Murdoch
She’s cryin’.
She t’inks I dinna notice, t’at I canna see the way ’er shoulders tremble, or the way she’s buried ’er face intu the straw, prentendin’ tu sleep.
But I du… I notice evera broken sob she swallows, evera fist she makes, drawin’ blood, an’ even though we ’ave not bonded an’ our telepathy ’as not been established, I hear evera vile t’ought she ’as, an’ somet’in’ in me gut t’at I dinna ’ave a name fer twists.
An’ yet… I still dinna regret markin’ ’er against ’er will.
’ow can I wen ’er scent still lingers on me skin like an’ expensive perfume? ’ow can I wen me mark shines so beautifully on ’er t’roat? Or wen I know wat it feels like tu be inside ’er?I feckin’ regret not’in’, but still, me ’eart aches. Feck!
As ’er sobs turn tu calm breaths, lettin’ me know she’s truly fallen asleep, I canna ’elp but marvel at me Omega’s beautiful dark skin glowin’ in the moonlight.
I run me eyes ova ’er wild hair, tangles wrapped around ’er face like a crown of shadows, untamable, an’ defiant like ’er.
Long black lashes fan against ’er wet cheeks, tremblin’ evera time her plump, dark brown lip stutter out a breath in ’er sleep.
’ow devastatin’ly beautiful.
Me rare, wild Omega, an’ not jus’ rare because o’ ’er abilities.
Not jus’ because ’er scent drives me intu madness, but because she’s me warrior.
The only Omega who didn’t drop to ’er knees the moment she encountered me.
The only one who, bit , ran an’ fought me tu the bitter end.
The only one who looks more beautiful covered in scratches an’ ’atred than any polished jewel in a palace.
I reach out, rough fingers nervously shakin’, scared tu disturb ’er first peaceful slumber wit’ me, but I brush a strand o’ hair from her cheek. Me heart stalls when she whimpers an’ flinches in ’er sleep.
“N-no! Please! D-don’t!” she whimpers an’ I grit me teeth. Is it me she’s fearful o’ even in ’er sleep? “Please, M-Master Lorsol! Please! I… I’ll be good!” she yelps in ’er sleep an’ I feel hell raise in me veins. Lorsol? Who the feck is t’at? Master?
Perhaps a previous owner? I know that dependin’ on the region, Omegas are rounded up like cattle an’ sum sold intu slavery. Some even choose tu be sex slaves an’ concubines… I neva cared about Omegas. I only joined the hunt fer the thrill, but now I see me ignorance …
I use the back o’ me ’and tu gently wipe a tear from ’er face, vowin’ t’at sumeday she’ll undastand. Sumday she’ll see wat it means tu be mine. Not jus’ owned . Not jus’ knotted an’ marked.
But kept.
Protected.
Worshipped.
She’ll undastand the wat it mean tu be chosen by me, tu know t’at I’ll make it so she neva cries again. I’ve neva been more sure o’ anyt’in’ in me life.
She was made fer me.
An’ one day, I’ll make ’er see it.