What the Fuck?
Tansy
I wake up disoriented and angry, a spark tingling just beneath my skin.
When I pry my eyes open, the world swims. I drag in a deep breath, grounding myself in the smells around me. Dirt and wet leaves, clean cotton, and something faintly smoky, like a fire is burning somewhere nearby.
I lift my head, squinting through the blur, but all I can see is light seeping through what looks like stretched canvas.
Am I in a tent?
I shift, feeling the tiny cot beneath me. Lifting one arm, my muscles ache. It feels like I’ve been folded into one position for too long. My shoulders burn. My hips feel bruised. Even my fingers are stiff and clumsy as I flex them around the thin sheet draped over me.
A low murmur drifts from somewhere next to me. Turning my head, I find a thin white partition right next to me. It’s stretched tight like a sheet. Not thick enough to really block anything out. Just enough to pretend there’s privacy.
Lights on the other side throw outlines of people onto the fabric, blurred at the edges like a stain. Soft shapes. A shoulder. A head tipping forward. Someone pacing in a short line, back and forth, back and forth.
Murmurs prick my ear, voices low but professional. The scent of multiple betas seeps through the partition. Clean sweat. Antiseptic wipes. Cheap coffee. And threaded through all of it is the faint aroma of omegas.
Then, I swear I hear someone request a syringe, then a bandage.
Is this some kind of hospital?
Was I rescued from the alpha who snatched me in that alley?
At least that’s what I think happened…
Faded memories flash in my mind.
An alpha’s face hovering too close,
the crush of a hand over my mouth,
the jolt of a car door slamming,
the blur of streetlights streaking past the window.
And then…nothing.
My stomach flips, and my throat gets tight. I shift my gaze to the bottom edge of the divider beside me, trying to figure out where I am.
There’s a gap. Only an inch or two, but it’s enough to see tennis shoes and a single pair of black boots.
The boots slide closer, stopping right next to the partition. Then a male voice says, “No worries, Dr. Plume. I can check on her while you step out.”
I hear a distant thanks, then the partition gives the faintest shiver, like someone brushed past it.
A shadow falls across the thin curtain, a silhouette that lingers far too long.
Then a hand appears at the edge, fingers curling around the side as if he’s about to pull it back, and my blood goes cold with fear.
I quickly drop my head back onto the thin pillow, eyelids snapping shut. I force my breathing to slow, and all the muscles in my face to soften. Then I let my fingers go slack, making every inch of my body go still. Heavy.
I can feel the man moving next to me more than I can hear him. He’s a beta, but a faint omega-tang clings to him, like he’s been moving between cots.
He stands right next to me, the heat from his body warming my exposed arm.
I keep my breath even and my lashes still.
Don’t move. Don’t flinch. Don’t let him know you’re awake.
A breath stirs the air above my cheek. Warm. Too close. Fingers grip my chin, tipping my head one way, then the other.
“You’re very beautiful,” the beta whispers so softly, clearly not wanting to be heard by anyone else.
His thumb strokes my jawline, a featherlight touch that makes my stomach churn.
His hand travels down, circling around my neck.
He squeezes, just enough to feel my pulse thrumming against his palm.
“They’re already lining up to meet you.”
His words hit my nerves like a struck wire. My heart slams once against my ribs before I can clamp down on it. I pray he can’t see the tremor that races up my spine.
The beta’s hand lifts off of me, and for a moment, I think he might leave, but then my sheet slips downward.
It’s a slow tug.
The faint drag of fabric down my chest, then down my ribs. Cold air makes my nipples harden, and a fresh wave of fear lights me up.
Oh my god! Am I naked?
Shock tears through me, every muscle in my body begging to tense as he exposes my breasts, stomach, and hips. But I force my body to obey. To stay still and quiet, breathing even.
Warmth hovers just above my skin. I feel his hand ghost over my breastbone, then down to my chest. My skin pebbles in the chill, a betrayal of every nerve screaming for flight.
Fingers slowly trace the curve of one breast, then the other, before fully groping me.
His fingertip pushes into my skin, his thumb brushing over my nipple with a possessive swipe.
It takes everything in me not to sob.
So instead, I do the only thing I know how to do in moments like this.
I slip inward, pulling my awareness away from my skin. Away from the warm press of his palm against my flesh and the feel of his breath across my face. I focus instead on the darkness behind my eyelids, on the slow rhythm of my own breathing. On the tiny rise and fall of my own chest.
My body is an outline. Something distant, a shape filled with static.
The beta’s hands move across me, but it’s like they’re touching someone else.
Not me.
Then his hand stills, resting right beneath my belly button. His fingers splay, pressing down slightly, a claim. That’s when I feel his breath fan across my face. He’s going to kiss me. I just know it, and it fills me with a sudden, crawling dread.
What kind of fucking monster does this to an unconscious woman?
My fingers move on their own, curling around the side of the cot as I brace myself. All I can smell is the asshole’s sharp scent. It’s bitter, like over-steeped tea leaves.
Then I feel the slightest press of a mouth to mine. It’s soft, but his lips are chapped, and the faint scrape of them against mine is what finally shatters my control.
Something breaks open inside my head. Not anger.
Panic.
My eyes fly open, and the world slams back into me all at once. The harsh light. The cold air. The beta’s face right over mine, eyes closed, savoring the feel of my lips on his.
The past crashes in with it. Too fast and loud. Hands paw at me, touching where they shouldn’t. Weight pinning me down. Breath in my ear. No way out.
I can’t breathe.
I can’t think.
I have to get away!
A surge of adrenaline fires within me, and I kick out blindly, instinct screaming run, run, run!
My elbow connects hard with his chest.
The beta jerks upright like he’s been electrocuted, stumbling back so fast he smacks into the partition. It wobbles, then topples over completely, crashing to the floor.
“Shit,” he whispers softly, eyes going huge when he realizes I’m awake and staring straight at him.
Shock flashes across his face—guilty, pale, rabbit-fast.
I don’t attack him. I don’t think. I just try to flee.
I scramble off the cot, heart hammering, vision tunneling. My body weaves sideways, straight into the horrible man, my shoulder slamming into his. The impact knocks him backward, arms flailing. But I don’t stop. I keep moving, my bare feet slapping clumsily at the hard ground.
My limbs feel wrong, heavy and loose at the same time, like they don’t quite belong to me.
I make it two steps. Maybe three.
Then my legs buckle.
The floor rushes up too fast, my knees folding like they’re made of jelly. The drugs drag me down, stealing my strength mid-stride.
I barely have time to register the cold before strong hands catch me easily, arms closing around my waist and shoulders.
Voices explode all around me.
Footsteps.
Something shatters as it hits the floor.
“Be careful with her!” a man yells. “Don’t bruise her!”
Then a female alpha barks, “Omega! Stop!” The command hits my spine like a jolt.
I freeze completely, my body locking up. Then I’m lifted.
Unfamiliar arms lock around my upper arms, pinning my hands at my sides. I give one weak jerk, but it’s no use. I have no strength compared to the man holding me.
“Fuck,” the asshole grunts, still sprawled on the canvas-covered floor. He’s blinking up at the ceiling like he can’t quite track where he is. He’s young, late twenties maybe, with messy bleach-blond hair hanging in his face.
He lifts his head, then places one hand to the back of his skull, fingers coming away slick with blood.
Good.
“What the hell?” he mutters as he slowly sits up, pushing his hair out of his face.
There’s a thin scar over his right eye. “Fuck.” His mouth falls open, examining the blood on his palm.
“That one’s feral! She attacked me for no reason.
She can’t—” He cuts himself off the second a female alpha steps up beside him and into my line of sight.
My shoulders curl inward on instinct.
She stands at least six feet tall, with sleek black hair falling in a perfect curtain to her waist. Her lips are a glossy, lethal red, the kind of color that stains.
Her nails are long and pointed, claws painted to a mirror-shine.
She’s dressed like a posh businesswoman: tailored charcoal trousers, a bright red blouse, and black heels sharp enough to stab someone if she felt like it.
My body reacts to her, my back arching and my head ducking as I drag in her dominant scent. It’s thick and smoky, laced with warm tobacco leaves. The beta holding my arms from behind tightens his grip, steadying me when my knees threaten to give out again.
I hate that I can't see his face.
“I’m sorry, Angelica,” the asshole drops his gaze, submitting to her intense presence. “I was just checking her vitals. She woke up confused and tried to bolt.”
My body jerks at the lie. It’s a weak, useless protest, but that’s all I can manage. Everything else is locked in place. Angelica’s dominance presses down on me like a weighted blanket soaked in fear, pinning every muscle in place.
And I’m too exhausted to fight it.