Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Zeb
Present day…
She’s asleep or was briefly. I felt her stir, but that didn’t matter; I needed to be out of that bed. Too close, too good, and too fucking much.
My body is still humming from the sex, and her. But my mind is already distracted.
I drag on my shirt and pants. My cap, too, which is stupid given we’re inside. But I like the shadow it offers. She’s perceptive, far too fucking perceptive, and it’s making my gut clench and my back itch like a target has been painted on it.
My data tablet is back in my hand, and I’m scrolling through the briefing, searching for the answers to the threat I’m feeling. I’ve gone through it a dozen times, but I still haven’t worked out what I’m missing… what is making me itch.
My fingers slow as I once more come to where the briefing goes over my cover story, with information about the healer and the team I will be allocated to. And then my eyes skip back to the details about the healer.
Esme was not the first omega selected for this mission, but the first choice bonded with an alpha, and command made a last-minute change.
She’s not supposed to be here.
Esme with her too-perceptive eyes.
There it is on the tablet, blinking in front of me.
Fuck!
Not simply a healer. No, she is a rare mix, one that can heal the body, the mind, and the spirit. Twenty, thirty, and fifty percent, respectively.
Fifty goddamned percent spiritual.
They see things on different planes of existence than the rest of us. The thirty percent mind healer won’t fucking help either.
Someone fucked up big time. Probably that dick recruiter taking liberties with the mission briefing and reallocating a healer without checking back with command.
I’m not an alpha. I’m a zeta playing a role, faking it like a pro, the way I’ve done all my career.
Sweat breaks out across the surface of my skin.
She’ll fucking know.
Maybe she already does.
Esme
I’m not new to the games of dominance and submission—the push and pull between alphas and omegas. At twenty-eight, I’ve experienced my share.
I’ve been into war zones and field encampments as part of a healer contingent.
Rescue missions and post-combat recovery, too.
Only, I’m not often taken into the battle zone; not when compared to regular omegas.
My skill set is different, rare. While I’m still a physical healer who can deal with wounds, I’m also a mind and spirit healer, one who spends time with soldiers once the battle has ended, helping them claw their way back to a version of life that doesn’t involve artillery, flying bullets, violence, and blood.
If they survive that long, which isn’t a given.
Many go on to take up positions in training or command, utilizing their expertise to support the broader war effort. Some go into civilian life, leaving the military altogether.
As for the natural life bonds that are part of human existence, they can take many forms. Not all alphas get an omega.
They outnumber us five to one. Most alphas never get a chance; only the controllers, those at the top of the pecking order, get regular access to omegas.
Invariably, at some point or another, an accidental bonding occurs.
Those alphas don’t need my help. They have an omega who can be their balance and who heals them emotionally and spiritually in ways the eyes cannot see.
That still leaves a hell of a lot of alphas, and I help them where I can.
So, I’ve seen my share of troubled men, and as Zeb slips out of the bed after fucking me into oblivion, I’m aware that he’s a man with lots of hidden truths and secrets.
I stare up at the darkened ceiling, welcoming the aches in my body, listening to his faint movements in the tiny lounge area, sensing the activity of his mind. He’s occupied fully, probably back on the data tablet he was so interested in after we first arrived.
The mission briefing?
I’m still confused as to why he’s so deeply immersed in it.
It’s a standard rescue operation. Given he’s allocated as my controller, his focus will be on my protection so I can get on with healing the prisoners we hope to rescue, along with any injured soldiers.
He’s not even a team leader: he’ll be reporting to another alpha.
In my briefing, it confirmed I would be stationed in a field healer contingent.
It’s likely that Zeb’s whole team will be allocated to the protection of the temporary operational base.
It’s going to be emotionally draining and mentally destroying.
I’m braced for it and ready to lift the burdens those poor souls have endured at the hands of the Uncorrupted, in any way I can.
My unique omega gifts mean I’ve seen more than my share of such roles, dealing with the victims of the Uncorrupted.
He’s not a green recruit and is sure to have been through his share of such operations, too. I can’t think what would be driving this level of mental activity.
Not that alphas shirk their duties. They take them damn seriously, truth be told. Yet there’s still that niggling sense that this doesn’t feel quite right.
Anomalies.
In him?
Or in the mission?
Maybe it’s me, at twenty-eight, still not bonded, being knotted for the first time… Maybe I should seek out one of those gamma therapists employed by the government, whom I’ve heard so many good reports about.
I sit up in bed.
The sensation of things sliding hits me like a physical blow. I press my fingers to my temples. The sudden stabbing pain is one I associate with deceit: a discordant, disquieted, unsettled churning that centers in the pit of my stomach.
Again, is the deceit in him or the mission?
I also get this feeling when I’ve spent too much time with extreme trauma victims. Still, that tends to arrive in slow increments. This is like a hammer to the skull.
I swing my legs out of the side of the bed then groan.
Damn the man fucks hard. I wince as I stand, wishing healers could self-soothe.
Healer omegas have a notoriously high pain tolerance, so this is throwing me off kilter.
I shuffle over into the tiny bathroom and check my reflection in the mirror.
The beating pain in my skull is already fading, thank goodness.
My eyes are particularly bright, despite my body feeling sore and tender.
The acts of healing mind and body can be draining, but spiritual healing, which is done exclusively through intimacy, can be energizing. His knot, maybe. Whatever the man is packing is off the charts.
Zeb
I hear her move, the bed creaking, followed by a soft curse. She’s sore. I didn’t hold back. Maybe I should have? It all got a little blurry the moment I touched her. Now I’m freaking out that I went too far.
My fingers tighten into a fist. I hear her close the door to the tiny shower facility room, and I take a deep breath.
I need to fucking think.
No. Don’t think. Shut it all down. I’m lying to a mind healer. Goddamned idiot, Zeb. She’s going to smell the deception from fifty paces. The spiritual side is going to be in full recoil mode, too.
I’m still churning through this shit storm when I sense her presence.
I don’t look up. The missions are always important, but this one is personal to Brach, and I can’t afford to fuck this up.
I’ve never failed one yet, and I’m sure as hell not going to fail this one.
Just make sure the bitch is dead. I’ve read the reports.
Jenda needs to die. Sure, they will replace her, but whoever they pick can’t be worse, and if it derails the sick experiments even for a time, I will take it as a win.
Esme.
Ah, fuck.
Esme
I use the facilities to wash up and I slip on a clean healer dress. When I enter the lounge area, he’s so deep in focus he doesn’t even notice me standing at the door.
Or does he?
I take him in. The cap is back on, which makes me frown. Why would he wear a cap inside? Seems criminal to cover up that magnificent hair. His eyes are hidden in the shadows of it, and I don’t like that. He swipes through the screen, taps a few things, and then swipes again.
I get the strangest impression that he is faking his avid interest in whatever he’s reading. My lips curve into a smile. He was definitely trying to wear me out so he could get back to it.
He glances up from his data briefly before his eyes swing back to his tablet. And then, almost like they’re subjected to magnetic force, they’re on me again, and he gives me a slow up-down look that lights me up.
Zeb
I glance up. Bad move. She’s gotten dressed, although the healer’s shift clings like a second skin and might be worse than if she was naked. Also, she’s glowing—literally.
I try to look away and fucking fail. I can’t tear my gaze off her. My body reacts, as instincts that are not wholly mine hit me like a punch. “Get over here.” What the fuck is wrong with my voice? Why is it so deep?
Her eyes spark. She freezes. Then moves slowly, like she knows what her defiance does to me.
I look back at the tablet, pretending her mere proximity doesn’t undo me, that I’m not losing my edge of control. Who knew playing a controller would be this much of a test?
I’m drawn to her in a way I’ve never experienced before. Intrigued. Getting close to her is dangerous and not only because she can probably read me in a way that will compromise the mission.
But I couldn’t stop this now if I tried.
She stands in front of me. I see her feet, naked and perfect, with little pink toes.
Her presence is like a balm resting over my frantic thoughts.
Her scent is still all over me. I can feel the ghost sensation of her body under my hands, my lips…
her hot cunt sucking on my dick and squeezing over my knot.
Her damn pussy has broken my brain.
I lift my eyes to meet hers, and everything I’ve been trying to bury threatens to claw its way out.
She thinks I’m just another alpha.
But I’m not.
Not even close.