Chapter Thirteen
Halley
I trail reluctantly in his wake, unwilling to strain myself to keep up with his long strides. I tug at the collar, adjusting it to feel comfortable and failing.
He comes to a halt on the outskirts of the dense forest, surrounded by towering trees and a hushed stillness broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves. In a deft motion, he picks up a shovel and etches a rough circle in the dirt before driving it into the stony ground.
“As part of your punishment, you’ll be digging a hole,” he declares.
I blink up at him, incredulous. “Punishment? For what?”
“For disregarding an order from your Prime Alpha to put on the bite collar.”
“You’ve got to be joking.”
A humorless smile tugs at his lips. “I assure you, I don’t joke about protocol. It’ll serve you well to grasp that swiftly. And it’s ‘You’ve got to be joking, sir’.”
His words hang heavy in the air, leaving no room for negotiation.
Oh, he is so on my shit list.
In fact, I’m going to make a whole new list: ‘The grand encyclopedia of douchbaggery by Prime Alpha Knox.’
“Now get to work.”
I stare at the dirt patch of ground, and then back at him. I can’t dig a hole! What has this got to do with training as a soldier?
“Uhhh, why do you want me to dig a hole?” I ask, a tinge of frustration leaking into my voice. I’m not opposed to hard labor. Working in the warehouse isn’t a picnic, but I’m struggling to understand why he’s asking me to dig a random hole.
“Omega Sparks, your role is to follow orders without question,” he clips with finality, turns, and strides back towards camp.
I watch him go, and bite back a groan when my eyes snap automatically to his firm ass.
The way his combat trousers fit around his thick thighs is mouthwatering.
I tear my gaze away before the stupidly sexy Alphahole catches me staring.
I glare at the shovel.
This feels surreal. A few days ago, I was chatting with my friends on our rooftop oasis. Now I’m at an undisclosed location entirely at the mercy of some power-tripping Alpha with a body to die for who wants me to dig a hole.
Dig a hole. A hole! It’s absurd no matter how I word it.
I gingerly grasp the metal handle of the shovel and lift it out of the ground.
It’s heavier than I expected, and my arm quivers.
I spear it back into the ground and scoop out the first mound of dirt.
I do it again. And again. And by the time I’ve dug a tiny divot, I’m grunting from the effort, and the muscles in my back and arms scream with the strain.
My hands are shaking, sweat trickles down my brow, and my face is flushed.
“I’m screwed. So fracking, rut-damned screwed,” I hiss to myself.
I’m already exhausted. Adding physical activity on top of my overnight journey isn’t a recipe for success. I guess that’s the point, though. How else do you make soldiers able to overcome adversity? I stare at the small mound of dirt, and something determined clicks into place inside my chest.
Prime Alpha Knox doesn’t think I can do it. Frack, I don’t think I can do it.
But I can.
I’m stronger than I look. All Omegas are built for resilience.
We take a pounding from an Alpha in rut during our heat.
We’re designed to raise a family with kids with supernatural strength and none of the restraint to control it.
The reality is, living in the safe cocoon of The Omega Division, I’ve never had to push past my level of discomfort before.
This is my chance to prove to myself and the military that I’m capable. That I’m more than a wasted womb.
I slam the shovel back into the ground with renewed determination and get to work.