Skye #2
“The officers are out looking… Nobody got you right? They’re looking for you.”
Cold fear strikes me, and I barely even notice as Fury throws the drunken asshole out onto the street, knowing what this spells for my escape plans.
If Anna catches me this time, I’ll probably be shipped off with some of the worst packs on offer here, the ones she offers Omegas to under the table for a hefty cut of profits.
I tremble as I wonder about Jasmine, if she made it out safely into a decent pack.
Something stutters to a halt, and the room starts to lose its chemical smell.
It hits me all at once. The full force of Atlas in front of me, flooding my brain, taking over, and making a home for itself right here as the scent catches me with a whiplash.
Fury exhales loudly from where he stands next to the extractor switch, cerulean eyes widening as his gaze darts between me and Atlas.
Scent matches.
We’re not just particularly compatible; we’re scent matches.
Fated by whatever deities decided on partners for us.
Going by how the man in front of me turned to solid rock, I know it’s dawned on him.
And now I know that they are both wolves too, that primal, wild scent that underlined everything else bleeding from their pores.
Part of me can’t believe that this mischievous tatted Alpha and the big pissed-off beefcake are fate by whatever gods there are to fuck and bite me into submission, to live in a happy little group until the end.
The other part of me is spiraling. Between being grabbed and nearly bitten by a strange, drunken Alpha, and the thought of being attached for the rest of my life with no escape…
Being used for their pleasure, and my freedom at risk.
Blackness swims at the edges of my vision, and a high-pitched whine leaks from my throat.
Too much. Too much all at once. Glasses clinking and chairs scraping the floor are like nails on a chalkboard, grating on the last of my nerves.
Too much at once, and no fresh air to breathe, my chest constricts with the stuffy claustrophobia.
Fuck, I should have stayed at the auction.
Air vents click back on, and suddenly, there is the sound of fans to contend with, too, drowning out my ability to think.
“Skye, darling, look at me,” A voice breaks through the haze.
Warmth surrounds me, front and back, like a heavy blanket, blocking me from the lighting and surrounding me with the scents of the forest and smoky booze.
Purring joins in, forcing the numbness to recede just a little, to soften my body between them.
The final comfort comes in the form of teeth brushing across the scent gland in my wrist, and the world comes flooding back to me in full sound and color.
For the first time in minutes, my lungs fill properly again, and I can breathe.
Atlas is at my front, clasping one of my hands in his, tucking it against the shirt where bloody tears have appeared across his sternum, deep and crimson.
My other hand is pressed to his lips, where he’s currently peppering kisses and nipping across the thin skin, then rubbing his cheek over it to mark us both.
Had I thought his eyes were angry storms before?
They are the softest of rainclouds now, so heavy and bursting with emotion that I have to look away from him.
I can’t see the longing in them and deny him, not when my own heart is so torn between the freedom I want and now the pack that I’ve fallen into.
Fury stands behind me, nuzzling against my cheek, then resting his chin on the top of my head.
“Welcome back, lovely.” His voice is smooth and buttery, though there’s a sharp, unhappy edge: “You doing okay?”
“I will be. I haven’t had a panic attack in years.
I just need a second to catch my breath.
” He nods against my head, sweeping his cheek over my hair until he's resting on my shoulder, curled over my back to bring us closer in height.
I want to stay here forever between them, but I need to get my shit together and get away before I lose control, or I end up taken back into custody of the Omega auctions again.
“I’ll give you all the time in the world, but the recovery goons won't.” Breaking through the warmth of their embrace, bumps rise across my skin as I try to turn, breaking away from the circle of Alpha, only to find the barrel of a gun pointed at us.
Fury lends me his quietness, calm, and offers me his strength.
The Omega Recovery Squad, despite their purpose being to help Omegas escape from bad situations or to reinforce contracted limits, is known for their brutality when needed, dragging escapees back to the facility to ensure Anna doesn’t lose her precious payday.
I want the ground to swallow me up; every set of eyes in Bowline is on us, but neither Fury nor Atlas so much as twitches a muscle, just holds me solid as they purr.
Wiggling free, I take a step out of their embrace, but before the squad moves in to grab me, I tug my Alpha down by his beard, scenting myself against his face for a nice reminder whilst Anna takes the price of my escape out on my flesh this week for her troubles.
“Remember me?” I whine, hoping that they’ll come for me next week when the auctions run again, before one of the guards cuffs me, stepping on my dress and tearing it as they drag me out into the street.
Fury watches with barely restrained anger at my treatment, whilst Atlas looks lost, wringing his hands together before he reaches to his Cardinal for comfort.
Less than a minute into my return, the ferocious hurricane of Alpha hits me with the rotten strawberries and sour cream scent.
Mercy evades her as she cocks her arm back, her palm connecting and snapping my head to the side.
It stings far worse than her earlier slap, and I really have to battle to keep my claws and fur in this time.
Another slap hits the other cheek, and it would have taken me to my knees if not for the Betas holding me up.
“You rank little fucking bitch, I’ve had enough of you,” She spits in my face, wrath boiling her blood as pristine nails jab me. “By the next auction, you. Will. Be. Gone.”