4. A Covert Mission
A Covert Mission
A soft thumping on my chest has me rolling away from whatever is trying to ruin my nap.
Reality tries to pull me from sleep, seeping into the edges of my mind, but even in my half asleep state I’m smart enough not to let it win.
I snuggle deeper and keep my movements slow until that bone deep relaxation that lets me know I have more sleep to find.
A rough, wet sensation engulfs my pinkie finger, and my eyes fly open.
Light is completely absent, but I’m wide fucking awake now.
Slowly. Very slowly, I turn my head and hope that somehow either I’m hallucinating and the suckling on my finger will stop or a convenient beam of light will be shining through the grimy window and layers upon layers of blankets so I can see what I am sharing my nest with.
Unfortunately, neither of my wishes come true.
Typical.
Whatever it is, leaves my finger only to nuzzle into the crook of my arm. The fuzzy thing purrs, and my heart settles.
It’s just a cat.
Well. Now that my heart is back in my chest, and I’m way too wired to go back to sleep, I might as well get up.
The cat makes a distressed noise as I pull myself from under the blankets and scurries back under to steal the warmth I left behind.
When I said I knew these woods in the dark with my eyes closed, I was not joking.
At night, it’s pitch black here. Any light from the moon is swallowed by the canopy of trees, and in the dead of winter, the thick branches alone are enough to block it.
I pat around until I find where my backpack fell.
The coarse material is my only indication that I’ve found it, and I latch on, pulling it free.
I know I will find my phone lit up with notifications and missed calls from Auggie, and as much as it warms my heart to be loved so fiercely, it terrifies me in equal measure. I am going to be in so much trouble.
Say goodbye to your freedom.
There go my chances of being allowed a mate.
Auggie does the best he can. He’s always looked out for me ever since he was assigned to my case, but there’s only so much he can do.
Especially after he retired, now he’s my foster father, and the Council will intervene if they think he can’t handle me.
They don’t see how much he has already done for me, how much better I am.
This is the first time I have run away in a long time.
He gave me a home and became my family. I trust him with my entirety.
But all they see are my failures. They don’t know what to do with me.
Will I hurt myself if they let me live life on my own terms? Or will I hurt others?
You already have.
Shut up, brain.
I stretch, elongating my spine and pointing my chest up to the sky. Slowly, I breathe in. Hold. Breathe out. Hold. And repeat until I have the courage to unlock my phone and see the damage I have done.
157 missed calls.
Fuck.
My heart rate spikes, and no amount of box breathing will fix this. I run my hand through my hair, snagging on the matted strands. I should get it cut if I can’t maintain it. But I love my hair.
With a groan, I flick on the torch and rummage through my bag for something, anything, to tie back my hair. The light illuminates the small room, bouncing off the enclosed space. Something scurries in the corner of the room, and I point the light in its direction.
That is one big cat.
I take a step closer, squinting, half blinded by the sudden light in the room.
That. Is. Not. A. Cat.
Please. Please. Please, someone tell me that I have done the impossible. Have I domesticated a raccoon?
Its little fluffy face hisses as my light hits it, and I quickly shine it off to the side.
“I’m sorry, little buddy. I don’t like the light in my face either.”
He chitters in response and scampers over to my leg, wrapping his little limbs around it.
Best. Day. Ever.
With a careful hand, I reach for his back—at least I think it’s a he—and slowly pet down his spine. His fur is soft but dense, and nothing will ever ruin this moment for me because he relaxes into my touch.
“Aww, are you my friend?”
I know he can’t, but it feels like he is saying yes.
“I don’t have many friends. The other Omegas at school aren’t like me.
They’re normal. I want to be like them. I really do.
I try, but at the end of the day they go back to their dorms and dream.
I run and I hide, and when the voices get too loud, I stalk and kill.
Honestly, I’m doing them all a favour. If they knew the kind of Alphas that were out there, they would never leave the safety of school.
We’re all taught that Alphas are protectors and biologically desire to make us happy, but there are some that are bad.
Feral Alphas can never be fixed. All they want is to destroy.
I’ve wondered if somehow I’m feral too. Violent, uncontrollable, broken. ”
Tears sting my eyes.
“That’s the first time I’ve said that out loud—” I look down at my new friend, ready for our emotional connection to be fully solidified with my confession, only to find the bastard asleep.
My tears immediately dry up.
“Well, then.” I mutter to myself because no one else is listening.
* * *
After a lengthy emotional goodbye with my new best friend (who did not give a shit), I reluctantly leave.
The walk back to the Council building is a long one, and it’s already the middle of the night.
The longer I take, the more pissy they will be.
Thankfully, I always have a plan. Not necessarily a good plan, but a plan nevertheless.
One of my more legal hobbies is sneaking into the office of a Councillor, Alpha Henri.
After being dragged back to the Council office for the one thousandth time, I decided to take matters into my own hands.
I’ve stolen enough ID cards that I have access to pretty much the entire building.
A few years ago, in an attempt to stop me from the less legal hobbies that I dabble in, they thought it would be a good idea to have me test potential Councillors.
I might have taken it a bit far… further than they asked me to, but it was a lot of fun.
And because of that, it was the only time they asked me to do it.
I was supposed to be tied up and wait for the Alpha to arrive.
He would then be told to kill me. This part excited me the most—the danger of it—until they told me that they would ensure it wouldn’t happen and had already prevented his guns from firing.
So, I decided to jazz it up a bit. I covered myself in fake blood and spent hours watching makeup videos for SFX wounds.
I have to say. It was pretty impressive.
I looked dead. It worked too well. Alpha Henri might have been a little traumatised.
To this day, when I hide in his office, I let him catch glimpses of me, and he swears that I am not real.
I would make a cool ghost.
The building is massive and lives in my head as both my salvation and my ruin.
They’re the people who took me in after I killed my parents.
They found me new homes (ones I ran away from, but that’s not their fault) and they brought me Auggie.
They have tried everything to give me the best normal life they could, and I have not made it easy.
A couple of years ago, I found my way into the records room and stole my file.
If I thought I was difficult now, that was nothing compared to what I call Evangeline: the early years.
I was a rabid animal. I fought, I wouldn’t eat, I ran away, I refused to let them give me a last name to the point where I am still legally called Evangeline Ward in the system.
I think occasionally killing a feral Alpha that the Council has already determined as a risk is an improvement.
Unfortunately, Alpha Henri’s office is empty, but if he’s not here, I know who will be. After many hours of skulking around the offices, I know that Alpha Henri and Alpha Browen are in a pack together. When one goes home early, the other stays late.
I wait in the alcove and close my eyes. Breathing deeply, I focus on the surrounding scents. Alpha Browen has a pleasant scent—deep and woodsy, a little boring, but nice. If only it weren’t so much fun to scare Alpha Henri, then I would probably hang out in his office more often.
It’s a good thing I routinely wear deodorisers or this would be a lot harder with my unique scent following me around like a fucking beacon.
His scent spikes, and I throw myself further into the wall as his door opens. Luckily for me, he walks in the opposite direction, keeping my presence here secret for just a little longer. When he turns the corner and disappears from view, I run for his door.
The room is spacious, if not a little cluttered. But he has the perfect place to hide—in the foot of a walk-in storage room. The shelves are just tall enough that I can comfortably sit beneath them.
It only takes a few moments before he’s back again.
This time with another Alpha in toe. Alpha Browen is objectively beautiful, though his long hair reminds me a little too much of a surfer, and if I have to see another person with a man-bun, I am going to burn them alive.
The visitor has short, dark brown hair, but it’s the tattoos working their way up his neck that make him stand out.
He turns just enough for me to see an almost copy and paste version of Alpha Browen, only a lot less smiley.
They must be brothers. Genetics has blessed them, damn.
Putrid anger seeps into my small hiding place, and I quell the urge to gag.
The scent is so potent it’s masking all other scents in the room, and for a moment I wish I had forgotten my deodorisers.
“He’s losing it.”
“He wants a mate.”
“We’re saying the same thing.”
The newer Atwood sighs and drops onto a chair on the guest side of the desk.
He looks defeated, sad, but there’s an anger there, simmering under the surface.
My heart aches for the Alpha searching for his mate.
He already loves them, and they don’t even know it.
What would it feel like to be desired? Loved in only the way an Alpha can love their mate.
“He went on another date. After I told him to stop.”
“He’s a grown Alpha. You don’t get to tell him what to do anymore. Fuck knows it didn’t even work when we were kids.”
“He hit me. AGAIN!”
Alpha Browen fails to hide his laughter, which just encourages his brother’s rant.
“It’s not funny.”
“It’s kind of funny. Look, I get that you’re just trying to protect him, but Cas is an adult, trying to find his scent match—which is hardly a crime—he’s been to war for fuck’s sake. He can handle himself.”
“He’s going to ruin his life.”
That ticks Alpha Browen off. His smile drops, and his lips curl back, presenting his canines, sharp and intimidating. His voice drops, low and steady.
“I’m not going to fucking kill you for that because I know you are worried about our little brother. But I’m not going to warn you again, Dain. Fuck off with this anti-mating bullshit.”
The air is tense, and I hold my breath, waiting for the next move.
The brother’s shoulders slump.
“I’m worried about him. You don’t see him as often as I do—no offence—but ever since he started looking, he’s got this wild look in his eyes, and every date he goes on with the wrong Omega is draining him.” His tone is softer and more genuine than the angry attitude he showed up with.
The anger in the air dissipates, leaving only the scents of the brothers and something more. My body moves closer to the crack in the door without conscious thought. I close my eyes and breathe in, focusing on picking apart the scents from feelings.
Wood.
Smoke.
Fire.
Electricity dances over my fingers. My spine tingles, and my lungs contract. I gasp. The sound is small, but the impact it has on my body is immeasurable. My heart stutters like it’s come to life for the first time, going from a pro-functionary thump to the heart of a wild beast.
My scent match.
My mate.
I smile so wide my cheeks hurt, and then it hits me. My mate is going on dates with other Omegas.
The smile slides right off.