Chapter 4 #3
My powers wind through me desperate to escape, but whatever pheromone dampening and blocking shields the Facility has developed repress them.
Panicking, I feel trapped inside myself.
The Omega in me is weeping.
Please…
“Turn that off,” a clinical, dispassionate voice commands. “Take out your personal vendettas in your own time.”
The words are muffled.
My ears are ringing.
Suddenly, the current is cut off.
I let out a strangled gasp, which is caught in my throat.
I collapse onto my hands and knees, as the muscles in my legs release all at once like a marionette with its strings cut.
I take ragged breaths. I work to take stock of the damage.
Worryingly, my heart is still beating too fast and unevenly, skipping beats. I battle to slow my breathing and control it.
I won’t break.
I fucking won’t.
I reach with fingers, which are still twitching with aftershocks, to touch my soles and then wince at how sore they are.
My whole body aches.
I blink the flashing lights out of my eyes, shuddering when I see Mr. Baskerville, the warden, standing next to Greco at the entrance to my cell.
I should be relieved.
He must be the one who insisted on the electricity being turned off.
No one in the facility wants to see the warden, however, just the way that it’s never a good day when Fiorella turns up.
Mr. Baskerville studies me with watery eyes.
The warden looks like he’s someone’s eccentric Alpha grandad, who should be sitting safely at the Christmas fireside surrounded by his cute pack, rather than here running the most secret government facility and committing atrocities.
I know more than anyone how deceptive appearances can be.
Mr. Baskerville is in his late seventies with snow-white hair and deep wrinkles. His suit is shabby and stained. But he holds more authority than any Alpha I have met.
And I’ve met senators, mafia dons, and serial killers.
They’re all pretty much the same thing.
“I’m s-s-sorry, Mr. Baskerville, I was only d-d-isciplining her,” the much larger Alpha guard stutters in fear.
“Go home,” Mr. Baskerville says softly, patting Greco on the elbow. “And be glad that I am imbued with enough Christmas spirit not to bury you for messing with my process. Do you understand what will happen if you do that again?”
“Yes, sir.”
I shake my head, trying to clear the ringing in my ears.
My vision is still haloed with light. I can’t see what’s going on properly in the shadows.
Are there more guards out there?
Why are they gathered at my cell? Don’t they have the day off?
I try to push myself up, but my muscles are too weak.
“I founded this facility. The work here is sacrosanct,” Mr. Baskerville continues to lecture. “You have no idea how important the experiments here are to me. They are at a crucial stage. No one will mess with them for petty reasons like vengeance.”
“Of course, sir.”
My eyes narrow.
What are these mysterious, secret experiments?
It can’t be good.
Why does Mr. Baskerville need me?
“Open the cell door,” Mr. Baskerville orders.
I hear keys jangle, before the door clangs open for the first time since I was dragged here.
I slam my aching palm against the floor.
This is my first escape chance, and my muscles won’t even cooperate enough for me to raise my head off the floor.
Fucking typical.
“Blink three times if you can hear me, Seventy,” Mr. Baskerville orders.
I consider ignoring him. But today has just become interesting.
Mr. Baskerville hasn’t lowered himself to address me directly before.
So, I blink three times.
“Good,” he replies. “I have a Christmas gift for you. Don’t say I don’t give you Rogues anything. This...Seventy-one…is a male Omega.”
My eyes widen in shock.
I struggle to focus on the sea of dark curls that are trailing on the floor, as guards haul the poor Omega through the door.
Why is he unconscious? Has he been shocked like I have?
I wish that I could see the male Omega’s face to at least check that he’s still breathing.
Without intending to, I am growling, deep and rumbling.
The guards drop Seventy-one’s willowy body roughly to the floor of my cell with a crack that makes me wince.
Mr. Baskerville cocks his head. “Interesting. You are protective already. I hope that extends to saving Seventy-one’s life, although I know the details of your background.
A criminal killer from a pack like yours may not care enough for a stranger, especially as your mob are known to be especially heartless to Omegas.
So, this is why I am gifting this Omega to you.
You are forbidden to bond him, but you may rut him through his heats.
In a moment, the pheromone blockers in your cell will shut off, giving you access to your uber strength pheromones again.
This Omega has been marked as a Rogue not because he is a Switch but because he has a fascinating pheromone imbalance that unfortunately has been untreated.
It has led to him falling into a coma. My hypothesis is that your pheromones will pull him out of it and stabilize him.
” He shrugs. “It will be an interesting experiment, either way. Statistically, he is still eighty-three percent likely to die by the end of the day.”