Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
Cell, ABO Facility
“No Omega is dying this Christmas.” My muscles are still twitching, but I drag myself agonizingly across the metal floor of the cell toward the crumpled figure.
“Forget wanting you for ruts. As long as you can hold up a half decent conversation, then you’ll do.
Look at me, I’ve only had myself to talk to for weeks now.
As brilliant as I am, it becomes boring when I know what I’m going to say. So, you better fucking live. Got it?”
The Omega remains disturbingly silent.
He is dressed in the same simple white clothes as I am, lying face first with black, tangled curls that reach all the way to his waist spread around him.
Is he even breathing?
I grit my teeth and struggle to crawl quicker toward him.
My body aches. My feet feel like they are on fire. My heartbeat is still uneven.
I huff out desperate breaths, battling against the waves of nausea to reach the man quicker.
I have failed too many Omegas. I won’t allow another one to die right in front of me.
What did Mr. Baskerville say? He has a rare type of pheromone imbalance?
What if my pheromones can truly save him?
I thought that my Rogue pheromones could only control and hurt.
That I could only be a killer.
But what if my pheromones can now heal? What if I can be good for once?
I study the Omega, Seventy-one, who is my Christmas present.
How ironic that Mr. Baskerville has now gifted me more than Fiorella ever did.
I can tell that Seventy-one is tall for an Omega, although he is slim.
I grip the back of his shoulders, dragging on his uniform to turn him over. “Hello, Seventy-one. I wonder what your real name is?”
I know that he can’t hear me, probably.
But it helps me.
I stare down at Seventy-one in shock.
He’s beautiful.
Seventy-one has sharp cheekbones and warm brown skin. I wish that I could see what color his eyes are.
I study his face, more fascinated than I expected to be.
I shake my head, confused at my reaction. I am used to handsome Omegas because of the auctions.
What’s wrong with me?
I glance at his wrist and am dismayed that he’s wearing the same steel Rej bracelet as Nico did.
Why is he a Reject? Because of his pheromone imbalance or something else?
Slowly, I can sense that the pheromone and scent blockers are lifting from the cell.
Relieved, I release as strong a bout of pheromones as I can to start working on the Omega.
I lean closer to check for Seventy-one’s pulse.
It’s there — thin and fluttering — but it’s fucking there.
Suddenly, however, I smell something else: A faint scent breaking through the scent blockers.
Sweet, vanilla cookies.
It’s delicious.
Shocked, I growl. Then I bury my nose into Seventy-one’s neck and take a deep breath of his scent gland.
Cookies.
It’s the best scent I’ve ever smelled.
This Omega is my scent match.
I bare my teeth, desperate to bite and claim.
Mine, mine, mine.
I lick along the sweet scented neck.
How could this happen?
How could I find my scent match Omega now? When we are both locked up in the ABO Facility?
How could he be dying?
Shaking, I force myself to pull back from Seventy-one’s throat, desperate to kiss him.
Yet I am even more desperate to save him.
“Who are you?” My expression softens. “How did you end up in this hell?”
I clench my jaw.
Whatever asshole hurt and threw away this gorgeous Omega, he is mine now. I will be his Alpha, if he’ll have me.
His protector.
Yet I must make sure that he survives the day.
Terror shoots through me in a way that hasn’t when I’ve had daggers shoved into my ribs or guns held to my temple.
Finding and then losing my Omega is my weakness. Mr. Baskerville has found it.
“Be a good Omega and don’t die. I’ll cherish you, build you nests, and feed you chocolate.
All the good shit, yeah?” I wrack my mind for the romantic shit that Mars writes about.
“Writing poems and giving flowers didn’t work out for my brother.
If you fight through this today, however, then I swear that you’ll have an Alpha who will tear out the throats of your enemies, while you stand at my side.
Because I’m both Alpha and Omega; what’s the difference between us, huh?
You’ll have equality with me. That’s worth living for, right? ”
Seventy-one better live. Or I’ll kick his ass.
Is that how nursing works?
I’ve never nursed anyone in my life.
Nico made it look easy when he cared for my brother, but no one looked after me when I was sick.
When I suffered from flu as a kid, I was banished to suffer with chills and fever by myself in my room, until I was well enough to return to my training.
I always made a nest out of my blanket.
I’ll start there.
I hook my arms under Seventy-one’s. Then with the small amount of my returning strength, I drag the Omega painful inch by painful inch along the floor.
Normally, it wouldn’t be a strain for me. After the shock, however, I may as well be dragging a truck.
I bare my fangs. “Come on…”
I gasp as I haul Seventy-one after me up onto the rubber mattress.
If Greco is crazy enough to ignore the warden’s warning and return to sear a current through the cell again, it would kill Seventy-one in this state. The mattress is the only safe place.
Seventy-one is still lying like a sack of potatoes, unmoving.
Breathing hard, I clamber onto the narrow space next to him, as if we are on a narrow raft bobbing on shark-infested seas.
Mars would play pirates with me like this, when we could sneak away from my trainers.
Seventy-one and I are pressed close together.
Okay, nurse time.
I should keep him warm, right? Build him a nest.
I grab the single, scratchy thin blanket and wrap it around Seventy-one’s narrow shoulders, carefully freeing his curls.
My cheeks flame that this is the best I can manage.
I pull him to sit up, cradled in my arms on my lap. I push his nose next to my neck.
“Smell my pheromones.” I have no idea what I’m doing. “Good Omega.”
Seventy-one’s eyes don’t open, but he snuffles at my throat.
His tongue licks out. He nuzzles me.
An unexpected joy rushes through me, which is greater than the thrill of taking down a tough target.
“You licked me.” I stare down at Seventy-one in shock.
The Omega appears unconscious, but despite that, he is responding to me.
He is breathing in my pheromones, snuggling closer to me, rather than shying away in fear like most people do.
I’m shaking but I stroke over Seventy-one’s hair, petting him.
I didn’t know how much I would love holding an Omega like this.
My scent match.
My soulmate.
Finally, I understand Mars’ drive to match with an Omega. He’s written romantic stories about pack bonds for years, dreaming of loving someone with a depth of connection that I never believed was real. It certainly didn’t exist within the Adonis pack.
Now, I feel guilty.
I understand him and it shatters my heart all over again because the way that Mars was rejected by his courted Omega feels a thousand times worse.
I have spent most of my life being told that I was forbidden to have my own Omega or bonded pack.
Agonizing hope rises in me.
It chokes me.
“You’re safe,” I murmur, unsure what I should be saying but desperate to try anything to make sure that Seventy-one survives. “I have you.”
Seventy-one’s nose brushes against my scent gland.
He sniffs.
I haven’t thought about my scent apart from how to mask it on missions.
After all, nobody would be attracted to my caramel Omega scent, which is the creamy, buttery espresso scent of caramel macchiato when I am in my Alpha dynamic.
Yet it makes me glow, fulfilling me in a way that I never knew I needed, when Seventy-one sniffs and licks happily at my neck like he can’t get enough of the aroma.
Then when he pushes his nose even more firmly against my throat like he could live in my scent.
And begins to purr.
I freeze.
I don’t want to move, frightened that I will stop the prettiest sound I have ever heard.
Seventy-one is purring because he is in my arms, and even in a coma, he can sense that I am his Alpha.
Am I being the same romantic idiot as my brother? Am I deluded?
Have I gone crazy from loneliness? Have I broken?
“Live,” I whisper against the top of Seventy-one’s head. I tighten my arms around him like I can transfer my strength as well as my warmth to him. “Fucking live.”
And he does…for six days now.
He also, however, hasn’t woken from his pheromone imbalance coma.
I didn’t sleep for the entire first day and night. I was too frightened that if I did…even for a moment…I would have lost him when I woke up.
I clung to my Omega, listening to his purr. I counted the seconds by the feel of his soft breath against my neck.
The next morning, he had survived against all the odds.
My pheromones did that.
I did.
The fucking book was wrong. Fiorella and my instructors were wrong too. Rogues don’t merely hunt and kill.
I always knew that I could protect my brother as a bodyguard.
Now, I know that I can save lives too.
I changed my daily routine, and Mr. Baskerville was so excited that his experiment appeared to be a success that he allowed it, keeping everyone apart from Colette away from my cell and reducing the stress methods.
Colette has even been allowed to bring me a bowl of water and a cloth, along with soup once a day for Seventy-one.
I still ripped a tear into the mattress each morning: six more now.
I have become better at this nursing thing. It’s not much different to caring for mission gear, if the equipment was snuggly, beautiful, and purred.
It’s New Year’s Eve.
Earlier, when Colette passed me the fresh water through the door, after I’d finished my exercises because I was determined to keep up my strength, she warned me that the staff were putting on a fireworks display on the outside.
“I’m warning all the Rogues,” Colette said. “Don’t be panicked that they’re lining anyone up and shooting them.”
It was a fair fear.
I gave a fierce grin. “Trust me. Guns don’t scare me.”
Yet the fact that Seventy-one still hasn’t woken up is the one thing that does fucking terrify me.
How long will Mr. Baskerville allow this experiment to continue before he takes my Omega away from me? How long before he decides that it’s a failure?
Then will he…?
I grit my teeth.
I can’t think it, while Seventy-one is warm and safe in my arms.
I’ve spent the last week caring for him, talking to him and confessing my heart to him in a way that I haven’t to anyone.
I pretend that he can hear me.
I have breathed in his pheromones and scent deeply.
He’s mine now.
Pack.
I easily turn Seventy-one on my lap, before unbuttoning his shirt.
He smiles, and his purr deepens.
I steady him against my chest.
Then I pull the bowl of water closer with my free hand, dampening the cloth in it.
I sigh, wishing that the water was at least warm. I am used to washing in freezing water, but it feels wrong to have to clean my Omega in cold water.
I shrug the shirt off Seventy-one’s narrow shoulders, revealing his smooth skin.
Then I start to clean down his neck and shoulders.
As soon as the cold cloth meets his skin, his purring cuts off.
“I know,” I soothe. “I’ll make it quick, then you can snuggle back into your blanket nest, okay?”
I rub my cheek against Seventy-one’s neck, flooding him with stronger pheromones in comfort.
I wish that he could reply.
I shift Seventy-one on my lap to give myself better access to his chest.
“Wake up,” I murmur, drawing the cloth between his pecs. “Wake up, and I swear that I will find a way to free us from this hell.”
Suddenly, something shifts in Seventy-one’s breathing.
It’s slight, but I have become so attuned to him that it’s the same as if he’d screamed.
Alarmed, I grab him by the chin and tip his head back.
His eyes — stunning, wide, gray eyes — are staring up at me sleepily.
I’m lost in Seventy-one’s gaze.
I stare at him in wonder.
I’m dazed at finally knowing the color of his eyes, when I thought that I would never see him open them.
“If this is hell,” Seventy-one whispers, despite his voice’s hoarseness, “then why do you look like an angel?”