CHAPTER FOUR - BIRDIE
Taking a steadying breath, I walk back to the cot and sit stiffly on the edge. The rations on the table wink enticingly at me, but I ignore them. Instead, I focus on the zip ties. There’s no way I can pull them apart, but maybe I can chew the plastic enough to weaken them.
I lie back on the cot, pick a spot on the roof as a focal point, and get to work.
The plastic is tasteless, and I take a moment to sort through the new scents in my head.
An omega doesn’t have very many defense mechanisms, but one of the more effective ones is the ability to identify an alpha – and his changing moods – by scent alone.
Scientists might sell it as a biological function to help find a compatible mate, but for me it works as an early warning system.
When you’re alone and unprotected, survival can be snuffed out in a heartbeat.
It all depends upon how quickly you’re able to put some distance between yourself and a hot-blooded alpha.
Which should have me tunneling through the wall with my teeth, given the pedigree of my captors.
But the curious thing about my predicament is that none of the alphas’ scents are setting off alarm bells.
Gung Ho smells like a pine forest drenched in rain, the pretty drunk like rich soil warmed by the sun, and then there’s their mysterious third.
Hog, the oversized sasquatch, whose scent conjures the memory of bonfire smoke rising off hickory wood.
In my limited experience of the compound and the lab, most alphas smell like either meat or metal, leaving me weak and nauseous after prolonged contact.
Why are these three any different?
It’s not something I want to dwell on, and I’m lucky that exhaustion is my constant companion. But a bit of mindless drifting is a lot different to falling asleep, and I gasp when I jolt back awake. Sleeping is always dangerous, and for a moment I’m numb with fear.
Just a power nap, I think desperately, but the sight of the alpha standing over me has my shock turning to rage.
I swing my arms up to block him, but a hand – bigger than an appendage has any right to be – slams over my mouth.
If that’s not bad enough, his thumb grazes my scent gland and sets off the sensor buried under the skin.
I snarl at the touch, and razor-wrapped lightning rips across my vocal cords. The pain is so visceral, I convulse, another shout pounding against my chest.
I want to scream it in his face, but my throat burns, the speech inhibitor buzzing like I’ve swallowed a hornet.
My spine clenches, my arms flailing in their cuffs, and I’m now a chain reaction of igniting pain receptors.
Throat.
Chest.
Hands.
Everything vibrates and shudders, and I’m vaguely aware of my feet drumming on the cot. I bite down hard on the alpha’s palm, drawing blood, while my ragged fingernails claw at his wrist. Anything to end the agony that’s zipping and zapping through my blood.
“Stop.”
My eyes are screwed shut, but the alpha’s voice pierces the darkness, more growl than bark.
It’s so deep and raspy, it’s like being scolded by an enraged bear.
I try to curl away, but his hand doesn’t shift, and when I force my eyes open, a green-flecked gaze swims towards me, the irises gleaming like honey.
Ah, so there’s the bear connection…
His gaze might be the kind I could happily drown in, but the rest of his face looks like it’s hacked from a tree stump.
His hair is a dark, shaggy mess, his nose an angry wedge beneath a heavy brow.
But it’s the sheer size of him that steals my breath.
I’m on my back, but even if I was upright and armed, I doubt I could do much damage to the beast looming over me.
“Stop,” he tries again, his other hand gripping my shoulder.
He can’t know what’s under my sweater, but his fingers dig into my freshest wounds, setting off another wave of agony.
I gurgle through it, lights flashing behind my leaking eyes.
I’m so close to passing out, I sag with relief, but the tang of steel in my nose jerks me back to consciousness.
My gaze flicks left and right, then freezes in fear.
Fuck, he has a knife.
A big disemboweling thing, no doubt for when his claws and fangs need a rest from all the tearing and slashing.
But I won’t lie here and be gutted like an animal…
The thought has barely burned through me when the blade passes between my hands, slicing through the zip ties.
They part like warm butter, and I stare up at Hog, because who else could he be?
I’ve never seen a face better suited to the title of hunter, plus he’s now wearing the tent-sized jacket that smells like hickory smoke rising off a winter bonfire.
It settles some of my panic, but I can’t stop my convulsions altogether, and he frowns down at me, studying my jerking limbs. “Drugs?” he rasps.
I shake my head, barely more than a twitch, and his hand softens on my mouth. “You’re wounded.”
It’s not a question, his other hand peeling back the neck of my sweatshirt to expose the welts along my collarbone.
He tilts his head, and I wonder if he’s comparing them to the kinds of injuries he’s inflicted on others.
“Belt buckle,” he says finally, the words grating out of his mouth like a rusty hinge. “Others?”
I shrug, since strictly speaking, the damage isn’t just from the goon’s belt. The assholes who dumped me at the train station also used their fists, a slapjack, and even a cigarette lighter when I tried to bite them.
“Suck, Omega.”
A command like that should have me punching him in the balls, but there’s no hint of arousal in the air.
Instead, the alpha has taken something from a tin in his vest pocket.
I’m curious, despite the pain. Is it a breath mint?
A gummy? I’d prefer some sterile wipes and acacia gel, but beggars can’t be choosers…
I jerk as his thumb brushes my throat again, but instead of pulling his hand away, he taps my chin. “This’ll help. Open up.”
Since he could probably crush my jaw without much effort, I obey.
But I make sure he can see all my sharp, strong teeth before he slides two fingers between my lips and strokes my tongue.
I give another jolt, but this time it’s joined by a shiver, and his nostrils flare as my scent filters through my suppressants.
“Take it, Omega. Suck until it numbs the pain.”
I blink, confused by both the delicious taste of his fingers and the strange thing he presses onto my tongue.
I should bite him – or spit his fingers out, at least – but a different kind of stillness seems to be settling over me.
I can only compare it to the way I felt as a kid when I found a hiding place in the compound that no one else knew existed.
Not safe – because only a fool would feel that way with this beast looming over them – but temporarily out of the line of fire.
Hog splays his other hand over my waist, five big fingers that almost cover my shrunken belly. He’s watching my face as he rests them on my bare skin. “Suck like a good omega.”
Is the fucker smirking at me through his bushy-ass beard?
I can definitely see something gleaming in those honey eyes, but before I can go for his balls, my tongue curls under his thick fingers and a trickle of sunlight slips down my abused throat.
Oh. My. Salvation.
A heady numbness spreads through me, offering instant relief, and I give another tentative suck.
There’s the hint of something medicinal under the sweetness, but it’s nothing like the doctor’s so-called cures.
This is fresh and piney, like ginger and rosemary, and my lashes flutter closed as the drug starts to take effect.
Hog grunts as I finally relax, but as he tries to withdraw his fingers, I clamp my lips closed.
When I crack my eyes a fraction, he’s cocking a bushy brow at me. “Release, Omega.”
I clamp my lips tighter and his thick brows knot together. “One dose is enough.”
I’d shake my head if it wouldn’t dislodge his fingers. Instead, I run my tongue over the rough pads, lapping at his smoky almond flavor. A smirk now glimmers through his beard, his other hand pushing my hair back out of my eyes so he can peer down at me. “You like my taste, Omega?”
Do I? Alphas usually taste like pain and misery.
Experience says that I should be biting his fingers off, but it’s the first time in forever that I’ve been this close to an alpha who doesn’t make my skin crawl.
I’m not stupid enough to think he’s any kind of hero – or that he’s going to let me waltz out the door now that my wrists are free – but he smells good, and his fingers are thick and warm.
I suck the tips, letting my hunger bleed into my gaze as I tilt my hips.
Even on suppressants, omega arousal is nearly impossible to hide, especially from an alpha in his prime.
Hog narrows his eyes at me, then presses his hand more firmly against my waist. My body is so starved, and his reach is so wide, it’s pretty easy for his little finger to slip under the waistband of my jeans.
No panties, because the lab didn’t stock them, and when he strokes the top of my bare mound, a grunt falls from his lips.
His gaze darts back to my face, surprise flashing in his honey-brown eyes.
Yes, even half-dead omegas can make your dick hard, Hog.
Slick. It’s the real miracle potion, secreted from an omega’s body even when they’re wrung out and beat up.
Normally I’d curse its appearance, but as it trickles between my thighs, his nostrils flare, his fingers curling against my tongue.
He shifts on the cot, the springs squealing in alarm as he settles his substantial weight against my thigh.
His scent wafts over me, smoky with lust. “Open your legs if you want it, Omega.”
Brusque and direct, like any hard-worn soldier.
Luckily for him, it’s a language I was raised on, and I drop my thighs open.
He studies my face for a moment, then thumbs open the button on my jeans and drags down the zipper.
The next brush of his hand is across the curls at my entrance, and a needy little moan escapes my throat.
I freeze, waiting for a punishment zap, but the numbing balm is still doing its job.
The waves of pain have retreated enough for me to feel the first stirrings of pleasure, and I almost melt into the mattress in relief.
As if sensing my anticipation, Hog quickly works my jeans open one-handed.
He grunts again, this time at the sight of my slick pussy inside the worn denim.
It’s a snug fit, but he doesn’t undress me further, snaking a thick thumb between my damp folds.
“Suck if you want more. Spit when you’re done. ”
I almost laugh at his traffic light system, not that anyone ever cared about my limits before. Just to make it clear, I suck him deeper, drawing his fingers towards the back of my tongue. He hums at the tightness of my throat, and I watch his cock stretch like a hungry snake under his worn cargoes.
For the first time in a long time, I’m tempted to touch.
But how long will the numbing agent last?
The doctor liked to mess with my doses, so I’d never know when the fuzziness would fade and the pain would hit.
Hog’s medicine tastes like a herb we used to grow at the compound to treat toothache, only wrapped in a slippery sweetness.
Is it stronger or weaker than the shit the doctor fed me?
I don’t care, I realize, feeling his thumb twitch against my aching core. Even if I combust in the fires of hell, I want to revel in this little scrap of pleasure first.
I suck harder on his fingers, my legs falling open as he rubs circles along my seam.
I can feel wetness pooling on my folds, and he dips his thumb inside, swirling through my slick.
When he presses down on my clit, I jolt.
“Open for me, Omega.” He digs his fingers deeper into my pussy and mouth, two points of perfect pressure. “Let me make you feel good.”
I go limp at his command, but some distant part of my brain is clamoring in alarm.
I don’t know this guy, and I certainly don’t trust him.
Put him in a white lab coat or swap his jacket for the survivalist vests of the compound, and he could be my worst enemy.
I should be twisting and kicking, fighting to my last razor-slicing breath.
But he smells like a hickory bonfire, and I’m drunk on his alpha musk.
“Sweet as syrup,” he murmurs, rolling his knuckles through my slick. “Put your hand on my neck, so I know you want it.”
I don’t even try to resist, lifting a trembling arm and hooking it around his nape.
His skin is shockingly warm, the tiny hairs tickling my fingers.
We’re now connected at three points, and a shudder works through me as he stares down into my eyes.
“I’m gonna get you off, and then you’ll sleep. Tomorrow’s another day.”
He punctuates this bit of philosophy with the roll of a thumb, his fingers hooking into my slick-coated walls. Pleasure curls through me, and I strain under his hold, opening my body for more.
Suck, don’t spit. And please don’t fucking moan…
Of course, I ignore my helpful advice. Instead, my hips rock against his hand, and a helpless groan tears from my lips.
I don’t know if it’s the numbing drug or the distraction of those thick fingers, but the speech inhibitor is silent.
By contrast, the wet sound of his fingers plunging inside of me is delicious, and I circle my hips, chasing his touch.
“Good omega.” It’s praise, but also a purr, and something I’d never expect from the barrel chest of a bear.
It lights up my every atom, and when his thumb tweaks my clit again, I erupt.
My release doesn’t just leak out of me, it pours, coating his fingers and the cot beneath me.
I suck harder on his thick fingers, my eyes rolling back as my toes curl to blissful points.
More. More. More.
Thankfully, I don’t try to push the words past his fingers, and he leaves them there until I’m no longer trembling from aftershocks.
When he finally pulls them out, he transfers them to his own mouth.
Like a roundabout kiss, I think dazedly, as he swaps hands and sucks the other fingers clean of my slick.
It’s like watching a grizzly clean his supper from his claws, and his purr never stops, brushing over me in long, soothing strokes.
When he’s done, he removes his jacket and tosses it over me. Not a word is spoken between us, but the look he gives me before he slips through the door makes my damp skin burn. My thighs are soaked, and my throat is raw, but as the bolt slides shut, I lift my fingers to my mouth.
I trace my lips.
It’s been a long time, but I’m pretty sure that’s what a smile feels like.