CHAPTER FIVE - BIRDIE
My dreams are erotic, slick-scented, and bear-shaped, and if I moan in pleasure, I don’t feel the answering pain in my throat.
Instead, my blood throbs with the promise of more, and I clench my thighs as I bite the collar of Hog’s jacket.
It tastes like smoky almonds, and I dream of his fingers, his smirk, and maybe even the tantalizing bulge of his knot.
I’ve never taken one by choice, and if I wasn’t leaving here at the first opportunity, I think that based upon our first encounter, I might even enjoy it.
“What the fuck?” The alpha growl drags me out from under Hog’s jacket, and I blink up into Gung Ho’s outraged face. “Is that… is that slick?”
And cum. Lots and lots of cum, and I bite back a smirk as the scent hits his nose. “Who’s been in here?” His eyes narrow to slits. “Was it Colt?”
I study his furious face, wondering what answer would placate him.
Not that I’m tempted to offer one, even if I knew what to say.
Despite Hog’s fingers stroking my tongue so sublimely, my throat still feels like I’ve gargled gravel.
Besides, it’s not my job to police his packmates’ behavior.
He’s the pack alpha and if he doesn’t want them handing out earth-rolling orgasms, he should handcuff their asses and leave me the hell alone.
Gung Ho growls at my silence and tears Hog’s jacket away, leaving me bare to his gaze.
I watch as he takes in my unzipped jeans and wet pussy, the release of my last dream still gleaming on my folds.
He makes the strangled sound of a gutted beast, flipping the jacket back so fast, the zipper nearly takes out my eye.
“Fuck!” he explodes, tearing at the inch of hair on his head. “Jesus, I’ll fix this, Birdie. I’ll make sure that asshole knows he’s crossed way the fuck over the line.”
I think about letting him stew in his turmoil, but I want complacent alphas, not protective ones. Locked doors and security cameras are my nightmare, even if they’re well intentioned. So, I shake my head, and his nostrils flare white. “What?”
I lift my hips a few inches, showing him the slick-damp sheets.
There’s no missing the omega arousal hanging in the air, and a flush burns over his tanned skin, turning his ears purple at the tips.
“Look, just because you want it doesn’t mean he gets to do whatever the fuck he wants. We’re meant to be soldiers, goddamnit…”
Like that means anything.
I roll my eyes at him, but he’s too busy grabbing a bottle of water from the table to notice.
When he snaps off the lid, I expect him to take an angry gulp, but he turns back to me.
A big hand cups the back of my head, and as he brings the bottle to my mouth, my panic kicks in.
There’s a reason I haven’t touched the food or drink, and it has nothing to do with me being blissed out of my head. “No.”
I squeeze my lips tight as I shake my head, and his eyes narrow again, this time in frustration.
“You’re dehydrated! Especially after spilling all that slick…
” He makes another growling sound, but I jerk my head away and scramble backwards until my spine hits the wall.
It dislodges Hog’s jacket, and Gung Ho curses as he catches sight of my slick-drenched thighs.
“For fuck’s sake, do up your jeans, Omega. ”
It’s impossible to resist his alpha bark, but as I fumble with the buttons, he seems to realize my hands are free. There’s a dangerous glint in his eyes as he leans down and picks up a piece of plastic. He examines the zip tie, his thumb stroking the neatly sliced edge. “Colt doesn’t carry knives.”
Then he’s an idiot.
A drunk with a gun is next to useless, but a blade is a useful last defense. It doesn’t take much coordination to stab a guy at close range, especially if you reek of rum and look like a bag of unwashed laundry.
Surprise is key, as these assholes are about to find out.
Or maybe we’re more in tune than I think, because his gaze darkens with suspicion. “Where’s the blade, Omega?”
I’d laugh if he didn’t look so menacing.
I mean, does he really think I smuggled a knife in here, managed to cut off my binds, stopped to give myself a brain-melting orgasm, then had a nap while I waited for him to check in?
If I had a blade, he’d be bleeding out on the floor, and I’d be halfway down the mountain by now.
“If you don’t give it to me, I’m going to peel you out of the rest of your clothes until I find it.”
I glare at him, because I doubt it will be the fun kind of shakedown. And the last thing I want is him looking at the scars on my body and wondering how I got them working the streets. “Hog,” I whisper reluctantly. “Helped me.”
Gung Ho’s head snaps up, and I can practically hear the click of his jaw as it drops open. But as his gaze drags over me again, his eyes narrow, his suspicion deepening. “Yeah, that’s unlikely. You’re not his type.”
I blink at that, a strange kind of rejection burning my cheeks. I know I look like puked-up roadkill, but there’s no denying the python that slithered down Hog’s thigh as he sat close enough to touch. And what about the scent of his arousal, like a bonfire in my hindbrain?
“Besides, he’s out on patrol,” Gung Ho goes on. “He hasn’t been home in a week.”
I curl my lip at the certainty in his voice. This pack alpha might think he has his shit together, but he clearly can’t even keep tabs on his mates. It’s good news for me, since a slack leader is easier to evade than an attentive one, but Hog deserves better.
Maybe Gung Ho can read my disdain, because his gaze hardens, and he shoves the water bottle under my nose. “Just lie still and drink some goddamn water.”
He swipes for my head, his fingers tangling in my matted hair. I hiss at the sting, and it’s enough to drag my speech inhibitor out of its slumber. Pain spears through me, arching my back off the bed. I can’t swallow the whimper on my lips, and my nerve endings collapse like dominoes.
Zip. Zap. Pow!
Agony dances down my spine, and I’m vaguely aware of Gung Ho leaping back, the bottle crushed in his hand.
He drops it, water splashing his thighs as he pulls something from his pocket.
Tears are leaking down my cheeks, but I’m still aware enough to see the syringe coming my way.
I try to duck out of reach, but my muscles are locked tight.
I can only give a feeble whimper as the needle slides into my neck.
I have a moment to glare into his watchful eyes before darkness descends like a blanket, smothering me in its oppressive embrace.
“Hey, Birdie. Can you hear me?”
I blink, and a cool finger taps my cheek. Not a stroke to comfort, but not the nauseating touch of the doctor, either. “Are you back with me, Birdie?”
It takes a moment for the name to stick – I’m Birdie – and then I give an uneasy shrug, peering around the basement with dazed eyes.
Everything looks the same, except I’m now wearing soft blue sweats, and I’m pretty sure the sheets have been changed.
There’s also an IV drip connected to the back of my hand, the bag almost empty where it hangs on the metal stand.
I guess that explains the antiseptic smell in the air.
“I’m Maggie, a friend of Captain Lawson’s,” a woman says, stepping into my peripheral vision. “I’m also a medic, so you can thank me for hooking you up with the happy juice.”
I turn my head and frown at the curly-haired beta, who’s smiling down at me like we’re old friends.
She’s in her late thirties, and even in jeans and a sweater it’s easy to see she has the strong, compact body of a soldier.
She’s not wearing any makeup, but her cheeks glow with health, and her scent is outdoorsy fresh.
I can just see her leaning on the porch next to Gung Ho, both wearing their sidearms as they gaze out at the wintery sunrise and blow on their matching cups of joe.
I give an internal snort and lift my chin at the IV bag, gesturing for her to cut it off.
She nods, stepping forward to remove the port, and I sit up slowly. I still feel hazy, but whatever fluids she’s been pumping into me seem to have done the job. For the first time in months, I don’t feel like I’m about to shatter into a million pieces.
“It was mostly saline and electrolytes, but I also gave you a couple of micronutrient jabs to help with the malnutrition.” She rubs her chin, some of the light going out of her sky-blue eyes.
“You have surprisingly few track marks for a junkie, but I still saw some pretty serious damage, Birdie.” I stare at her, since it’s not like it’s any surprise to me, and she sighs, looking sad. “Have you reported it?”
I roll my eyes and wave her back so I can get to my feet.
She hovers close enough to catch me, but I grit my teeth, breathing carefully until the dizziness fades.
When I point at the door, she shrugs, and I feel a flutter of hope.
Maybe the guys have gone out, and I can convince her to drive me down the mountain.
It takes a lot of effort and a couple of rest breaks to get up the stairs, but eventually I’m standing in that large living room with the exposed beams and mismatched furniture.
Something is bubbling on the stovetop in the kitchen, and there’s a fire burning in the huge fireplace, but I can’t tear my gaze from the windows.
The light is muted, but there’s no missing the massive snow drifts piled up against the porch.
“You’ve been out a couple of days,” Maggie tells me, that note of concern still in her voice. “The storm snowed us in, so it looks like you’ll have plenty of time to rest and recuperate.”