Chapter 17

Ifeel like I’m sliding out of control as I rise from my seat. She has finished eating—we’ve both finished eating, not that I feel satisfied after a ration bar, but it gets the job done.

There are ants under my skin.

If I don’t get the fuck away from her, and her eyes that are begging me to fuck her how she needs, I’m going to lose it.

“Noah!”

His head lifts at my call, and he frowns.

“Get rid of her. I need you to take Isla for a test and then back to our room.”

He raises both brows. Isla stiffens. Ash really fucked up bringing the blonde along, and even though I know she’s nothing more than a decoy if necessary, it still pisses me off.

Noah slides his chair back, scraping against the rough concrete floor—this base really is the pits. He nods to the man beside him to handle the woman and strides over to us.

I lean in, my words for his ears only. “Touch her, and I’m going to break your fingers one by one.”

He grins and pats my shoulder. “What if she touches me?”

I grunt.

His shit-eating grin presses all my buttons, then he takes Isla’s hand—because he’s a dick—and helps her from the seat.

The look she sends my way says she’s hurting, but also wants me dead.

Go figure. The virus is taking her hard and fast… pun intended, and how I envy it.

As they disappear from my sight, I question my decision to let her be alone with him, but I need answers from Ash, and I can’t talk openly in front of her.

I leave, seeking out the operations room where Ash is most likely to be. This base is old and mostly used as a backup… or in situations like now when they’re trying to keep us off the main grid.

Half the fucking lights don’t work, or are blinking on and off, about to die. That, combined with the sound of dripping water really adds to the ambiance. I used to have a nice apartment, high-performance cars, and every fancy gadget for the home you could buy. In college, I had more women than I knew what to do with, and by the time I reached pro, I thought I was a fucking king. I loved ice hockey and all it gave me, but that old life feels empty now. Now, the struggle is real—we’re fighting to survive.

Because that’s what this is.

I didn’t lie to her about that. If you’d asked me before the change, I’d have chosen the simple life and ice hockey, but, back then, I didn’t know there was something else.

Now I know better.

Now I know the only people who have cause to be scared of the virus are those it passes by, because everyone else is going to experience a level of enlightenment that blows their fucking mind.

Of course, it helps that I’m an alpha and at the top of the virally enhanced food chain. I was always arrogant, so nothing had really changed in that regard.

But I’m also not an elite—yet, and perhaps I will never be. I’m a convert. I wasn’t born into this dynamic caste, and I’m always going to be behind those who have the virus locked in their genes, those who show the signs when they hit puberty.

I was twenty-two when they called me into the research center, twenty-seven now, and, while I’m still young, I lost a lot of time. And I don’t know if I will ever make it up.

Yesterday, that didn’t bother me so much.

As I slip into the back of the operations room, I see Ash closing out a communication with HQ.

Hearing me enter the room, he turns and looks at me, his gaze immediately sliding past me as if checking for Isla.

“With Noah. We need to talk.”

The fact is they don’t give omegas to just any alpha. No, only the very top dogs, the ones with the off-the-chart aggression. If any of us is destined to become an elite, a Controller, it would be Ash.

Things click into place that probably should have done so before. “You’re already a Controller,” I say, slowly.

He nods.

“And you’re testing me with possibly the most dangerous omega in the known universe.”

He grins and shrugs.

I exhale through my teeth.

“You’ve passed. At least, I’m going to recommend you make the Controller rank. Problem is, this operation has already gone off course by a mile. That woman is pure, undiluted aphrodisiac. Whatever she manifests as, it’s going to be impressive, and that means she’ll need a powerful Controller, possibly more than one.”

My throat works. Ash was always ahead of me at any given point, always strategizing on a greater scale than I could comprehend.

“Her details were leaked. Given her reading, they will try to take her or, if that doesn’t work, take her out. Command has found the source of the leak, but that doesn’t help us with the fallout. They will have sent their top teams in for this. To be blunt, we’re going to need to up our game. If Command sends support, it will draw their attention, and we don’t know exactly where they are.”

They.He’s talking about the Uncorrupted. A faction that broke away from the Empire right at the start. The purists. The ones who think the virus is an abomination.

The ones who think anyone infected with it is also an abomination that needs to be terminated… or experimented on if they feel it might facilitate them bringing us down.

We’re in survival mode, and from what I can gather, neither side is playing fair.

“Jesus Christ,” I mutter. The thought of them getting their hands on her, experimenting on her, hurting her in any way, makes me want to hurl.

None of what I told her when she first arrived was bullshit.

But there are exceptions.

Empath omegas are gifted to those in positions of power as breeders. The healer omegas get sent to war. Then there are the psychics and others whose gifts are unique and who may or may not be deployed in the war.

Either way, only the top dogs are going to get a piece of that.

They’ll probably make us fight for the right to claim her.

That’s okay. I never shied away from a fight in my past life, and I sure as fuck don’t now.

I’ve not even fucked her properly, but I know what this is.

Imprinting: the early stages of mating.

If they try to separate her from me, they’re going to have a different kind of war on their hands; one that will make the Uncorrupted look like a tea party.

Noah’s hand is warm, comforting, and oddly familiar as he escorts me down the corridors of the base that’s only a step above derelict with its flickering lights and rusty stains on the walls. Cables and pipes run along the walls and ceiling, hanging down in places where whatever secured them has broken. I never considered myself claustrophobic before, but I’m not wholly convinced this place won’t collapse.

The thrumming in my body contrasts with the chaos in my mind. Each revelation lands with the force of a physical blow. A week ago, I was living my happy, if mundane, life, stressing about getting everything in the shipping boxes ready for transportation, worrying about which clothes to recycle, and buying new ones to fill the gaps, saying goodbye to friends, and barely sleeping because I was so excited about the move.

I went to see my family: mom and dad, and my grandma, who still lives with them. I’d never lived in the house at Green Street, because they moved there after I’d moved out, but it was full of familiar knickknacks and still felt like home.

Leaving had felt momentous. I’d known I wouldn’t be able to see them in person, not for some time, but I could always speak to them over the internet, and there was a sense of there being plenty of time left.

Time. It feels like there is no time anywhere for anything, like it’s been snatched from my grasp.

My boots splash through a puddle that has formed from a leaking pipe, adding to the ambiance of disaster.

“Are you sure this place is safe?”

Noah glances down at me, his fingers squeezing lightly over mine and he smiles.

It’s strange how each one of them has a different smile. Ash’s never reaches his eyes. Seb fluctuates between the disarming and the sardonic. But Noah’s is just so nice. Which is odd given he seemed so hard and cold back on the shuttle.

How is that even possible?

“It’s fine, Isla. Just a little unloved.” His voice has a soft, low quality. I can’t imagine the angry version of Noah. “We’ll get the test done, and, afterward, you can shower.” He winks. “I promise I won’t do a Seb all over you. I’ll even step outside the stall.”

I roll my eyes.

He smirks and rubs his thumb soothingly over the back of my hand.

“Here we are.”

Behind the sealed door, the medical facility is clean and appears to be the only room in the base that doesn’t look rat infested. Although the two padded examination tables are worn and old, there is not a speck of dust.

He pats the nearest examination table. “Hop up here.”

“I don’t know why you’re bothering,” I say. My libido climbs and falls at any given moment, but I find myself arching a little so that my pussy presses against the table and my thighs part of their own accord. I subtly rock my hips to get a little friction. “We both know I’m changing.”

“Yeah,” he says, opening a drawer to the right of the table and taking out a familiar black box. “But it’s more about what stage you’re at.”

Stage. There’s that word again. We seem to be going through a lot of stages and in a lot of different ways. “And how many stages are there?”

“Before, transitioning, and the after. Although it’s the degree of transition that we’re interested in here. Omegas can get spacy.” He grins and shrugs. “Horny. You know… maybe a little mentally unstable?”

“Just great,” I mutter. “Horny and mentally unstable. I’m really hitting the jackpot.”

He smiles, all boy-next-door sweet as he grazes his knuckles against my chin in a playful move that I don’t know how to react to. “Someone’s feeling more at ease.”

Am I?

His smile drops, and the heat between us rises as his gaze slides down my body to settle at the apex of my parted thighs, now spread wide to facilitate my not very subtle attempts to rub against the table.

I’m slick and wet there. I’m both deeply uncomfortable and ferociously aroused.

“I’d say you’re deep into the transition stage.” His hand settles on my knee, and although the touch is light, I still arch up.

I’m shaking. I don’t tell him to stop. He probably wouldn’t, either way, but I like to believe my acceptance makes me a willing participant not a victim.

Or so I tell myself.

His face takes on a ruddy cast as his hand slides up my thigh until he reaches the apex and his thumb brushes the length of the seam right over my throbbing core.

“God.” The word is forced through my clenched teeth. Just that light touch has my body ready to detonate. A wave of heat washes over me and burns into my cheeks.

His throat works as he swallows, and he takes his hand away. “That was a bad idea. We better do the test.”

On my terms. That is how I want it. Because it really wasn’t with Seb, and I need something, anything, to take that bad taste out of my mouth.

He slides the black box across the table closer to me.

I question why I’m fighting the urge riding me to take his hand and put it back where I want.

“Put your thumb on the plate, Isla.”

His words cut through my haze of rampant arousal, and I slap my thumb against the machine.

The black box has a screen on the side facing away from me. It’s not like the one Seb used when he checked if I was ill; it’s more like the one they used on the shuttle and that Seb told me could sample my DNA.

My pussy throbs worse now, wanting more of his touch.

I don’t know Seb well, but I feel like I know him more than I know Noah. His mentally unstable comment feels way too close for my liking when I consider my behavior.

Yet how long do you need to know someone before you feel the pull?

I met Levi at a friend’s party and slept with him the same night—we couldn’t keep our hands off one another.

That feels like a long time ago now.

A familiar green light pops up on top of the black box.

“You can take your thumb away now.”

His brows knit together as text begins to fill the tiny screen.

The door opens behind him, and he turns as another soldier enters.

“Noah…”

I zone out as they start talking about medications that mean nothing to me. My eyes are on the little black box and whatever is written on the screen. Surreptitiously, I slide the box around a little so that I can see the words. It crackles under my fingers. My heart lodges in my throat as I quickly push it back into place just as Noah’s head turns back.

“What the fuck?” He frowns and taps his forefinger against the screen.

I really am the kiss of death for electronics. It used to happen all the time when I was a kid. Like, they would never let me touch the channel clicker. Why the fuck did I touch this box?

Noah sighs and pushes it away. “Hey, pass me a DNA sampler, this one is fried. This base really is fucked.”

The other soldier reaches into the drawer beside him and passes a new box over. I eye it cautiously. Nothing happens besides the green light activating when I put my thumb to the plate, and text begins to fill the tiny screen.

“What does it say?” I ask.

He spins it around so I can see… after all that. It’s just a series of numbers and unfamiliar words. “This number here means you’ve begun transitioning. A number between two-six-five and two-nine-five is the omega band. This number here is a rough estimate of your transition progress. Fifty percent is fast. In another two days it’ll probably be complete.”

My stomach takes a slow dip. I knew it was happening, but I’m also a little freaked out to be presented with the evidence that confirms I’m infected and changing.

He doesn’t elaborate further. I get the impression he’s worried about the speed of my transition, but he’s already helping me down from the table, and I don’t get a chance to ask.

“Come on. I’ll take you to the showers. You’ll need rest. Tomorrow will be another hard day of riding.”

He takes my hand again. It feels nicer than how Seb moves me around; he’s always fisting my arm.

The showers turn out to be clean but with a side serving of grim and gloomy. There is only one light working, but it’s enough to reveal the rusty stains on the tiled walls.

“Go ahead,” he says. He just stands there, arms folded, waiting for me to take my clothes off.

Should I be worried that I do so without hesitation? Should I care that I want to preen before him in the hope that he might alleviate this ache?

My life tumbles further out of control as I strip, piling my clothes up on the narrow bench beneath the hooks. When I glance back, he’s staring at my ass.

He nods his head at the stall.

I get into the shower and hit the lever without thinking to check the temperature.

I yelp. It’s absolutely freezing. I hear his low, husky chuckle beyond the stall followed by the sound of his footsteps moving away.

The shower transitions to warm. I clean myself. The travel coupled with the slick between my thighs leaves me feeling dirty.

I’m also needy. My nipples are stiff and hard. Just running the soap over them is enough to drive me crazy. Between my legs I throb.

The hot water pelts me, soothing me, cocooning me in a world of steam.

It’s too much. I’m too weak. I have to… I slap one palm against the wall and slide my fingers over my pussy, strumming my clit frantically, my breath soon turning choppy. If I can just...

“What the fuck are you doing?”

I’m yanked unceremoniously out of the shower. I was so close to coming and I’m livid.

“You could see what I was doing, asshole!” I land an ineffective blow against his chest and am going for another when he shackles both my wrists and yanks me onto my tiptoes.

It takes the fight out of me. I’m dripping. It’s freezing outside the shower.

“Christ!” he says, hauling me over to the bench. My clothing has disappeared, and in their place there’s a neat pile of towels. He picks the top one up and wraps it around me. He takes another, drops it over my head, and rubs vigorously.

It joggles me around. I feel strangely coddled as he dries my hair and then me, movements brisk and impersonal.

“You’re freezing.” He sweeps me up into his arms, still wrapped in a towel, and carries me through the corridors with the rusty stains and the leaking pipes and into a room that’s not much above a prison cell. There are no windows, just a single bare bed pushed up against one wall. An old metal chair beside it has a large plastic-wrapped bundle on top.

He sets me on my feet, rips open the plastic bundle, and spreads out a giant sleeping bag over the mattress.

“Come on. Get in, you’re freezing.”

I try to take the towel with me.

“Not happening.” He catches hold of the corner and liberates me from it as I slide between the flaps of the thick quilted sleeping bag. “I’m going to take a shower. If I find you touching yourself again, I’ll tell Seb. And trust me, you won’t like what happens after.”

I nod, taking him at his word that whatever Seb does will indeed be unpleasant, and draw the quilt right up to my chin. I’m shivering now. My hair is still damp.

Seeming satisfied, he strides out of the room, and his footsteps fade away.

A thick metal door lays open against the wall. He hasn’t shut it. Nobody seems to shut doors here. It’s quiet. I can hear water dripping somewhere. My shivers slowly subside, and, as they do, my arousal rises to the fore.

I like it, I realize—the way they handle me. The ease with which they command my compliance and mold me to whatever they desire. When this all started, I swore I wanted Ash, even though I was in denial. Then Seb snatched all my focus taking me on a rollercoaster of caring and cold. And now Noah is there too.

I shouldn’t be hard on myself, though. Each one of them is easy on the eye, leaving aside any damning circumstances. They’re hot. I’d have to be blind not to notice them. Layer the virus, and whatever it’s doing to me, on top of that… And it’s like all my inhibitions have been scoured away, with common sense replaced by animal desire.

I roll onto my back and surreptitiously slide my hand down my body, parting my legs as I do. I watch the door and listen for footsteps. He’s taking a shower, and that will take a while. If he comes, I’ll take my hand away. The covers are right up to my chin. How would he even know?

It won’t take much. I was so fucking close in the shower. If I can just relieve this, I might be able to think straight again.

My fingers move slowly this time, circling around my clit. I’m so sensitive there I can barely stand the touch. My eyes fall closed. I’m lost in the moment, closing in on a destination I need more than my next breath.

A squeal escapes my lips as the sleeping bag is ripped open.

“Jesus Christ,” Noah says roughly. He takes my wrist and snatches my fingers from my pussy.

My sob of frustration shifts to a weak moan as he sucks them into his mouth. My eyes close as he lavishes them with his tongue. I just lie there panting, a little dazed, and trying to work out what went wrong that I didn’t hear him approach.

“You really need to get off, don’t you?”

I nod slowly. Is he going to let me? Tell Seb?

I don’t care at this point. I don’t care how it happens; I just need it to happen.

He releases my wrist and yanks the covers wider, leaving me naked, my legs still spread.

Then he picks up the metal chair, drops it at the foot of the bed, and takes a seat. “Go ahead.”

I swallow and shake my head. He raises both brows.

“Seriously?” He smirks. “Of course, you can. If you want it bad enough.”

I want it badly. But I’ve got something akin to stage fright, now that he’s sitting with his eyes locked on my pussy like he is waiting for the show.

That’s me. I’m the show.

He sighs heavily and reaches for the buckle of his pants. With a faint clank and jangle, it comes loose. He pulls his zipper down slowly and then pops the button before shucking his pants down far enough for his cock to spring out.

It’s hard. Ready.

My hand moves of its own accord between my thighs into the slick folds of my pussy until I brush over my clit. I circle the sensitive bundle of nerves slowly as my other hand moves to my breast, and I pinch my nipple between my fingers and thumb.

God, his cock. I’m a little obsessed with it: the bars that line the underside and the thick ring embedded in the top glint in the dull light. It must have hurt having that done, and yet all I’m thinking about is how it might feel inside me.

It sticks straight upright, flexing against his belly, his firm belly. He pulls his t-shirt up, giving me a nice view of his tattoo swirling against his abs. He spits into his palm, wraps his fist around his cock, and begins to jack up and down.

I groan.

“Good girl,” he says. “Tease me with what I can’t have. And best you don’t take all day about it. Seb’s going to be here soon, and he’s going to be pissed. You don’t want him to stop you from getting off, do you? No, I can see that you don’t.”

My fingertips work faster around and around before they slide right over my clit, and it’s so sensitive I just go off. My back arches, and a deep, needy moan escapes my lips.

“Oh god, oh god, oh god.” The pleasure is intense—perfect, and I thrust my fingers deep inside, chasing more. My jaw hangs slack as I watch him work his fingers up and down his cock.

He grunts, and a heavy jet of cum shoots out to land against his belly. He keeps working his cock, and more and more pulses out.

He slows his movements, squeezing his cock between his fingers and thumb all the way from the root to the tip, sliding over the metal bars until his thumb circles the heavy metal ring piercing the tip. His chest heaves under his ragged breaths.

I want to come again. I want to come again so bad.

A sob tears from my lips. “I’ve made it worse.”

He bestows me a lazy smirk, watching me pump furiously. “Yeah, I should have mentioned that part.”

My fingers slow and then stop.

He heaves up off the seat, rips his t-shirt over his head, and uses it to wipe off his belly before tossing it to the floor.

Then he fastens his pants and climbs into the tiny bed, rolling me onto my side and, with seeming ease, wrapping both my arms so that my fingers are nowhere near my throbbing pussy.

“Go to sleep, Isla. Seb is going to be back soon, so just take a moment.”

As I lay cocooned in his warmth, in a shitty base in the middle of a forest, exhaustion calling me to sleep, I realize looks can be deceiving. Noah is neither sweet nor kind and has a mile-wide deviant side.