Chapter 28 Markus

Her scent.

Her omega scent.

The nest is filled with it. Hell, the whole damn cave is filled with it.

And my body is filled with it too.

I can feel it coursing through my blood like wine, making me drunk with lust. I feel guilty for being aroused at a time like this, while Thorus is apparently in trouble, but I cannot help it. The hardness in my cock, the aching in my balls, the urge to shove Syra down and rut her until she screams for mercy. All these things are instinctual, my body's natural reaction to her heat-scent.

If we let Syra leave the cave, any alphas who are nearby will smell it too, and their reactions will be the same as mine. She cannot safely lead us to Thorus while she's still in such a state.

"The paste," Syra suggests. "You said Thorus used the camouflaging paste to hide his scent when he left, right? There must be more of it."

Brik shakes his head. "It won't work."

"Why not?"

"Your scent's too powerful, Syra. That paste is strong, but not that strong. It can mask the odor of an alpha, or even an ordinary omega—but an omega in heat…?" He shakes his head again.

I have to agree with Brik's assessment. The paste is not strong enough to conceal the scent of a heat-stricken omega. Plus, Syra's heat is especially intense. No amount of paste would be able to hide her.

But there is another way.

"Syra," I say. "Just how far are you willing to go to help Thorus?"

"I'll do anything," she says, her face hardening with resolve. "I would give my life for him if necessary. I would give my life for all of you."

She's dead serious.

I feel the same way about her. I'm certain Brik does too.

"I would never ask you to give up your life," I tell her, brushing her face with my hand. "But you may have to give up something almost as valuable."

"What do you mean?" Syra asks.

"You must let us mark you."

When an alpha marks an omega with his teeth, her scent changes. Other alphas will not be able to detect her heat as strongly, and their bodies will not be affected in the same animalistic fashion. Only the alphas from the pack who marked her will still smell her that way.

Syra answers without hesitation.

"Okay."

I have to admit, I'm more than a little surprised by the speed and certainty of her answer. I was under the impression Syra did not wish to be dominated. And the mark which alphas give their omega mate is most definitely a sign of domination.

It is a sign of ownership, and it is permanent.

My surprise must be obvious, because Syra looks at me and places a reassuring hand against my chest.

"I want you to mark me," she says. "Not just for Thorus's sake. I want to be your mate."

She places her hand on Brik's chest and looks at him too.

"And you," she says. "I want to be your mate too, and Thorus's as well. I only wish we could do it under better circumstances."

"So do I," says Brik.

I nod in agreement.

This should be the happiest moment of my life. I am going to mark Syra as my mate. It is something I have wanted to do ever since that night in the air duct when I kissed her for the first time.

"Are you sure you want this, Syra?" I ask, lightly touching her arm. "Once we have marked you, there will be no turning back. You will be ours, and we will be yours, forever."

"I want it if you do."

"You know I do."

I look at Brik.

"Of course," he says. "And I know Thorus would want it too… if he were here."

Thorus. I have only known the alpha for a short time now, but already I feel so much admiration for him, as if he were my own pack leader. As the oldest and strongest of we three alphas, it would be his right to mark Syra first, but he is not here, so we must do it for him.

Brik is right, Thorus would want us to do this.

I brush Syra's hair away from her shoulders, baring the smooth skin of her neck. Her body already carries scars from her numerous adventures in the Zone. I know how she got many of them. There's that one on her elbow where she skinned it in a fall. And that one on her right hand when she punched an alpha boy in the mouth and cut her knuckle on his tooth. The one on her left calf she got just last year when a wild boar grazed her with his tusk. I saw it happen. I thought I was going to have to jump in and save her, but she handled it all on her own.

Now I'm going to give her a new scar—a love scar.

"This is going to hurt," I tell her.

Her eyes flash with that old, familiar defiance.

"I'm not afraid," she answers. Then, in a softer voice, she adds, "I like the way you hurt me."

That's all I need to hear. Syra's words have awoken the animal within me, and I do not even attempt to restrain it. With a savage snarl, I turn her body so that she is facing away from me, and I press myself hard against her back. At the same time, Brik presses into her from the front, capturing her smaller body between our bigger ones. I can hear her blood beating faster in her veins. A startled gasp breaks from her lips. Perhaps she has misgivings, but it's already too late.

I am going to claim her.

I am going to mark her.

I am going to own her.

I hold back for the merest fraction of a moment, drinking in her warmth and her scent. Then I dip my face to her neck and sink my teeth into her flesh there. Brik does the same on the other side.

And Syra screams.