Chapter Sixteen

Faith

The cells are hot tonight. I tell myself the fans must be broken, but my inner omega knows better.

In the next block over, someone groans. Definitely one of the omegas.

"Go back to sleep," Fang murmurs, draping his arm over me.

But I'm not the only one getting antsy. The entire arena seems to be on edge, fussing and fidgeting in their sleep.

I roll over, and Fang's eyes creak open. "Faith," he whispers, "sleep."

The words are so sweet, so soothing, that I'm almost tempted to just give in. But then I hear that groan again, followed by heavy breathing.

I sign, Someone's sick.

Fang sighs. "Probably L-7. She's been throwing up for days."

That may be true, but it still doesn't explain this feeling. Like something rising up inside of me, hot and urgent. The only thing that comes close to it is … is …

My breath catches. I think she's going into heat.

Fang scowls. This time he also chooses to sign: That's impossible.

No-one's gone into heat or rut down here since … ever. We've never known exactly why. Never had the energy left over to question it. Even so, my inner omega can sense a shift in the air.

Maybe it's L-7's groaning, or the way the other rogues respond—shying away, inching closer—but I find myself pawing at Fang's chest. Mate. My mate , my omega purrs.

"Faith," he whispers, even softer now.

No-one's watching us, I want to tell him. All eyes are on L-7.

And it's not like it'd be the first time.

I can feel his gaze seep into me, my inner thighs already clenching. We're tucked away in the very back corner of the cell, huddled beneath a shared blanket.

No-one has to know.

With all the grace and decisiveness I love him for, Fang runs his hand down my front. His fingers skim my breasts, and I gasp.

His eyes flash a warning.

I bite my lip.

Still staring at me, making sure I behave, he finds my underwear, pulling against the elastic band to expose my slick, molten center.

My fists clench in his tank top. Each and every one of my nerve endings sings, feeling more sensitive than I have in years. Just being near another omega's heat has reminded me of what I am. What I need.

Fang circles my clit in testing, almost curious strokes. I have to press my face against his neck to mask my labored breathing.

"Fuck, omega," he murmurs directly into my ear, "you're soaked."

He pushes just one finger in and I instantly see white. I buck forward, only for him to grab my waist with his free hand, pinning me in place.

"Don't worry …" he kisses my temple. "I'll come to you."

With that, he inches closer, freeing his cock and angling it just right. I can feel his tip against my entrance for what feels like eternity. Is he torturing me, or asking permission?

Either way, I flash my teeth, a snarl rumbling soundlessly in my chest, right before he finally thrusts his—

***

An earth-shattering cramp wracks through me.

Holy fuck, that hurts.

" She needs a hospital ," someone hisses right outside my door.

My … door. Since when did I have a door? Where's my mate? Where am I?

I try to whine, but of course, the sound doesn't come. Stupid omega. Doesn't even know she can't speak.

" Fuck no ," another voice snaps. " They're just gonna drug her up again !"

" Both of you ," this voice is deeper, steadier, making my inner omega preen. " Keep your voices down ."

" Just—tell us what to do ," the first voice pleads. " I–I thought we had time. I thought we could talk to her about this ."

" So did I. But something must've set her off ."

That's when it comes back to me. Pack Wilder. The alphas who aren't my alpha, but who treat me like a person, and try to communicate with me, even when I make it hard.

The alphas who smell good , my omega puts in.

I knew something was coming. I … I wanted Fang to be there. Yes—the window. I thought, maybe, if I could stand out in the open air, I'd be able to scent him.

Just thinking about scent brings Pack Wilder's joint aroma into focus. One taste of that musky, chocolatey, citrusy blend, seeping under the door, and my insides melt. The bedsheets are soaked with sweat and slick. The only sensation I'm aware of with any degree of clarity is the ache between my legs.

Screaming at me to be knotted.

Oh, god . I'm going to be sick.

Another cramp rips through me. I lurch over the side of the bed, retching.

The door bursts open, three alphas storming in. I can feel myself panicking, checking their faces for Fang.

"Hey. Hey, omega," the one with the deep voice approaches first, slowly. "I'm just … going to sit … right here." He perches on the edge of the bed. "You're not alone."

Caleb, I finally identify. The others—Jaxon, Micah—hover behind him, looking pained.

Fang, I sign. Need him.

Caleb frowns. "I'm sorry, I don't—"

"That's the sign for ‘Fang'," Micah puts in hoarsely. "I … don't know the rest."

Jaxon runs a hand through is hair. " Fuck ."

Suddenly remembering, I shakily add, Sick. Sorry.

"Get a bucket," Caleb says over his shoulder, so I guess he understood me. "And some water."

Someone darts out of the room. For some reason I feel my inner omega crying out, begging them to come back. It's hard enough being without Fang. I can't … can't lose anyone else.

I curl into a ball, wheezing through yet another cramp. My pussy clenches so intensely I'm convinced the rest of my body will shatter into pieces.

"Caleb," Jaxon strains to get out, "fuck, I … can smell her. She smells so fucking—"

A short growl silences him.

But the damage is done. Jaxon's scent floods my senses, making my inner omega almost feral with need. He's so hot. So sweet. I'm sure, if he knotted me, everything would be okay again.

Caleb says, "I know. But you have to control yourself."

"She needs us!"

Another, sharper growl. "That is not your call ."

Finally, I hear footsteps, and crack my eyes open to see Micah crouching down before me. He hastily wipes up the floor, putting a bucket there instead, and deposits a glass of water on my bedside. Before he can run away again, I lash out, grabbing his wrist.

Micah's amber eyes widen. "Faith?"

Stay, I sign, desperately. Don't go.

I watch him scrutinize each gesture, trying to figure it out, only to shake his head in despair. "I'm sorry, angel, I–I can't understand you." He looks up. "Jaxon, can you grab the notepad?"

The very thought of writing something right now, especially as the next cramp makes my ears ring, is horrifying. But I power through, using whatever is left of my strength to grab the pen.

FANG.

All three faces fall. Jaxon growls under his breath.

"We'll find him," Caleb vows, "just not tonight."

My eyes water. HURTS.

"Oh, god," Micah murmurs.

"Let us help you," Caleb urges. "I know it's difficult to think clearly right now, but we won't— can't —do anything without your consent. So." He takes a breath. "We can either take you to a hospital, where they'll put you on an IV and try to keep you comfortable. Or …" He glances between his packmates, his voice darkening. "We can take care of you. Here, in the den."

My inner omega squeals— Yes! Please, fuck, yes!

Heat or no heat, the hospital is the last place I want to be. But do I really want these alphas I barely know to put their hands on me?

"We don't have to knot you," Jaxon says. "Hell, I can buy you some toys and leave you to it, if that's what you want." His jaw tenses. "But I for one want you here."

"Jax …" Micah murmurs.

"No. I want her here. " His eyes bear into mine. "Where I can keep her safe."

The alphas go quiet. I realize I'm holding my breath, though whether that's in a vain attempt to stave off the pain, or because I, too, am waiting on something, I can't tell.

Another wave of agony wraps its tendrils around me. And yet, that's not the reason I grip my pen.

Nor is it why I show Pack Wilder alphas the words— NO HOSPITALS.

I'M YOURS.