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Hazel
My jaw was still throbbing as I trailed behind Morris back to my shack. I studied the commune as we walked, my gaze darting around, looking for an out.
If anything, it looked more fortified than ever. Did the High Alpha always have this many betas on guard duty? It seemed like half the male population of the group were watching Morris lead me away.
I kept my head up, used to their stares and whispers. As if my rare omega status weren’t enough, the High Alpha’s proclamation that I was going to give birth to his heir and their messiah meant I was even more of a commodity.
Nevermind the fact that I would scrape out my uterus with a rusty spoon before letting the High Alpha’s seed take root anywhere near my baby-making parts. I wouldn’t bear him anything, except failure.
At least, that was what I told myself, forcing down the impending doom that hovered around me like an oppressive perfume. The truth was, I was screwed.
I could talk a big game in my head, but as the High Alpha had just made crystal clear, I was vastly outnumbered. And more than that, I was weak. My omega genes made me naturally smaller and softer, and all it would take was one command in an alpha bark to have me stripping.
It was humiliating to know that when it came down to it, my own body would betray me. I’d strip. Present for him. My thighs would drip with slick and arousal, and he’d barely have to force himself inside of me. The only saving grace was the birth control implant my mom had convinced me to get when I was seventeen. It was still good for another year.
When the High Alpha had first decreed he would marry me, he’d had his physician examine me. The thorough exam proved I was, in fact, still a virgin. But the aging doctor, who’d spent most of his years treating followers in the compound, had no idea about modern medical implants for birth control. I’d easily convinced him the small bump he felt in my arm was scar tissue from an old injury I’d sustained as a kid.
Sure, they might get suspicious if I wasn’t knocked up the first year or two, but what was the alternative? Take me to a hospital for more testing? It wasn’t like the small, dusty clinic had anything more than gauze, sutures, and antibiotics.
Morris cleared his throat and glanced at me, looking like he wanted to say something. But just as quick as the impulse appeared, it vanished. He looked away, jaw tight and eyes hard.
I wrapped my arms around my middle, my shoulders curling inward as we walked. I barely felt the frigid blast of air that tumbled down from the mountains to blanket the area. I was numb, my brain already switching into survival mode even as my gaze darted around, looking for a chance to run.
In front of my shack, Morris drew up short. “Hazel.”
I kept my eyes on the ground, still trying to figure a way out of this mess.
“Hazel.” Morris’s voice cracked with impatience that bordered on desperation.
My head snapped up. “What?”
His green eyes searched my face. “I’m… I’m sorry.”
His apology felt all wrong, like sandpaper on raw nerves. “Don’t apologize. Isn’t this what you wanted? What you all want?” My voice rose as I spoke, and I knew I sounded slightly hysterical.
“Don’t give up,” he told me, his words so soft, so quiet, I almost missed them.
I gaped at him. “What?”
He didn’t repeat the words as he turned and used a key attached to his belt to unlock the shack. The door creaked open as he stepped aside to let me in.
“Hazel.”
He waited until I made eye contact, and I almost gasped aloud at the ferocity shimmering in his gaze. “This isn’t over, do you understand?”
I opened my mouth, confused and unsure, when a soft sob caught my attention. The scent of burnt caramel almost masked the metallic copper that permeated the air.
Forgetting about Morris and his cryptic words, I stumbled over the threshold, my wide-eyed gaze darting around until I found the small man curled up in the corner.
“Logan.” His name was a broken plea on my lips as I raced to him. I heard the door close, the lock clicking into place, but none of that mattered.
Dropping to my knees beside him, I reached out for his fingers. As soon as my skin brushed his, he let out a cry and pressed harder against the wall, trembling from head to toe.
“Logan, it’s me,” I whispered, my hands balling into impotent fists as I watched him.
The faint smell of bleach tickled my nose, but it still didn’t completely eradicate the stench of my heat. It had seeped into every pore of the wood, clung to the dingy curtains.
“Logan, please,” I begged, needing my friend. The guy I’d come to think of as a little brother and had definitely been kicked down the road of life with a helluva lot more aggression. There was something beautiful and sweet about him that demanded he be protected.
