Page 45 of Shared Omega

I know what this half-breed Alpha is after. Share the prize is more like it. He just wants to feel Sloane’s supple body draped over his own shoulder. He wants to smell her wafting heat scent right next to his face.

That’s one reason I’m running behind him. That keeps the wake of Sloane’s scent trailing away from him.

The other reason I’m letting him lead is that he knows where we’re going.

Oh, I could find the city ruins easy enough. I don’t even need a compass. I can feel the pull of the Source drawing me in like the attraction of a great magnet. The farther we travel, the stronger the feeling gets.

It’s like an invisible light, emanating outward from the center of the Zone. And at the same time it’s like a whirlpool, sucking me in, dragging at every cell and molecule of my body.

But to get in via the sewers—we’ll need Truk’s help for that.

I don’t like it.

I don’t trust this half-Farlander Alpha as far as I could throw him.

He turns and glances back, sneaking another peak at Sloane’s behind. I bare my teeth and snarl at him. He returns the gesture.

“What’s the matter?” Sloane squirms to see what’s going on.

“Nothing,” I say, stowing my anger.

Truk gives me one last quick glare before facing forward again and racing up the slope in front of us.

“There it is,” he calls back. “The ruined city.”

We ascend to the top of the crest and pause. I set Sloane down so she can have a look.

The city stands in the distance, a stunning conglomeration of towers with a network of crumbling roads extending out in every direction.

“It’s green!” Sloane sighs with amazement.

Truk nods. “It’s because of the vines.”

He’s right. I’ve seen it from up close, and it’s pretty incredible. All of those old and crumbling buildings are covered in a network of climbing vines that have grown up during the years since the great Cataclysm.

“It’s beautiful,” Sloane whispers.

A wind comes up and swirls across the top of our hill. Off to the east, those thunderheads are darkening, growing into an ugly, anvil-shaped tower of vapor, with tentacles of rain spreading and casting shadows over the landscape. Silent lightning flickers within the cloud.

The storm will be on us soon.

“We won’t make it to the city today,” Truk says. “Not before that storm gets here. We’ll need to find someplace to bed down for the night and weather it out.”

Bed down?

What exactly does this jerk have in mind?

As the wind doubles back, I get another big noseful of Sloane’s scent, which is growing stronger again. I took good care of her needs last night, but her estrus is returning with a fury, and soon it will need tending again.

I’m not keen, however, on the thought of sharing her with Truk.

“Come on,” the half-breed says, racing ahead. “I know a place where we can shelter nearby. Follow me.”

Sloane gives a little cry of protest as I toss her over my shoulder again and follow him.

CHAPTER 14: SLOANE

We have taken shelter beneath a ruined overpass. It overhangs a valley made by an ancient highway that winds over the landscape like a river of crumbling asphalt.