Page 15 of Desperate Omega

She refuses to be dominated.

I could try to be gentle for her, but I don’t know if I would be able to do that. Once my cock is inside her, my inner alpha will take control.

Maybe there’s another way.

“If I let go of you,” I say, “do you promise not to run?”

Syra’s expression shifts from defiant to quizzical. It’s incredible how her face manages to stay beautiful no matter what emotion she happens to be feeling.

“I have an idea,” I tell her. “But I need you to promise you won’t run from me again. Can you do that for me, Syra?”

She thinks about it for a moment, then nods.

“Okay,” she says. “I promise.”

Hearing her utter those words makes my heart swell with emotion. Slowly, I loosen my grip on her arms. It’s one of the hardest things I have ever done in my life, but I do it for Syra. I do it for my friend, my omega.

She keeps her promise and doesn’t run.

Good girl.

I return to the open crypt and reach inside. The waterskins weren’t the only supplies I had stashed in there. There’s a little bundle with some long-lasting food inside—jerked deer meat, pemmican, nuts. I take that out and set it onto the floor by the wall. Then I reach inside the crypt again.

Next I take out a rolled up fur. It is the skin from the very first bear I ever killed. I can still remember how proud I was that day, and I remember how my pack leader taught me to remove the animal’s shaggy hide and preserve it. I never expected that I would one day share it with Syra.

I unroll the skin and spread it out on the mausoleum floor. Syra watches in silence.

There’s just one more thing I need now. The most important part of my plan. I reach all the way to the back of the dark crypt until my fingers find the smaller bundle I have stashed there. I take it out and open it, examining the contents in the moonlight.

“What is that?” Syra asks.

“Medicine,” I tell her, sorting through the small glass vials and clay jars. “Herbal remedies. Materials for making poultices. Some strong stuff.”

At last, I find what I’m looking for—a small glass bottle with a cork in the top. The glass probably used to be clear once, but over the years its surface has grown so weathered and cloudy I can barely see the fluid inside.

I hold the bottle up in the moonlight.

“Do you have any idea what this is?” I ask.

Syra shakes her head.

“Alphas heal quickly,” I tell her, “but sometimes, if we sustain an especially bad injury, or if we are very far away from the Source, then we need to rest so the healing can happen even more quickly. That’s what this medicine is for. It will put a person into a deep sleep for several hours.”

Syra gasps and takes a step back.

“You want to put me to sleep?”

“Not you, Syra. Me.”

Before I have a chance to second guess what I’m doing, I pull the stopper from the bottle and knock back its contents in one quick gulp. Almost instantly, I can already feel the medicine coursing through my system, lulling me into a deep and inviting slumber. I climb onto the bearskin and lie down on my back. Syra gives me an astonished look.

“You’re going to sleep?” she asks. “Now?”

“That’s right,” I tell her. “I’m knocking myself out so you can use my body in whatever ways you need.”

CHAPTER 7: SYRA

I heard the words Markus just said to me, but my brain is struggling to process them.