“Shit,” one of them says. “This must be a new shipment.”
“New shipment?” the third repeats.
“Yeah,” he grouses, his irritation seeming to pour off of him in waves. “Alphas from all over the world trade their Omegas to Carlos for all sorts of shit—used Omega toys, serums, drugs, psychedelics, you name it.”
The third Alpha snorts. “Makes me wish he could die again.”
“If only,” the Alpha drawls, his focus shifting my way. “I’ve got this one.”
My heart stops, as does my breathing.The irritated one is coming for me. He’s going to?—
“Shh,” he hushes, a strange rumble igniting in his chest as he approaches my cage.
I cock my head, confused by the foreign vibration. It’s a very curious growl. Or maybe… maybe not a growl at all.
“I’m not going to hurt you, little one,” he tells me before ripping the lock off my cage door—the action betraying his true intentions.
I can’t help pressing back into the wires behind me, my body instantly on high alert.
But he doesn’t try to yank me out of the crate. Instead, he holds out a hand, his voice lowering as he murmurs, “Come on out, sweetheart. We need to go outside, then we’ll get you somewhere safe.”
Safe?I repeat in my head.Nowhere is safe.
This world was overrun by a zombielike plague, killing most of humankind and leaving several supernaturals dead as well.
Not my kind, though.
X-Clan wolves are immune. Some others are, too.
But we’re controlled by Alphas. And Alphas are the epitome of dangerous.
There is no such concept assafe.
“Please?” he asks, the word one I don’t think I’ve ever heard used in my presence. I know what it means because I often utterit when requesting food or water. But for an Alpha to say it? To me?
How utterly bizarre.
Several other cages rattle as Omegas are freed one by one, the other Alphas saying similar things to them as this one has said to me.
“Up the stairs,” the third Alpha says to a pair of shivering females. “Sven and Kazek will show you where to go.”
The Omegas scatter, not bothering to question the Alpha’s words or even hesitate before following his command.
Yet I sit here very much questioning the male in front of me.
He crouches a little, his face shrouded in darkness. However, a hint of yellow flashes at me as his wolf stares me down. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he repeats, but in Spanish this time. “You can trust me.”
I frown, confused by his shift in languages.
When I don’t respond, he says something else, only this time I don’t understand what he’s saying at all, as it’s all gibberish.
He tries once more, his sounds more guttural and harsher in nature.
“Russian, maybe?” the third Alpha suggests as he comes to stand by my cage.
“I don’t know Russian. Only English, Spanish, Italian, and German.”
“Hmm,” the male hums, bending to peer into my cage.
