I swallow. The Cathedral. That must be the actual name for Zombieland.
Jeremiah grumbles, passing the stick on. We have people whose influential parents thought they might be "cured" of their minor aggressions, like shoplifting, and then we have people who were so delusional they thought they could talk to the dead. Gods, I am not looking forward to dealing with that again.
It looks like the Cathedral is where they keep the ones that won't stay in line, but if you promise to be good, you can take the experimental drug and get entered into the program, no matter the severity of your crime.
My question is…why isn't this public knowledge? Why does the rest of the world still think that Thornfield is one big hard-ass facility?
I guess I'm gonna have to do some digging.
It really shouldn't be a surprise to me at this point, getting thrown against walls by alphas.
Well, this one didn't throw me, so much as he backed me into it.
I'd been on my way to therapy when the Russian giant from circle time caught me off guard. Now he has one arm braced above my head, his other hand tilting my chin up to him as my back digs into the brick wall behind me.
"What the fuck?" I hiss, my hand going to the pocket of the jumpsuit that does not have Not-Cheddar, where I stored my swiped paring knife from when I was washing dishes earlier.
Fuzzy didn't even check my pockets when I left.
I glare at the bastard caging me. I don't care how hot this guy is,nobodymanhandles me like this.
"Tell me,Lisichka," he murmurs, his eyes dark and dangerous. He takes a step closer so his body is nearly pressed into mine. He goes to press further, but his eyes widen and he looks down when he feels the tip of my knife. Instead of backing off like he should, he leans into it.
Baiting me.
Testing me.
I don't pull it back, I keep it right where it is. If they ask why this guy has a knife wound, I can honestly tell them he walked into it.
"What is it about you that has everyone so intrigued?" he asks, his head tilting.
"Must be my sparklin' personality, Sugar," I grit out, ignoring the squeak of Not-Cheddar in my pocket.
His eyes suddenly turn black, and my heart drops. His nose falls to the crook of my neck, and he impales himself on my short knife. "Fuck," he gasps, and then I realize it's not from the pain. "I've always loved apple pie. It is not a treat we have in Russia.Sharlotkais the closest thing we have, but you…" He inhales again, and my heart stutters.
I'm frozen. He shouldn't be able to scent me. I'm like a deer in damn headlights as the alpha scents me like he might be able to eat the apple pie straight from the source.
What's worse? I like it.
I can feel my omega peeking one eye open, preening at the attention of this alpha who I now realize smells like gunpowder and fresh rain.
So,sogood.
The warmth of the blood dripping from his side onto my hand has me snapping out of it, and on instinct, I draw my knee up, and for the second time in twenty-four hours, manage to get an alpha to back off by going for the precious bits.
He grunts, his eyes going wide as his hand moves off my chin to cup his balls, and I rush out from underneath him, leaving the knife lodged in his side. My heart pounds wildly as I run down the hall, too on edge to care that running away looks anything but badass.
He could scent me.
That means, undoubtedly, that every other alpha in this facility will be able to as well.
seven
Kole
Damn, that hurts.
Glaring after the little fox who escaped me, I yank the blade she left behind out of my side and drop it in a nearby trashcan. My balls still ache, thanks to her little stunt, but I'll survive.
