Page 29 of Flight of the Omega

“It’s not his fault,” JP whimpered.

William snorted. “’Course it is. He probably could have kept you out of the feed bag.”

JP closed his eyes, gritted his teeth again. “Father, I—”

“I don’t want excuses,” William bellowed. “I want results. We only have a week before the plate.” He pinched JP’s arm. “I’ll get Burr to put you to rights.”

With that, he strode off. JP stood in the hall a moment longer, then retreated to his nest.

It was the next morning that JP realized precisely how much bigger he’d gotten; none of the clothes he’d brought with him to Midlothian fit him around the waist. He stared at himself for a little while, thought about eggs inside him, their shells calcifying, getting thicker and heavier. Larger.

He had no idea how many were in this clutch. No omega ever did, not until they’d finished laying them. Some birds started laying early, one egg at a time, while others retained pretty much the whole clutch for the full ninety days. Eggs were usually laid over a period of a few days. The average was usually seven eggs—two or three chicks and the rest duds, meant to fool predators like griffins. JP had heard there could be up to ten eggs.

He rubbed his belly nervously, hoped there were fewer eggs and even fewer chicks.

He popped the button off his slacks and couldn’t get his jeans zipped up. He had to resort to sweatpants, ignoring how the waistband dug into him. He wished he’d been shapelocked in bird form; at least then, he wouldn’t need to worry about clothing.

His father frowned when he saw him, his lip curling up, and JP felt ashamed. He wondered what his father would say if he said he was pregnant. Probably nothing kind. His father had never been kind.

He’d probably be mad that JP was pregnantnow.Why couldn’t he have hatched eggs with one of the nice alphas Daddy Dearest had picked for him? Why hadn’t he done what his father wanted, delivered the chickshewanted? No, he had to be contrary, rebellious.

His father would probably have some snide comment about his mate too—not that JP was going to tell him it was Jack. Probably blame mate choice on why JP looked “like he’d swallowed a beach ball,” in his father’s opinion. JP was too dim to understand genetics; all his previous mates had been carefully selected. If he’d listened to his father, done what was asked of him …

Burr met them at the mess. “You’re gonna do some training,” William explained, and JP knew he must have lost all the color in his face, because his father laughed at him. “Little exercise ain’t gonna kill ya!” he roared.

Burr started his reign of terror by denying JP breakfast—“Mr. Crane’s orders,” the lead hand said with a nonchalant shrug. He glanced JP up and down. “I agree with him. Exercise first.”

JP gnawed on his own lip, debating if he should tell Burr. The lead hand was a very good friend of his father’s, had William’s full confidence, but that didn’t mean he was trustworthy.

They went for a jog. Burr kept giving him a strange look, and JP’s gut twisted in a way that meant he was more nervous than anything else.

He was out of shape; he was huffing and puffing before they left the yard. He thought he could feel the eggs rattling around in him. He had visions of them crashing into each other, cracking open inside of him, triggering the horrible cramping. Then he’d have to deliver a bunch of broken eggs.

He wanted to throw up. Crushing the dud eggs accidentally had been harrowing enough; instinct was impossible to ignore as a bird, and he’d delivered his last clutches as a bird. He’d wanted to sit on them, keep them warm and safe. Instead, he’d crushed them, broken their shells.

It had been cold comfort that they were empty, all of them.

He didn’t notice they’d made it around a bend, past a copse of tall, spindly pine trees wavering in the light morning breeze, until Burr said, “Let’s take a break.”

That, he was grateful for. He paused, trying to catch his breath. Burr strode to the edge of the dusty path, looking out over a rolling green field. There was mist lying thick across the fields; the rising sun made it seem even thicker and more impenetrable.

JP huffed a couple of times, then moved to rest against the rough bark of one of the pines. He looked out over the field too, scanning the open expanse. He didn’t like it; he couldn’t see far enough. He thought of Blue, being attacked by that griffin.

He didn’t think he could outrun a predator right now, not shapelocked like this, and the thought made him nervous.

His gaze shifted when Burr turned back around. The burly lead hand marched back to him, and for a second, JP felt a little safer. Burr maybe wasn’t fast either, but he looked like he could fight a griffin.

The lead hand didn’t stop; he marched right into JP’s space, his shadow falling over JP. He closed in, even as JP flattened himself against the tree.

He didn’t feel safe anymore. He gritted his teeth. “Burr?”

Burr’s fingers dug into either side of his jaw with bruising force. JP tried vainly to turn his head. Burr didn’t relent though. Instead, he forced JP to tilt his head up just enough to meet Burr’s lips. The kiss was hard and painful, and JP squirmed, trying to break the lead hand’s hold on him. He dug his nails into Burr’s forearm, but even that didn’t deter him.

He tossed JP to the ground with no effort. “Take off your pants,” he ordered, looming over JP.

“Father said—”

“Give you some exercise, yeah,” Burr sneered. “I heard him—don’t you worry, I’ll give you a workout.”

JP whined, but he was frozen otherwise; he couldn’t believe this was happening. Again. That was the only thought in his head:not again, not again…

He whimpered and then Burr had a hand on his throat, fingers pressing into his trachea. “Shut up,” the lead hand snarled in his ear. “You make onepeep…”