Page 344 of Immune

The bonds are there too, all three of them, stretched thin and distorted but very much alive. Ewan burns somewhere way past my ribs, bright panic morphed into something sharper. Kaito is colder and quieter, like a blade dragged slowly over glass. Fletcher is steady in a way that makes my chest hurt. Not calm. Never calm. Steady in the same way a locked door is steady before the thing behind it breaks through.

They’re coming. Maybe. Fuck, maybe that’s just me hoping. Wishful thinking or something. Or maybe that’s the drug. Maybe I’m about to hallucinate all four Alphas performing a rescue with really complicated dance choreography that includes too much footwork, a musical number, and an award-winning soundtrack, all while I drool on myself like some goofy raccoon that’s been sedated.

Honestly, that still sounds way better than the chair. I’ll even sing a few bars myself, just for the vibe. And maybe, as a bonus, it’ll keep the fear bottled a little while longer.

Under those three bonds, I still feel that gnawing empty place in my chest.

Xeon.

Not gone and that’s the problem. I mean, gone would actually be a clean cut. But this? This is worse. This is reaching for a handle that should be there and instead just finding nothing but air. My body keeps trying to find him the way it findsthe others, my brain yearning for a bond, and every time it fails, something inside me flinches.

No frost.

No steel.

No thread.

Just a goddamn memory that haunts me worse than the ghosts of my past. His hand on my hip in the greenhouse. The warmth of his fingers. The softness of his voice low in the dark. The way he spoke about Seoul. South Korea when he was young. He misses what he remembers but he doesn’t know if that’s the same thing.

I wonder if he is close. I wonder if he can even tell if I’m alive. I wonder if the silence is hurting him just as much as it’s hurting me.

A voice cuts through the room the moment that thought crosses my mind. “Dose is holding.”

Male. Close. Bored.

I don’t dare move, even though my shoulders are screaming at me and my body trembles.

Someone else answers, farther away. “Should have put her under completely.”

“Leader said not to. Buyers want responsive presentation if possible.”

Presentation.

Oh, isn’t that just great? Love that. Just absolutely love that for me. I’m not even kidnapped for five goddamn minutes before I’m put up for sale like some cheap toy on eBay. A girl really can’t have high standards in an apocalypse, Jesus Christ.

A third voice joins them. Female this time. That’s a nice change, huh? “She’s not standard. Took four restraints and two transport rounds to keep her down.”

“Because she’s feral?” the guy asks.

“Because she fought through a suppressor, shock contact, and the transport dose longer than she should have.”

I keep my face slack, mostly because making expressions right now requires effort I don’t currently possess.

“She’s an Omega,” the first man says. “Rare enough. Don’t need her to be special.”

Charming. What a delight. Really, the highlight of my apocalypse holiday.

The woman snorts. “Tell that to the Commander’s contact. They paid extra for this one.”

Commander.

My anger wakes up before the rest of me does at the sound of that name.

Fucking Hale.

That good-for-nothing, high-and-mighty, uptight, pushy, clipboard-licking, shit-sniffing little piss dumpster. When I get my hands on him…

“They knew there was an Omega inside Haven Ridge,” the woman continues. “They didn’t know she’d be bonded to half a pack by the time we got in.”