Page 38 of A Murderous Omega

I injected each alpha, then turned on my heel before spinning back to them. They wouldn’t be able to move, even if I woke them up.

If I bit them now and they didn’t follow me, find me, it’d fade within a few days. And if they did find me and claim me, we’d have a mate bond instead of a one-sided claiming—a bond where I would hold as much power over them as they held over me.

I wanted that.

I wanted that so fucking bad.

The pain of their imagined rejection ripped through me, almost destroying my resolve. If I did this and they didn’t come find me⁠—

No. You’re Lark. And if they don’t want you, that’s their fucking loss.

First, Conor. I walked around to his side of the bed, then bent down and bit his neck, piercing my teeth through his scent gland. The bond formed instantly. It wouldn’t last—an omega couldn’t force a bond like an alpha could—but it was enough that I could feel his tumultuous presence in my soul, like a puzzle piece slotting into place.

Now, Emile. His eyes opened wide when I bit him, the bond flooding with surprise, then worry, then intense affection as he stared at me.

I brushed my lips over his and rushed out of their apartment before I could change my mind.

This soon after my heat, my hormones would be naturally suppressed. I had a day, maybe two if I was lucky, before I’d have to start suppressants again. My first stop was a convenience store to pick up a burner phone using the cash I’d lifted from Emile’s wallet.

“This is six-three-oh-seven,” I said the moment the other line picked up. “Checking in.” Our numbers were nonsense. The omega on the other line knew it was me. The number was to let her know I was okay after disappearing after the pickup at the brothel—I checked the date on the phone—four days ago.

Four fucking days.

“The cargo’s fine. Dispersing,” the disembodied voice on the other end of the line said.

“I need—” I stopped and looked, really looked, at the passersby hurrying to their jobs, home to their families, rushing hither and dither through the early morning streets.

If I really wanted to escape my alphas, I’d have to disappear.

Fuck that.

Conor and Emile had found me once. More than once. If they really wanted me, if they wanted me as I was, then they’d find me again. They’d complete the bond. They’d make me their mate. And if they didn’t, I’d nurse my broken heart and go back to murdering assholes.

“I don’t need anything. Keep me up to date on the cargo.”

The next day, I woke to find myself smashed between two hot bodies—two hot, hard, alpha bodies that smelled like everything I loved in this world—pressing me between them on my tiny double bed.

“Omega,” Emile growled. “Stop wiggling.”

“How did you get in?”

Emile laughed softly against my hair, shifting me so his steel cock rubbed against my pajama-clad ass.

“Honestly, my delicious little murderer, I love you, but this bed has got to go,” Conor complained, rolling over so he faced me, then nipping at my nose. “Are you sure you don’t want to just move into our place?”

“Why are you here?” I breathed, sitting up, only for the two men to drag me back down between them.

“Why wouldn’t we be?” Emile asked. “Chérie, we’re yours. You claimed us. Why would we ever leave your side again?”

Satisfaction rolled through the bond.

“You didn’t have to bite us, love,” Emile murmured as he traced the sensitive shell of my ear with his nose. “You could have just left.”

I didn’t want to.

“You wanted us to chase you.” True. “You wanted us to find you.” True. “You want us to grovel.” True. Conor nibbled at my throat, nipping at the sensitive scent gland where he would claim me. “You want us to claim you.” True. “But we’re not going to do it yet. Not until you beg us to.”

I shifted until I rode Emile, my pussy riding against his rock-hard cock, separated only by a few thin layers of fabric, my slick rapidly soaking through. “I won’t. Ever.”