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“FUCK!”
How the fuck do you change what’s been so engrained in everyone for years?
He’s only one man, but maybe he could convince enough of them.
Draven would listen, he knows. And maybe Draven could talk to the others—
But his planning is all but ruined as a scent wafts over him.
Honey.
His mouth waters and his cock twitches.
Violets.
His chest aches. His muscles clench.
Slick.
The aroma is so potent, so terrifying close that he’s pressing himself against the wall of his cell, his teeth gritting as he fights the onslaught of instincts.
Take. Claim. Bite.
He pounds his fists against the wall, doing his best to not scream as overwhelming need floods his body.
It’s the same scent as on the cardigan, but more intense.
As if the same Omega isclose.
But that’s impossible. No one would willingly come near the island, so he must have finally lost it.
Does anyone else smell it? Or is it just him?
Maybe the injections aren’t working anymore, or maybe it’s just another withdrawal.
Whatever it is, it feels like his heart is being wrenched from his body as his mind roars in agony.
Go to her. Be with her.
He wonders if this is what brings his fellow soldiers to pull the trigger on themselves.
He wouldn’t wish this feeling on his worst enemy, not even on that bastard Ryland.
He forces himself to breathe through his mouth and focuses on unclenching his fists.
But it continues for a good twenty minutes, and it’s the worst twenty minutes of the last ten years of his life.
When it finally ends and the scent fades, he knows nothing will ever be the same.
He’s done with it all.
Damn them for using Alphas and Omegas like this.
Damn the United States for the fear tactics that have worked for so long, even at the expense of a child’s life.
He rips the cardigan to pieces, letting the shreds fall to the floor. As the adrenaline leaves him and he waits for the cell door to open, he formulates a plan.
The stupidest thing they’ve ever done was leave him to his own devices for a month.
