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A terrible serenity cuts through me like a blade, leaving space enough for the monstrous Berserker to shove his hands into the wound and leave small flakes of himself inside. As my eyes roll back and he holds me carefully, cradling my arm between us, I know that when the dream fades and morning dawns, I’m going to regret everything.
I also know that I’m going to want to regret everything a second time.
He grunts and his labored breathing picks up as the pressure between my legs finally releases in one liquid gush. I’m sloppy and wet down there. I can hear it. My whole body goes limp and so do my legs, but I can hear the wet, sloppy sound of him swiveling in and out of me, moving in that erotic pattern that never breaks, not even when I come all over him and my inner walls tremble and squeeze. It makes me feel momentarily self-conscious, or it would have, had I not been so shattered by this. Had he not released me from the prison of my need.
I sniffle and hold onto his shoulders, waiting for him to erupt just like I did. Instead, he kisses my swollen lips almostsweetly, before slowing down. “You finish?”
I nod until I remember he can’t see me. “Yeah.”
His rumbling flares. He whispers, “Good, Omega.” Slowly,painfully,he starts to withdraw his erection from my fluttering core. He’s still stiff as a board.
I try to clench my thighs around him, not wanting the heat to go away, not wanting to break the connection, wanting to use him to anchor me to something that isn’t cold or wet or painful, butalmostsweet, definitely rough, and unrepentantly glorious.
But he’s stronger than I am and I’m a boneless fish. I have no strength at all to stop him from pulling out of me, his hot, still very erect cock slapping the inside of my thigh. He carefully rolls the both of us over and I let him, too confused, too stunned.Why didn’t he come?He pulls my body on top of his, using me as a blanket.But why didn’t he come?
I close my eyes and my arms flop out to either side. He holds the good one up and curses, then rotates us further so that I’m on my back beside him, both of us unable to fit on the floor part of this cocoon together, leaving us each curled up against the walls. I hear vines tearing and then his hands start working my bad arm upright.
Finished, he settles against the curve of the cocoon. I can’t move my left arm at all. I can’t see him, but he seems to be able to. He rigged my arm up with what feels like vines and now my arm hangs suspended above my body so that my fingers point to the missing sky. I know what he’s done and why he’s done it —to take down the swelling —and both the action and the reason behind it make me sniffle harder.
“Good, Omega.” His rumble soothes. He presses a kiss to my left temple. He wraps one arm around me and I close my eyes and I forget that I hate him and that I’ll still need to try to escape and that he’s only after me because of my gifts and that he didn’t come in me even though I came so hard all over him, and instead, I breathe in the scent of a battlefield and I cry myself into the deepest, most peaceful sleep I’ve had in this long, listless thing I call a life.
Turning my head to the side,I breathe in his battle-brewed scent and exhale over the X carved above his heart.
9 | Adam
Moments Earlier
The Omega is nearing her heat.
The Omega wants to fuck.
Those two truths slam into me, waking me slowly and painfully, making me feel feverish and insane. I wake to the smell of her body. I’ve trained myself on how to wake up captive in the dark, how to move my mind into boxes and use those boxes to bag up feelins a pain, a bein’ tortured. I trained for this over and over…but here? Now? In the dark where threats could be imminent, all I can sense is her. All I can smell is her need. Her arousal.
My Omega needs her Berserker. Simple as that. Nothin’ else matters.
So I take my training and abandon all of it.
It’s that damn smell. My Berserker is ravenous for that scent. Like something concocted, brewed just for it. Forme. She smells like a goddess should smell. Like every flower all at once. She smells like fresh-cut grass and green leaves. It’s a delicate, clean scent that doesn’t belong to the foul-mouthed survivalist who wears her hate like a cloak that she tries so desperately to hide beneath. But underneath that hate, there’s more. Just like, underneath her pack that she’s filled with the pelts of dead and rotten things, I can smell that distant forest. Paradise, before Paradise Hole was born. A bruised perfection that exists, just like her gifts, constantly trying to break free.
She thinks she’s bein’ hunted by us Alphas, when the truth is that she could lay claim to any Alphas she wants to. Between her broken softness, her vulnerability, that maddenin’ fuckin’ scent, the vines she wields, ropin’ outta her, flingin’ at us poor, unsuspectin’ Alphas…we don’t stand a chance and I don’t give a shit. I’ll kill anybody who ever tries to break the chains that she’s already laid on me.Or die tryin’.I think of the Fates, what they told me. Then I force those thoughts aside. Right now, my Omega needs me.
A split second of sobriety reminds me that she’s injured and that I should try to put space between my dick and her hips but fuck knows I won’t.
I inhale even deeper, letting her smell suffocate me, and when my lungs are full to bursting, I take in just a little more, wanting to be sure that I don’t survive the onslaught. I don’t. Because when I exhale, every fury I’ve ever carried with me bleeds out into the world and my chest does somethin’ terrible, somethin’ incredible, somethin’ it’s never done before. The warning rattle morphs, changing, becoming both deeper and softer — something that comes from my belly, not from my lungs or from my throat.
I release a rumbling Berserkerpurr,a mating call.
I purr for my Omega. I didn’t…I didn’t think I was even capable of it.I’m done for.
I wrap my arms around her. I slide one hand underneath her back and feel my way along her shoulder blades to her spine, up to her neck. I press my fingers into her skin too hard, I know, but with her, I struggle for gentleness. She can take it. She’s a fucking savage.
The sound that comes out of her mouth has me clenching my teeth together and tightening my thighs. She starts to shift, her hips lifting into the air. The fuck is she doing? Where the fuckarewe?
Images flash into my consciousness, spliced with the fever dreams that make it hard for me to distinguish reality from fantasy. Because this is a fantasy. I’ve dreamed this dream every single night since I saw her holding that knife, since she stabbed herself in the thigh. Fucking savage. Fuckin’ warrior.
Mine.
My aggression spikes and my chest goes back to rattlin’ out a hard melody while my hips piston into whatever warmth they can find. She tilts her face up to me and her hips shift up again. “Pre…present…” she says, still half-asleep, eyes closed, tone way, way too soft to belong to an Omega scavenger who held a knife to the throat of a Trash City doc, that sanctimonious prick.
