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It can’t be like that.
The sound of a rickety engine shatters what’s left of my fantasy.
Craig rolls up in a rust-bucket sedan that would look more at home in a zombie apocalypse than the Wyverns’ mega-garage.
“Is that everything?” He sneers at my duffel bag.
I hoist it over my shoulder. “Just get me out of here.”
“Hold up. I have to check you for a tracking chip.”
“For a what?” I recoil as he reaches for me.
“A chip,” Craig insists. “The Center tags its omegas. Didn’t you know?”
I’ve never heard it mentioned, but it makes sense. Even a Darling is an investment. If I run, the OCC loses what it paid.
“Where would it be?” I smooth my hands over my arms, feeling a crawling sensation under my skin.
“I have the scanner.” He pulls out a hunk of plastic, stepping toward me. “Give me your arm.”
He’s just a beta, but the guy smells like last year’s pizza box and having him in my space sends my omega instincts flailing. My perfume rises in a panicky cloud.
Not just my perfume.
That skin-crawling sensation doubles down.
Something isn’t right.
I open my mouth to scream, to tell him to get the fuck away from me, but Craig is already looming.
“Hold still.” Craig grabs me by the throat, jamming my back against an SUV while he jams a syringe into my arm.
It’s propane in my veins.
My blood boils, vision spinning. I try to react, try to pull away, but my reaction speed is dulled. Everything’s smudged with oil, and I’m on fire.
My throat aches.
My core burns.
My scent soars.
My heat.
It’s here.
***
Thirty-Four
LILAH
“Holy shit, you smell good.” Craig drops the syringe, raggedly inhaling my neck, pressing against me with his wet cardboard heat.
I want to vomit.
I want to scream, but Craig’s crusty fingers clamp my mouth shut.
