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Not because I’m being touched.
More like the memory of a noose.
But it’s not a memory.
It never was.
Mother. Fucking. SHIT.
My eyes shoot open.
There’s nothing special about the lab. Stainless steel tables. Beeping machines. It’s all mad-science standard, except for what I sense behind the dividing curtain.
Tearing wires, feeling nothing but bony fingers hooked in my marrow, I leap to rip the curtain off its track.
I find four beds.
Four bodies.
Four alphas I already fucking killed.
A horsefly hums between my ears.
They’re husks. Burn-scarred. Unrecognizable. Running on ventilators and feeding tubes. Alpha-shaped lumps of barely breathing mud.
I only recognize them from the pull in my chest.
Orlov Pack.
My mates.
Their scents are gone. Their muscles withered. I can’t read emotions through the bond that never fully settled, but the horrific, half-formed cord they forced has never disappeared.
How?
I stumble to the packleader’s bedside, blindsided, hamstrung, and building a slow-burn rage.
Rance Orlov deserves to be a corpse.
But the ventilator that breathes for him keeps his dead-grass blades piercing my soul.
I grip the bed rail, shaking, trying to figure where my timeline went to shit.
The Orlovs drugged me into heat.
Rance and Tommy stole their bites.
A partial bond formed, but before they could unzip and make it permanent, my pheromones sparked. I awakened as a gamma instead of an omega they could thrall with their barks.
They were down before I knew what I’d done or what the pheromones meant.
I took the candle they left burning to set the mood in their nest.
Ran away.
Set fire to their place instead.
I wandered out of the smoke, bleeding, half in heat, and staggering on a dozen broken bones. An SAS van appeared.
