Roman: The Boundarylands Omegaverse: M/F Alpha Omega Romance
Page 9
Immediately, Roman became serious. He took her hand, the look in his eyes darkening at her question. "Not only are you going to survive," he rumbled, "but it's going to be fucking heaven."
Maybe for him, Phoebe wanted to protest. But what about her? In school, she'd been taught that sex between alphas and omegas had more in common with rutting dogs than beta sexuality. Once in heat, omegas attracted the attention of any alpha nearby, who responded by overpowering and having his way with her, forcing himself inside her and fucking her until he got off, even if it tore her apart. Alphas couldn't help themselves, and omegas simply had to endure being taken over and over until, after a few days, the heat finally ended.
That was why their bodies had such extraordinary powers of healing. A beta woman would never survive the experience.
Phoebe had heard the gossip among the betas who, like her family, did shadow business in the Boundarylands: you never saw their women because they kept them in cages; they used them until they died of exhaustion; if they tried to escape, they had seizures and died.
Phoebe didn't believe the stories. At least not all of them, but the general theme—omegas provide pleasure; alphas take all they want—was consistent enough that it had to be true. That was why she'd been so shocked to come so many times during her heat and without any injuries.
But now she knew the reason. And the worst was yet to come.
Phoebe looked down at her hand, completely enveloped in Roman's massive palm. His touch was gentle and reassuring, at odds not only with his size and power but with the notion that he'd do anything to hurt her.
As if reading her mind, he hooked a fingertip under her chin and tilted it up, forcing her to look at him. "Tell me."
But how could Phoebe tell him what he was thinking? How could she accuse him of willingly turning her into his sexual chattel? Memories of the way he'd reacted when her father said something he didn't like—that howl of rage that shook the forest—made her throat dry.
And then, through no will of her own, the fear simply dissolved, like salt tossed into boiling water. She didn't shrink from the intensity of Roman's gaze—she leaned into it, something in her soul connecting with things she couldn't see or understand.
It was her omega nature—and it trusted Roman completely. Phoebe's need for control went the way of her fear, washed away by pheromones or adrenaline or whatever the hell chemistry magic was going on inside her. Instead, her instincts urged her to put herself completely in his care.
"I…I'm afraid," she said, struggling to find a way to explain it to him. "It's all just so overwhelming."
"Don't worry," Roman said, almost as if understood the worry and conflict roiling inside her better than she did. "Your heat won't be a bad experience, just…intense."
That wasn't quite the reassurance she'd hoped for. "How is that even possible?"
"You just have to trust me." He took her other hand so that he was holding the pair of them in his strong ones, and she felt that same energy flowing between them, and the urge to simply let it carry her. Until he added, "And it's a lot longer too."
Oh, God.
"How much longer?"
"Four days, give or take."
Phoebe shook her head, trying to dismiss the impossible notion. There was no way that could be true. She felt like a worn-out rag doll after a single hour of sex with Roman—there was no way in hell she'd be able to survive four whole days.
She'd never walk again. Probably wouldn't even be able to stand up. Shit, she'd be lucky to have enough brain cells left to speak.
"You'll be fine," Roman said. It was clear he had said all he planned to on the subject as he brought her hands to his lips for a kiss. "Just remember, you're an omega now. You were made to…"
Roman's words trailed off as his eyes went unfocused. A fraction of a second later, he released her hands and stood, tilting his head toward the open window.
"What is it?" Phoebe asked, alarmed.
But Roman didn't answer. He yanked open a dresser drawer and grabbed a clean pair of pants, pulling them on with sudden urgency and leaving Phoebe cowering in the bed.
Had the wolves returned? Were they outside the house, circling, hunting?
"Roman!" she squeaked. "What's going on? What's out there?"
He paused in the door long enough to face her, his mouth a hard, flat line.
"It's your father and brother. They're back, and this time they kept their promise."
Chapter Eleven
"Stay inside," Roman barked as he headed out of the bedroom. Before she had a chance to respond, the front door slammed shut behind him.
Phoebe shook her head, trying to clear her mind. A moment ago, she'd been trying to come to terms with the fact that she was about to spend four solid days having sex. Now she was confronted with the return of her family to deliver on the deal they'd made with Roman.
With her alpha.
That was going to be news to Holden and her father, Phoebe thought grimly—and not welcome news.
Suddenly Phoebe was struck with the true urgency of the situation. Just yards away, outside the cabin, an explosion was about to take place—not the flammable contents of the tanker, though it might as well be. Take two hotheaded Whitfields, add one stubborn, hardheaded alpha to the mix—all of whom saw her as their property in one way or another—and it was bound to be a disaster.
Roman couldn't honestly expect her to stay out of this—not after what had happened during his last encounter with her family. Roman had almost killed them when all that was at stake was half a tanker of gas. If she didn't get out there now and do something, there was no telling what would happen.
Phoebe was halfway to the bedroom door when she realized she was still buck naked. Crap. She couldn't go out there like this.
She rushed over to her suitcase that was tucked into a corner of the main room and grabbed the first clothes she could find. She didn't have time to see if they matched. She could already hear the faint whir of a big rig engine, which meant they couldn't be too far away.
Still, Phoebe forced herself to take in a steadying breath, and quickly weighed the situation's pros and cons as she pulled out a clean dress.
Roman had already sensed that her family had fulfilled their side of the bargain—that was good. But he'd still been in a nasty mood when he'd rushed out—that was bad. Add to that the way her dad and Holden were sure to lose their shit when they realized what happened between her and Roman, and the situation was bound to turn ugly fast.
Which meant she needed to get out there and make sure no one ended up dead.
She pulled the dress over her head, but only when she was smoothing it down over her thighs did she realize it was the one her mother had taken her shopping for before being admitted to the hospital—a sleeveless shift dotted with tiny daisies.
"You know your father and brother mean well," her mother had said as they shared lunch that day. "They just lose their way sometimes and need a little nudge to get back on track."
Funny that those words would spring up in her memory now. Almost as strange as Phoebe's hand just happening to land on this dress in the first place.
"I'll try my best to nudge them back, Mom," she whispered up to the ceiling.
Phoebe didn't bother with shoes. She just rushed out the door barefoot, and it was a good thing too because the second she burst out onto the patio, the first tanker truck pulled up in front of the house.
Not surprisingly, Roman didn't seem pleased to see her. The look he shot over his shoulder was as dark as it was disappointed.
"I told you to stay inside," he growled.
Phoebe merely shook her head. If he thought that she was simply going to sit inside and let her family deal with him alone, then he didn't know a thing about her.
Other than how to make her shake with blistering orgasms, her traitorous subconscious reminded her after she got a look at his profile, his stance rigid and powerful.
Fortunately, there wasn't any time t
o argue. The second truck pulled in right after the first, followed by the whoosh of air brakes. Phoebe couldn't help an outpouring of relief to see Holden and her father behind the windshields, and she leaned forward over the railing to get a better view.
She hadn't realized how much she missed them. Even though it had only been a few weeks, it felt like a lifetime. She'd been so caught up in what was happening to her—first in wariness and fear, then in the hurricane of emotion and sensation—that the love and longing she felt for her family blindsided her with its intensity.
For a moment, Phoebe wanted nothing more than to climb up into one of those cabs and head straight back to her old mundane life. To feel like herself again as she slept in her own small, lumpy bed. To pick up all the empty beer cans from all over the house and take them to the recycling bin. She'd vacuum up a week's worth of dirt from the carpet, toss in load after load of laundry, and make her mother's four-cheese lasagna. All the tasks that had seemed like drudgery before, Phoebe now craved.
All she wanted was a taste of normalcy. As dull and boring as her life was—and even knowing that she'd be sick of it all over again in days—Phoebe still yearned for the familiar comfort. Just to be able to pretend for a minute that all of this had been a dream, that there were no alphas, no omegas, no heats or knots, or any of it. Just Phoebe Whitfield living her plain-Jane beta life.
The moment Holden leaped down onto the ground, Phoebe ran toward him. She couldn't help herself—no matter what happened next, even if life was never the same again, she needed to hug her brother. Needed that tangible proof that every part of her old life hadn't simply disappeared.
But she'd only made it a few steps before Roman blocked her way. He'd moved so fast she barely registered it, and couldn't stop quickly enough to avoid running into him, slamming into his hard, unforgiving torso.
She bounced off and would have fallen on her ass if Roman hadn't grabbed her wrist—steadying her, but also preventing her from going anywhere.
"Hey," Holden shouted. "Get your hands off my sister!"
"Back off, Fontana!" Her father stepped out from around the second truck. "We've brought you your fuckin' gas. Every gallon, this time. We're square."
But Roman's scowl only tightened, along with his grip on Phoebe's wrist. "Good," he snarled. "Now, unhitch them and go."
Phoebe tried to catch his eye. He should have been pleased. After all, this was what he wanted—twice as much as he'd bargained for at the start.
She saw Holden and her father share a glance, silently deciding who would be the one to speak, the one to risk his neck standing up to the alpha who had nearly killed them last time. In the end—like always—it was her dad who stepped forward.
"Hand over my daughter, and we'll unhitch the trucks," he said, in what passed for calm when you were a pissed-off Whitfield. The tendons in his neck stood out, distorting the skeleton tattoo inked there.
Roman didn't blink. Didn't move. But somehow, Phoebe could sense his gaze turn colder. "There's been a change of plans."
"What change?" Holden demanded, puffing out his chest.
Phoebe had never seen her brother show so much backbone before. She knew that he had to be intimidated by the alpha who out-classed him by at least a foot and a half and a couple hundred pounds—but he wasn't showing it.
If it wasn't such terrible timing, Phoebe would have actually been proud of her brother. But after weeks on Roman's property, Phoebe knew first hand that standing up to an alpha was generally a terrible plan.
"The girl is staying with me." Roman's voice was hard and flat—almost unrecognizable as the same one he'd used only moments ago when they'd been sharing the bed they'd made love in.
But Phoebe was different out here, too. Circumstances had changed.
In her rosy, post-sex haze, the thought of going back home with Holden and her father hadn't even entered her mind. She'd been consumed with imagining how intense the next four days were going to be…had even begun imagining those days stretching into months and years.
But now?
Faced with the light of day and her family, the swirl of thoughts battling in Phoebe's head had become murky, and shades of gray took over that brief sense of certainty. There was a lot she was willing to give up for her new nature, but Phoebe couldn't imagine a future in which she never got to see her family again.
"No way," her father snarled. "That wasn't the deal."
Roman shrugged as if he didn't give a goddamn what some beta thought of his decision. "You know what else wasn't the deal? You trying to scam me the first time around."
Her father's expression slipped, fear entering his eyes. "But, we did everything you asked this time."
He was pleading, Phoebe realized with a shock. She'd never heard her father so much as say please when he told her to pass the potatoes. Hot tears welled in her eyes, her heart breaking at the sight of Ed Whitfield being brought down.
But Roman was unmoved. "And that's why you get to walk away with your lives."
Phoebe was taken aback by her alpha's icy tone. She understood that Roman didn't like her family, but this was too much. He hadn't even bothered to explain what had happened. If her father and brother understood that Roman had never planned to touch her, or what had taken place when he had—
Phoebe's own blood went cold at the thought of them finding out that her nature had changed, even though it was an accident. Yes, they would be shocked—even horrified—to discover that she was an omega now, and it would probably take some time for them to get used to the idea.
But that was no excuse for Roman to torture them like this.
If only she could get to her father, she could take his hands in hers and explain gently. She could make them understand. But Roman wouldn't release her, tightening his grip when she tried to pull away, so hard that it was hurting her.
"Let me go to them." She met his gaze as it went opaque, shutting her out from his thoughts, anger turning his eyes the color of the deepest, coldest ocean trench.
But Phoebe didn't back down. She couldn't. This was her family she was fighting for, and despite knowing it was bound to be a losing battle, she had to press on for their sakes.
"No. You're mine now, and you'll stay by my side." Roman's voice was iron, matched with a rumble in his chest like storm clouds gathering. This time, though, the effect wasn't to spark fires in her blood. It only left her cold.
"Roman, I'm not going anywhere," she retorted. "I just want to explain to them—"
"What does he mean, you're his?" Holden broke in.
"And why are you saying you're not going anywhere?" her father demanded.
Phoebe took a deep breath as she turned away from Roman to face them. She'd expected anger—but instead, saw only a mixture of pain and suspicion in their expressions.
"Dad, I…" Now that Phoebe had her chance to speak, she couldn't find the words.
This was so much harder than she'd thought it would be, especially when the dread in her father's eyes was growing by the second. It would be so much easier if Roman would only let her go to him, but he held her fast.
"We didn't plan…I didn't know…"
"Oh God, Phoebe, no," her father gasped in horror as the meaning behind her words sunk in. The pain of watching the last shreds of his pride shattering, leaving only guilt and shame in their place, was so great that Phoebe thought she might die from regret.
Holden hadn't figured it out yet. "What is it, Dad?"
"The bastard touched her!" Her father hurled the words at Roman with such ferocity that Phoebe feared he might actually start throwing punches in his rage, which was sure to get him killed.
But Holden still didn't get it. "Well, yeah, he's touching her right now."
"No, son. What I mean is that he touched her and she…changed."
Phoebe wished she could stop the terrible understanding that finally took hold of Holden. "Say it's not true, Phoebe," he pleaded, his face white as a sheet. "Say you're not an omega."
Roman, on the other hand, seemed unbothered. "Not just an omega," he corrected, his voice tinged with cruel victory, "she's my omega."
"You son of a—" Her father rushed forward, fists clenched.
Without thinking, Phoebe threw her body in front of Roman. Her father collided with her and staggered backward before he had a chance to attack Roman.
Phoebe was unharmed, the force of the collision sending her back into Roman's arms. All she cared about was that her father not get himself killed by the much larger alpha. She tried to free herself to go to him, but Roman didn't release her wrist. Instead, he maneuvered her so that she was standing directly between him and her father.
"Stay right there," he muttered, "so the old bastard doesn't make another mistake."
Phoebe had never felt so helpless in her life. Tears gathered in her eyes as she placed her hand over her father's shirt, the flannel that she'd laundered a thousand times soft to her touch. Underneath, she could feel his heart hammering with rage and fear for his little girl.
What the hell could she possibly say that could soothe that kind of anguish? No words could ever make this all right—but Phoebe knew that she still had to try.
"It was an accident, Dad, I swear it," she said. "Neither of us meant for it to happen. I was alone when I was surrounded by a pack of wolves—thank God, Roman arrived in time. He actually saved my life when he touched me. After that—well, there was no stopping the change in my nature. It's no one's fault. I was just unlucky."
Behind her, Phoebe could feel Roman tense, but she didn't dare turn around.
"Oh my baby girl," her father said, his voice breaking. "I already lost your mama. I can't lose you too."
"It's going to be okay, Dad," Phoebe mumbled, but they both knew there was no way she could make such a promise.