by V T Bonds
I’m almost done. I’ve filled two of the drying lines with clean articles of clothing. My body is moving on autopilot. The blurry haze has snuck its way into my conscious again, and this is a task that doesn’t need anything besides muscle memory anyway, so blanking my mind is easier than being present.
I’m bent over the basin scrubbing soap into one of the last items when the hair on the nape of my neck stands on end.
Someone is watching me. My senses heighten, and I begin to straighten.
A hand clamps over the back of my neck.
I freeze in terror.
“Don’t move,” the Chieftain demands. My hands scream inside the scalding water, but I stay as still as I can. My back protests the awkward position, but I tremble in place, afraid to do more than breathe.
His ragged breaths penetrate my misery, and confusion pours through me. He’s always so cold and calculating.
“What have you done? You fucking bitch, it’s like you’ve bewitched me!”
He pushes my face closer to the water and I struggle. I grab the lip of the container and try to push away.
My dress tightens against my front, then a horrendous ripping noise fills the air.
“Just once,” his voice seeps into my panic. My whole backside is exposed to the elements—the sun blazes down on my skin as the wind cuts sand into my sensitive flesh.
His hand roughly explores my back, causing my wounds to flair into agony. More confusion collides with my fear.
He’s never touched me before. It leaves a despair in the pit of my stomach.
His hand leaves my back, but then strikes my rear. A scream rips from my throat. The force of his hit rips my hands from the ledge. My face plummets into the water, and my hips dig into the edge.
Hot, soapy water sears my eyes, deafens me, and invades my nostrils. I try to cut off my scream, to keep some oxygen within my lungs, but water shoots down my throat and fire licks through my chest.
The seconds last for lifetimes. I flail and fight to no avail. Another blow lands on my butt, but the pain barely registers through the panic. I’m drowning.
His hand releases my neck, but before I can lift myself from the water, his fist grabs the hair nearest my scalp. My hair follicles spark in distress as he yanks my head out of the water.
I spit and choke, my whole face stinging. I try to gasp in air, desperate. Through my spluttering and gasping, I realize he’s repositioned his body. His knees are inside of mine, forcing me to stay off balance with them spread too far apart.
He grabs my right ass cheek, and I struggle, still spitting water, expecting another blow.
Instead, he squeezes, and the worst kind of despair infuses my body. His fingers travel towards my most intimate area, a place no one has ever touched, and understanding slams into me.
He plans to rape me, out here in the sand, pinned to a laundry basin, smothered in pain and despair.
He grabs my whole feminine self, his hand rough and impatient, covering me in dirty filth. He squeezes my intimates and grunts in excitement.
“Fucking dirty little bitch,” he groans, tightening the hand in my hair. My arms burn in the water as my face stings from the soap, and my scalp screams for relief. The sharp edge of the basin pinches my hips and my thighs tremble in exhaustion. My stomach hurts so much I may vomit.
His hand leaves my crotch, I hear him spit, then his slippery fingers search for my entrance.
With an inhuman, unexpected scream, and a burst of desperate fear, I throw my weight to the side. Two of his fingertips breach me, but with all my weight on my right arm and hip, I reach out to my left and grab the far side of the basin, pulling and rolling in tandem.
The container capsizes, water splashing into my face, but freeing me from his molestation.
The lip of the basin cracks against the arm holding my hair, and the sound reverberates through every cell in my body. It’s like a bell being struck, and I’m stuck on the inside.
An agonized yell bursts out of his lips, and his hands leave me. Our legs tangle, but I kick in panic, striking whatever part of him I can reach.
His angry, pain-filled cursing rings on the other side of the container. Realizing that I have use of both my arms, I fling the metal basin off, sand flying everywhere.
It hits him, but I’m not sure where. I roll to my hands and knees and scramble away. After extracting my legs from his, I try to rush to my feet, shaking and exhausted.
My legs take a moment to catch up to my brain, but once I get to my feet, I sprint toward the gate.
With less than two feet to go, I’m yanked back by my ripped clothes. My feet fly out from under me, continuing forward while my torso falls backward.
My back slams into the hot sand, and pain threatens to engulf me. The raw, open wounds on my back hit the scorching surface, sending agony throughout my being. The breath in my lungs whooshes out, and my diaphragm seizes.
The Chieftain’s face fills my view before he rips my useless garment from my body.
With a terrifying expression, he lifts his tunic, frees his cock, and falls on me. His eyes shine with a maniacal, unhinged quality. His angry, single-minded focus is chilling.
Trying to force my lungs to work, I curse my weak body. I try to will my diaphragm to relax, but the overwhelming adrenaline and pain fight against me.
Maybe if I just pass out, I won’t have to endure this torment.
His hard cock lines up with my dry entrance, and every part of me wails in distress.
My diaphragm finally relaxes, and I greedily suck in oxygen, still intent on fighting back.
His disgusting hand wraps around my shoulder, and he thrusts into me.
Invasive, horrible, tearing pain makes every muscle in my body contract. My spine arches, my head flies back, and a scream tears from my throat.
Unbidden tears clog my eyes, the agony intimate and revolting.
He pulls back, but I know how this works. I’ve seen my fair share of unwanted consummations in the alleys.
With a determination I’ve never displayed before, I suck in another breath and wrap my palms around his temples. He looks straight into my eyes—a monster, crazed and unreachable, stares back at me.
Before he can surge into me again, I plunge my thumbs into his eye sockets.
He opens his mouth to scream as blood starts to seep around my thumbs.
I jerk my hips, kneeing his thigh, desperately needing to disengage. His cock rends from my entrance, and more pain shoots through me.
I squeeze my hands together, flexing my fingers, hating the squishy warmth, but needing assurance that I’ve damaged the monster within.
A deep, tormented scream releases from his mouth, and he grabs my wrists.
I use his unbalanced stance and my hold on his head to my advantage. I roll us over until he’s under me.
With a surge of nausea, I dig my thumbs in further. He pushes my wrists away and claps his palms over his face.
Heaving uneven gulps of air, fighting to keep my bile down, I scramble to my feet.
I yank down the two closest pieces hanging on the clothesline and dart towards the gate. His howl of pain follows me through the alleys, echoing the anguish roiling deep inside of my heart.
Chapter Eight
Seeck
A streak of dark brown curls flies past the mouth of the alley.
The blur of her shape rocketing across gives the distinct impression that she's running for her life.
Then her smell hits me. Rich, beautiful, and wrong. A confusing mixture of incompleteness. She should be beta, but she smells of omega.
And blood. I smell the metallic scent and can't stop my body from reacting. My cock grows stiff even as my instincts demand I protect her.
There's the distinct smell of her blood, a puzzle of beauty and pain, and a male's musk clinging to her. His blood mingles with a delicate, specific kind of scent and my body moves of its own accord. The smell of her broken innocence strips all conscious though
t from me.
I hurtle up the wall of the decrepit building and launch myself onto the roof. Sprinting, decreasing the space between us, I run over the crumbling structure.
I fling myself over the edge, and the sand buffets my landing. A need fiercer than any Rut overwhelms me, so strong that I don't care about my lack of control.
Reaching the front of the alley, I extend my arm and brace for impact.
She runs straight into it, but she's so small that I barely register the hit.
I snatch her out of the air, surrounding her with my arms, clutching her to my chest.
Before she can regain her breath, I drag her deeper into the narrow passage. My hand clamps over her mouth and chin.
Having her so close shreds my hold on reality. Seeing the wild array of hair short circuits my thoughts. Smelling her body and pain within my arms causes a well of need to burst inside me.
I push her against the wall and her cry of pain and fright dampens my need a bit. I meet her eyes and the world shifts.
Everything makes sense. She's mine. My own. My other half. My Omega. My weakness.
Her light blue eyes leak tears, and my tongue swipes across them without my consent. Bruises, in various stages of healing mar her face. Her shaking prevents her from freezing on the spot, but her expression conveys terror, misery, and confusion.
A strange reverberation starts behind my breastbone and what little of my thoughts I can control stutter in shock. My first true, heartfelt purr emits from me, here in this wasteland, to soothe this pathetic wreck of femininity.
I straighten and push her into the wall with my body, twisting my wrist to turn her face to the side. With my hand covering the dainty mouth and chin, and my body flush against feminine curves, I mash my pecs against her temple and cheek. She’s so short that the top of her head barely reaches my shoulder and the base of my cock rests just below her bellybutton, while the tip revels in the friction from her lowest rib.
The rumbling behind my sternum thickens. Her eyes lose their focus and her muscles relax. Tears leak onto my hand.
Unable to deny myself any longer, I drop to my knees, forcing her thighs apart.
Her fists strike out, but the slight thumps don't merit attention.
I yank up her makeshift covering and wedge my shoulders between her legs.
Her scent engulfs me, and my mouth moves of its own accord. I start on her thigh, greedily lapping up the proof of her lost virginity, consuming the trail of coppery essence, needing it to be mine.
I reach her center and consume. Compulsively, I lick every drop of evidence that proves she failed in protecting what was mine.
Her struggles take on a desperate pitch, but her writhing and twisting cannot stop me.
I nibble, invade, and take. My fierce need drives me to madness. Once I’ve licked away the flavor of her lost innocence, my attention zeroes in on the sensitive nub above her entrance.
With a demand I cannot deny, my tongue forces her to orgasm.
Her mouth opens under my palm, her muscles seize up, and her clit tightens under my lips.
Her cry of ecstasy is the sweetest noise I've ever heard. I need more.
I lower again to her core and swipe the flat of my tongue along her slit.
Abruptly, I realize a horrible wrongness.
The absence of her slick slams into me, and a terrible rage boils up.
My grip on her face tightens and I push out from between her legs. Disgusted, I rise to my full height and tower over her.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" I growl.
Chapter Nine
Her - Unknown
His question cuts deeper than any physical assault ever could. Even more than my parents’ abandonment. Everything I’ve suffered overtakes me.
Unbidden, unstoppable sobs wrench from my chest. Soul-shattering sorrow breaches the demanded bliss of a few seconds before.
The senseless torture, the stealing of my innocence, the forced pleasure, all of it grinds into my soul, just as the sand rubs agony into my injuries.
I shatter. The hole my parents left splinters and infects every ounce of my insides. The wretched penetration of my womanhood infuses disgust into every pore. This stranger’s domination shreds every bit of my self-worth.
My body becomes useless—nothing but a broken shell, housing an unworthy bundle of misery.
With nothing to hold my pieces together, I begin to sink into the depths of the dunes. I prepare to slink away into the pit of no return.
It would be so nice to just give up. To not hurt anymore. To not care anymore. To float away and never return.
As though from a distance, I feel my body in the throes of outburst, my breathing erratic and my voice hoarse with sobs.
But that glorious mental detachment entices me. I edge closer, prepared to slink into blackness, ready to find nothingness.
A vague yet familiar vibration halts my descent. Warmth spreads around me, ending my passage onward. His will demands my existence, and my soul wails in distress. In the same unrelenting manner he forced me to orgasm, he denies me freedom. He stops me from descending into madness with his rumbling.
I feel the reverberations in each slice of my destroyed self.
His purr gathers my jagged pieces. Some meld, but few fit together.
I rest in a mist of comfort, an experience that is too far removed from my life to be real. Mini waves of noise cocoon me in paradise—the closest thing to heaven I’ve ever felt. More stillness than I imagined was possible.
The cool allure of the abyss seems inadequate compared to the warmth wrapping around me now.
But the pain of my body intrudes. The blisters on my hands and arms burn, the open wounds on my back stab misery through me, my face feels shriveled and scorched, my lungs burn, and my channel feels torn. His saliva still wets my pussy, and the sensation feels alien and wrong.
The comforting noise stops, replaced by a low warning rumble. With his manipulative reverberations gone, my consciousness snaps back into my body. Recent events barge into my haven.
Oblivion was so close. I could have sunk away and been free of this travesty of a life.
But he stopped me. He forced me to stay. Just like how his tongue demanded my orgasm, his noise forced his will upon me. I don’t want this pain. I don’t want to submit to him.
If I was shattered before, now I’m an ugly mass of hatred. Anger engorges my pieces, so that fitting isn’t necessary—each molecule collides and squishes together as heated loathing balloons within me.
A strange sensation begins in my chest cavity. It's foreign and new, but the rightness of it permeates through my being. It strengthens, and with an odd satisfaction, I realize I am growling.
It’s his fault I must face what’s happened—his fault I must endure this agony.
I hate him.
Chapter Ten
Dirk
The four of us stalk closer to the alley, unable to ignore the pull of our heightened instincts.
As we converge on the entrance, disbelief and desire meld together. Our ears pick up a sound we never thought we’d hear.
Especially not from him. Not from Seeck. He’s not shy with his opinion on females. He thinks they are too much of a danger to be anything but a quick fuck—something to scratch an itch and nothing more.
He’s scratched almost as much as Jumoke, enjoying the company of beta women often. We’ve interacted with Omegas only when our mission calls for it, and we’ve always worn our scent blockers—little patches we stick under our noses—when we’re required to do more than pass by them. Even with our training, we wouldn’t be able to deny our instinct to claim the first unmated Omega we could sink our teeth into, even if she isn’t our lifemate.
The sound grows more obvious as we approach.
Vander leads the way down the narrow corridor, but I’m close on his heels.
There he is. Hidden in a darkened doorway, using the shadows to conceal himself. He’s sitting cross-leg
ged, hunched over something in his lap. He’s molded to the heap of bones and marred flesh, his arms engulfing her tiny frame. He’s surrounding her as much as he can, his face in her hair, trying to cocoon her away from the world.
His chest hides her face, but I know who it is. This can’t be happening. Her scent has changed drastically. There’s no denying the Omega markers now, but last time she smelled of Beta. Even with the improvement, it still seems incomplete, like she’s missing puzzle pieces.
He realizes we're there and his purr becomes a snarl. He lifts his head and his eyes clash with Vander's, a growl emitting from his chest.
The myriad emotions and thoughts parading through his eyes is dizzying. One thought wins over the others and his face sets with dark determination.
The power struggle between him and Vander is apparent in their locked gazes. Neither wants to admit that this is happening, but they can’t deny that Seeck guards his Omega lifemate in his lap.
Weakness. This new development will affect the entire unit. Now we all have this large gaping maw in our armor. This tiny little Omega could be our downfall.
She's not part of the mission—not included in any of our contingency plans. This is a big shit storm.
Almost hidden by Seeck's growl, a low keening emerges from the heap of flesh and misery on his lap. While the Alphas around her fight for dominance, her cry intensifies. The partial rumble accompanying it speaks of her Omega dynamic.
The most feminine, fierce snarl rips from her throat, and motion fills her wretched frame.
She extends her fingernails toward Seeck's face and bucks her body in a ferocious jerk.
Not expecting the movement, Seeck takes the full force of her nails. Her claws dig in, and she scratches from his jawline down to his collarbone.
With a demonic roar, Seeck lifts her up and chucks her across the alley.
Her mottled, wounded skin flashes before my eyes, and before anyone can react, she hits the opposite wall. Her snarling stops, a terrible noise of impact ricocheting through the air.
