Primal Needs: A Sci-Fi M/F Omegaverse Romance (Primal Alphas Book 3)

by Lizzy Bequin

  I’ve woken up from one dream into another.

  That’s when the events of last night come flooding back. I freak out, and my first impulse is to run. I don’t know where and I don’t care.

  I move toward the crack of light that must be a door. My balance is still off, and I slam into the hard rectangle of wood with a thud that jars my bones. Panic-stricken, my frantic fingers scrabble over the surface of the door, seeking a handle but finding nothing—only a metal panel where the handle should be.

  That’s when I start to cry. I’m trapped.

  This is no dream. It’s all too real.

  Heavy, thumping footsteps approach from outside, and I stumble backward, until my feet catch the edge of the mattress and I tumble down, the soft cushion thankfully breaking my fall.

  There is the snap of a deadbolt being drawn back and a low creak as the door swings open, and a beam of light slices the room in two before widening and filling the small area with dim lighting. I can see a little better now. The room is tiny, with painted brick walls and no windows. The only furnishing, if you can even call it that, is the mattress with its sheets and pillows.

  “She’s awake.”

  I’ve never heard such a predatory voice in all my life. It’s rough and cutting, like shards of shattered glass scraping together. A chill washes over me like I’ve been splashed with cold water.

  Slowly, I raise my eyes to the door. An immense, dark form fills the frame, blocking out half of the light. The man is leaning against the jamb, his arms crossed in front of his broad chest. Most of his face is in shadow, but from the light leaking around the edges, I can see that his face is broken and pitted with deep scars.

  And he’s growling. A guttural, animalistic sound, rumbling low in his throat.

  It’s only when I try to scream that I realize there is a gag stuffed in my mouth. In my panicked state, I didn’t even notice it. My cries of fear come out muffled.

  Another man, equally massive, shoulders his way past the man in the doorway. When he kneels close to me, I immediately realize that he’s the source of the scent that I’ve been smelling.

  Is this the beast from my dreams?

  My heart is hammering so fast it feels like it’s going to explode out of my chest. When the beast man’s thick fingers clutch firmly around my upper arm, easily encircling the circumference of my limb, my skin prickles with goosebumps.

  “Don’t scream,” the man says coldly.

  It must be the shock of this situation that has thrown my senses off kilter. My body must be really confused, because the sound of that cool, grumbling, crushed-ice voice pebbles my nipples beneath my top, and a strange heat pulses in my armpits and between my legs.

  I suddenly realize just how exposed I am, still dressed in my outfit from last night—a tight-fitting belly shirt and short skirt. I turn my hips to keep from flashing my panties at the two men who are staring at me.

  “There’s no point in screaming,” the man goes on. “There’s no one around to hear you. But if you annoy us by making a racket, we’ll have to keep you gagged.”

  The voice is so familiar. But my addled, panic-stricken mind can’t place it. The only source of light is coming from behind him, so his face is still shrouded in shadow.

  “Do you understand?”

  I nod my head, and he reaches behind my head to untie the knot holding the gag in place. His face is so close to mine that his warm breath ghosts across my face, and I shiver as my recurring dream becomes a bit more of a reality. We may not be in the deep dark woods, but this makeshift prison cell they’ve got me locked in is every bit as scary.

  When the gag comes loose, I’m tempted to scream anyway. Maybe he’s bluffing about people nearby. But something tells me I’d do well not to test these dangerous men.

  The man leaning in the door seems jittery. On edge. Like an addict who is in need of a fix. The other one—the man who just removed my gag—is different. His movements are calm, deliberate, controlled. In some ways that makes him even scarier.

  “Hit the lights,” he says to the man in the doorway, though he never looks away from me.

  There is a snap, and the overhead light flickers on, illuminating the cramped cell. I blink as my raw eyes struggle to adjust. The face in front of me comes into focus.

  “It’s you,” I gasp with recognition, “from the diner.”

  The single light overhead casts harsh shadows that make both men’s faces look like terrifying death’s heads. Despite that, I instantly recognize the man kneeling in front of me, and I realize why that spine-tingling voice was so familiar.

  It’s the strange man in the suit from the diner.

  He’s not wearing his suit jacket now, but he’s still got on the same white dress shirt. Only now, the front is open, exposing his muscular chest with its splash of short, dark fur. His midsection is wrapped in a white bandage, which is bloody on the left side from when I shot him last night.

  That wound scares me for two reasons. For one thing, I can only imagine this dangerous man is pissed that I shot him. But for another thing, he seems to be in almost no pain at all, despite having a gunshot wound in his side.

  That’s definitely not a good sign.

  As for the other man, I’m sure I’ve never seen him before. Scars cross his face in jagged ravines, and when he tilts his head toward the light, I see his left eye is dead and milky like a pale marble. If I had seen that horrendous face before, I would surely remember.

  His dark hair is slicked back, and when he turns his head to scan around the room, I see that it’s pulled back in to a short, greasy ponytail. He’s dressed in a dark, western style suit, complete with a bolo tie and black cowboy boots.

  “Why are you doing this?” I rasp, my throat dry. “What do you want from me?”

  The kneeling man doesn’t answer my question. Instead he issues another cold command to the man in the doorway.

  “Get her some water.”

  The scarred man in the doorway sniffs.

  “What do I look like—your bitch?”

  The handsome man keeps cool, but I detect a faint twitch of annoyance around his eyes. I flinch as he jerks himself to his feet and stomps out of the room, knocking shoulders with the scarred man on the way out.

  I do my best to suppress a shiver as that pale, dead eye turns toward me again.

  The handsome man clearly isn’t my protector. He fucking kidnapped and drugged me, and now he’s got me locked up in some kind of dungeon. Okay, maybe it’s not that bad—there are no rats or chains on the walls. Still, for all I know he’s going to torture, rape, and kill me.

  But I still liked it better when the handsome one was here. I don’t like being all alone with the man with the scars.

  “You scared little rabbit?” the scarred one whispers, flashing a jagged, cannibal grin. “You should be.”

  He takes a step toward me, and his nostrils flair as he inhales my scent, rolling his eyes back in their sockets. One hand reaches down to grab his crotch.

  “Fuck, you smell good,” he growls, licking his lips. “I can smell your hot little cunt.”

  For a moment I consider breaking that no-screaming rule. But I figure it will only make things worse, so instead I just stare in wide-eyed terror as he approaches me.

  “Back off, Kruger.”

  The other man has returned, carrying a paper cup filled to the brim with water. The cup looks laughably tiny in his massive hand. As I look closer, I realize that not only are his hands big. They have claws—claws that retract like a cat’s as he kneels again and hands the cup to me.

  “You shouldn’t tell her my name,” the scarred man, Kruger, snaps as he towers over me.

  I take the cup with trembling hands and lift it to my lips, spilling a few drops onto my thighs in the process.

  “You read the brief,” the other man says. “It doesn’t matter if she knows our names. It’s not like they would be any use anyway.”

  I’m not sure what that means, b
ut about a dozen possibilities race through my mind. At the top of the heap is a thought that squeezes my stomach in a nauseating grip.

  The reason it doesn’t matter if I know their names is because I’ll never have a chance to tell anyone.

  “Are you going to kill me?” I ask, tears brimming in my eyes.

  “If we were going to kill you, we would have done it already,” the kneeling man says matter-of-factly.

  I guess that’s true. Somehow I don’t feel super reassured though. I have no reason to trust anything these bad men say. Still, something—some dark instinct in the back of my mind—tells me I can trust the handsome one, the one who gave me the water.

  As for the other man, I have my doubts. He’s snuffling lustily at the air again, breathing in my smell like a hungry wolf.

  “Fuck, do you smell that, Conway?” he groans. “This bitch is ripe, man.”

  “Cool it, Kruger.”

  So his name is Conway. Or maybe that’s just some kind of alias. But who the hell are these guys, and why have they kidnapped me. I know my dad has a fair amount of money stashed away, but surely it wouldn’t make a big enough ransom for a kidnapping like this to be worth it.

  “Listen,” Conway says, his steely eyes boring straight into me. “This is important. It’s come to our attention that you have a, um…a condition.”

  I nod as I smudge the tears from my cheeks.

  “It’s a form of epilepsy,” I tell them.

  Conway and Kruger share a knowing glance between themselves. I don’t know what that’s about. Do they think I’m lying? I certainly can’t imagine why anyone would lie about something like that.

  “I have medication,” I tell them, “It’s in my…”

  My heart sinks like a lead weight. I left my medication in my other handbag at home, thinking I would have no reason to take it with me to the party, since I would only be out for a few hours.

  “Listen,” Conway says, raising my drooping chin with his knuckle. “What kind of medication? What’s it called?”

  “I don’t know,” I cry, the tears streaming down my cheeks.

  I’ve never gone a day without my medication, and now I’m scared. Even if these two assholes don’t plan to hurt me, which I seriously doubt, what’s going to happen if I have a seizure?

  “Fuck the medication,” Kruger snarls. He’s becoming increasingly agitated with each passing moment. “You read what it says on that paper. We’ve got all the medicine she needs right here.”

  He grabs his crotch again lewdly.

  Conway raises his hand to silence him. Kruger’s lip curls back, revealing his overdeveloped canine teeth.

  “This is serious, Amrita,” Conway says, using my name for the first time. “I need you to be straight with me about your condition. Is there anything that you have to do because of your condition? I’m not talking about medicine. I’m talking about an…activity.”

  “What do you mean?” I stammer, backing away slightly.

  “He’s asking if you touch yourself,” Kruger snaps, leaning in so low that I can smell his hot, rancid breath.

  “No,” I shout. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

  Kruger has me truly terrified now. Whatever his problem is, he’s gone completely over the edge. He’s a psycho. He doesn’t even seem human. I scramble away to the corner of the small bed, my bare feet tangling in the sheets.

  But I immediately realize that was a bad move.

  They always say you shouldn’t run from a predator. It engages some kind of chase instinct, and that’s what seems to happen with Kruger. His one good eye rolls wildly in its socket. He lets out a bestial roar and pounces, his weight slamming me against the hard wall.

  “I’ll give you your medicine, bitch,” he snarls.

  I’m expecting him to rend my clothes. To shred me with those inhuman claws of his. To tear me limb from limb.

  But the attack never comes.

  Instead, just as quickly as he leapt on me, Kruger is jerked backward, and the room shudders as his massive body slams into the wall,

  Conway pulled him off of me.

  I cower against the far wall as the two men face off with each other, snarling and drooling like a pair of wolves. They’re not men anymore. They are beasts in men’s clothing.

  Kruger lunges, but Conway grapples with him, shoving him out of the door into the larger open room beyond. The two enormous men crash into a large wooden crate, smashing it to splinters under their weight before rolling out of my line of sight.

  I can’t tell if Conway is actually defending me, or if they are just fighting over who gets to use me first.

  And I’m not gonna sit around to find out.

  As snarls, yelps, barked curses and smashing furniture erupt in the outer room, I try to figure out some kind of escape plan. Getting up from the mattress, I tiptoe to the door of my cell and peer out at the outer room—a large, high-ceilinged loft with a big window on one end.

  I jump back with fright as the men tumble past the door, the sounds of their fighting amplified for a brief instant before the crash out of sight once more,

  Collecting myself, I move forward again, and glance around the walls of the loft. There are only two other doors. One of them is swung open so I can see inside. It’s a bathroom.

  My eyes settle on the other door. That has to be the exit.

  The brutal struggle is still raging all around the loft. The two terrifying men seem totally distracted with fighting each other. Now is my chance to make a break for it. I may not get a second shot at this.

  And then it happens.

  At first it’s just a faint pulse of tension in my core. I don’t think much of it. A small physical manifestation of my panic.

  But when I try to take a step forward, the second wave hits me, and I know it’s much more than panic. Sweat prickles across my feverish skin, and an unaccountable need clenches between my thighs.

  What is happening to me?

  With each thump of my pulse, darkness encroaches around the edges of my vision. My body grows weak and I stumble backward into my cell. I collapse, my head mercifully landing on the soft mattress instead of the hard floor.

  My body is quaking, muscles tensing and relaxing in an erratic rhythm that is totally out of my control.

  It’s my condition. I’m seizing.

  But I never thought a seizure would cause my nipples to stiffen into hard peaks. And what about the warm, slick feeling that is oozing from my aching sex? Surely that’s not a normal symptom.

  I have no chance to contemplate these questions as darkness enshrouds me.

  CHAPTER 7: CONWAY

  “Submit!” I roar.

  I’ve got Kruger flat on his back, one hand clutched tightly around his throat, claws biting into his tough hide. With my other arm, I’m pummeling his bloody face with my elbow.

  Both of our clothes are ripped and tattered from our claws.

  Kruger snarls like a beast, blood gurgling in his throat. He’s gone completely feral. Every vestige of his humanity has been left behind. As for me, I’m not far behind. The adrenaline blazing through my system is making it hard to govern my animal impulses.

  I need this bastard to give up before I lose control and kill his crazy ass.

  “His gnashing incisors gouge my elbow as I bring it down on his mouth. The bridge of his nose crunches under another impact.

  “Submit, motherfucker,” I bellow as he struggles beneath me.

  What set him off was the girl. Her scent has driven him insane with lust. I know, because I smelled it too. He’s right about one thing—the girl is ripe. Even if she doesn’t realize it, her body is crying out for a mate. I don’t know exactly how I know that—I just do. Her scent speaks to me on an atavistic level that I can’t explain.

  But what I do know is this—if I let Kruger indulge his urges on that girl, he would destroy her—tear her to pieces—and I can’t allow that.

  After all, we have a mission.

&
nbsp; “Submit,” I scream, my voice echoing around the loft like an explosion.

  One final blown lands square on Kruger’s temple, and he eyes roll back in his head. He becomes docile at last. His face is a bloody mess, and his limp body is still except for his heaving chest.

  “Okay,” he chokes, “I submit.”

  I stay my hand, but I keep hold of his throat just to make sure he’s not fucking with me.

  His battered head lolls toward the room where we’re keeping the girl. He stretches one weak arm, pointing in her direction.

  “Your girlfriend,” he says with a sarcastic, rasping chuckle. “She needs help.”

  He’s right. Through the open door I can just see Amrita’s outstretched legs which are flopping and spasming.

  “Damn,” I growl, releasing my grip on Kruger and rising to my feet.

  When I first read what was written on that piece of paper, I thought I was being messed with. It seemed too crazy to be real.

  The paper said that the girl has a condition that requires her to experience a sexual climax on a regular basis—once a day or more. If she doesn’t, she will fall into a seizure, then a coma, and eventually die.

  Now, I’m no doctor, but I’ve definitely never heard of anything like that in my life.

  “You know what you gotta do, big guy,” Kruger sputters evilly on the floor. “But are you man enough to give the girl her medicine?”

  Ignoring his mocking tone, I march toward the door. But he’s right, I’m going to have to take care of this, or else we’re going to lose the girl. And that means we fail the mission.

  I storm into the small room and slam the door behind me. There’s no inner lock, so I’ll just have to hope that Kruger doesn’t try to intervene. I’m not worried about him locking me in, since I could easily break the wooden door down if I had to.

  As I turn toward the girl, her powerful scent assails me, rocking me back on my heels. It was strong before, but now the still air inside the small cell is absolutely stained with her irresistible aroma. My cock thickens inside my pants and pulses with forbidden desire. I need to be inside her. I need to fill her with my seed.

  No.

  If I fucked her now, I would lose control of myself for sure. I would turn into a slavering animal like Kruger. Whatever happens, I have to maintain total control.