Apparently, that wasn't the kind of news that the Alpha Control Division liked to see in the media. The version they'd planted for public consumption was that Mia Baird had been killed by her alpha when she tried to save her father by shielding him with her body.
Stacy tried to ignore her discomfort in learning that the Division had lied to the public, especially since Fulmer had hinted that there might be a position for her there after the successful conclusion of her mission.
Wake up, she scolded herself. The government had lied about Vietnam and Afghanistan and probably dozens of other conflicts, but that was way above her pay grade. The nation was in the midst of another historic crisis, after all.
Desperate times…desperate measures.
"You."
Stacy jumped at the sound of the deep, resonant voice. She'd been having a surprisingly interesting conversation with an auto parts smuggler around the fire when an alpha appeared out of nowhere. By the time she looked up he was towering far too close, just on the other side of the communal firepit.
Stacy could be stationed in this camp for a whole year and still never grow used to the alphas' powerful voices.
Or anything else about them.
The only redeeming characteristic she'd found in them was their respect for boundaries. The trading camp was set up in the back lot of the area's only bar, and the alphas never intruded on the betas’ space other than to buy and sell.
Until now.
Stacy's defensive instincts kicked into overdrive, and in no time, she was braced in the low ready stance she'd taught so many new recruits: head protected, chin tucked, knees bent with her rear heel slightly off the ground.
She wasn't certain that the alpha was addressing her, but caution around such a giant, unpredictable creature seemed like a wise move. Especially since the fire in his steely blue eyes gave her the impression that he wasn't here to buy a new alternator.
Still, she didn't want to overreact. So she ticked off the facts in her mind as she assessed the threat.
Seven-feet-four or -five (holy shit, he was even bigger than the rest of the alphas she'd seen), four hundred pounds give or take(he could crush her without breaking a sweat), those pale eyes full of intensity (why the hell were they focused on her?)
Stacy reined in her acute stress response with iron control, knowing she couldn't afford even the slightest mistake. She'd known when she'd signed on for this mission—or been drafted, to be more accurate—that its success depended on not raising suspicions.
That had been easy enough during the last six days. As it turned out, there wasn't much demand for medical supplies here in the Boundarylands. No one had shown much interest in her pills—everything from pain relievers to erectile dysfunction tablets. Fortunately, that left her plenty of time to observe and occasionally "accidentally" brush against an alpha.
Thank God, the serum worked exactly as promised.
So far, Stacy had seen little of the aggression and savagery she'd expected. In fact, the day-to-day life of an alpha seemed almost…dull.
They minded their own business. They conducted their trades with a minimum of conversation. When they did speak, they were so direct and terse that Stacy found herself wondering how one of them had managed to gaslight Mia Baird into destroying her own father.
At night, shouting and music poured out the barroom, leaving Stacy to wonder if their violent tendencies only came out when they drank—but so far, she hadn't witnessed so much as a single fistfight. Not even last night when she'd finally ventured into the bar in search of intel. Of course, all she'd come out with was a slight buzz and several awkward advances from the men in her group.
All of which was to say that Stacy thought she'd conquered any lingering fears she had about this mission. But her composure threatened to crack when she met this particular alpha's intense stare.
This is what all the training was for, she silently reminded herself. You've got this. Don't think, just do.
And it worked. As the auto parts smuggler melted into the darkness, Stacy swallowed her fear, held her ground, and continued her assessment.
Hair, brown, brush cut. Clothing, unremarkable. Flannel shirt and standard blue jeans. No, strike that. Jeans in that size were far from standard. Leather boots, size…hell, Stacy didn't even know if sizes went up that high. Small scar near left eyebrow. No piercings. Unusually attractive.
Wait—where the hell had that thought come from?
Until this moment, Stacy had felt no attraction to any of these animals. And God knew she was on guard for the slightest rogue impulse, having very recently learned just how horrifying the consequences could be if she grew careless.
"If you're looking for medical supplies, you'll have to come back tomorrow morning," Stacy said firmly. "I'm taking the night off."
If the alpha took offense, he didn't show it. "Who are you?"
Stacy blinked at the unexpected question. Hell, it sounded more like a demand. If this had been some guy back home, she would have told him to fuck off. But this was no ordinary guy, and she was far from home.
"Sorry, I thought it was obvious," she said, bringing down her tone in hopes of diffusing the situation. "I'm the one who has the medical products. First aid supplies, your standard medicine cabinet stuff. If you're looking for something else, I'm afraid I won't be able to help you."
Stacy tried not to wonder what else he might be in the market for. Her companions were full of stories about nights when the prostitutes paid their visits and the sounds they heard coming from the woods…all of which she'd just as soon forget.
"I don't need any fucking aspirin."
The alpha's words were accompanied by a deep rumble resonating from his chest. It wasn't quite a purr…nor was it a growl. Whatever it was meant to convey, Stacy didn't know how to react, especially since it made something shift inside her, a strange momentary unmooring.
That was new.
She prayed the tingly, unsettling sensation didn't mean the suppressant was wearing off more quickly than expected.
"Then what do you want?” Stacy did her best to sound indifferent. The last thing in the world she wanted was to let this beast think he had her worried.
"I want to know why you smell like ambrosia."
O...kay. That was definitely not what she expected to hear. She had bathed earlier that afternoon in the primitive camp shower, but the soap she'd brought was scented with lavender, not the food of the gods.
"Sorry, I don't know what you mean."
"Who are you?" the alpha repeated.
"I told you," Stacy said. "I'm here to trade medical supplies."
"Bullshit." The alpha's jaw was tight, his eyes narrowed to slits.
Stacy had no idea what she'd done to provoke him, but she had to shut this down before he asked any more probing questions. Though she couldn't see him, she was sure her fellow smuggler was nearby in the darkness, listening with great interest.
"Buddy, I don't know what your deal is, but—"
"Buddy?" There was a definite edge to the alpha's voice. Too late, Stacy realized how far over the line she'd stepped. Even the most sheltered beta knew not to speak like that. More than that, there wasn't a beta trader alive who would dare show one of these beasts an iota of disrespect.
"I'm sorry," she said hastily. "I forgot myself. I—I just don't appreciate you swearing at me."
The alpha gave no reaction other than a faint twitch in his jaw as he studied her even more intently. It took everything Stacy had not to quiver with fear in the face of his predatory stare.
"I am not your 'buddy,'" he finally said, his voice dripping with disdain. "I am your alpha."
Stacy recoiled in shock. Oh God, the suppressants really were wearing off.
No. She forced herself to think rationally. Even across the firepit, she could smell the bourbon on his breath. He was drunk.
Drunk, and impulsive, and not exactly Honor Roll material.
As long as she kept her cool, she'd
be fine. Fulmer had said the dose lasted seven days in the lab, and this was only day six.
Then again, these weren't laboratory conditions. This was the real world. And this was a real alpha just inches away, staring at her like she was a tasty morsel, and he was the big, bad wolf, already starting to lunge across the campfire.
Oh, hell no.
Stacy's years of practice kicked in, and her body took over where her mind had gotten stuck.
Even drunk, the alpha moved faster than any trainee who'd ever crossed her mat—but Stacy had trained with the best. She pivoted as the alpha crashed over the fire pit and grabbed for her. All he caught was air.
The alpha recovered so nimbly that she had to rethink just how drunk he was.
"What was that?" he demanded, not so much annoyed as genuinely surprised and curious.
"That was me avoiding you." It was the only thing that came to her mind. "It can't be the first time someone tried to get out of your way."
He gave a faint, dark smile. "It's the first time a woman has ever wanted to."
There it was again, stronger than ever, the sensation of losing her balance and reason all at once—and this time it lingered.
"I guess I'm not like the girls you're used to," she stammered, immediately regretting her words.
"You have no idea…but you're about to."
Now Stacy felt the rumble inside her, as though she was a harp, and he was somehow stroking her strings. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips, which suddenly felt dry. She stood frozen as the alpha took a step closer, holding out his hand.
"Give me your hand."
Shit. Stacy knew that she couldn't refuse. There would be no fighting her way out of this situation. She had made one mistake after another, risking not just her cover but…well, she didn't want to imagine what else. And none of her fellow smugglers, no matter how much they might like her, would dream of coming to her aid.
This was an alpha, after all.
Stacy said a silent prayer that Fulmer's data was correct and slipped her hand into his.
Then…nothing.
No rush of blood. No surge of hormones. No overwhelming need.
Stacy exhaled audibly. She had never felt such a profound sense of relief in her life.
The alpha looked from their joined hands up to her face, frowning in consternation. So he, too, had felt nothing.
And from the look on his face, he had certainly been expecting something.
"What the hell is going on?" he demanded, loud enough for everyone in the camp to hear.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Stacy said, but she couldn't meet his eyes. Instead of releasing her hand, the alpha gripped it tighter—and while her body still didn't react, she felt something else. A sort of letdown—an inexplicable sense of disappointment.
Which was absurd.
"You're a liar," the alpha growled. "Look at me when I'm talking to you."
And she did, almost involuntarily, as if some strange force drew her gaze to his. He was watching her with such fierce concentration that Stacy almost feared that he could see right through her.
"You know what you are, don't you?"
She shivered, but not from the night air. "Of course I do. I'm a medical supply trader, just like I told you. Why else would I be here?"
He pulled her toward him, and she stumbled a little to keep from falling. Their faces were inches apart when he spoke again.
"I don't know. But you can be damn sure that I'm going to find out. Just like I'm going to find out how you're hiding your omega nature."
Chapter Four
Vonn had no idea who this woman was or why she'd come to the Boundarylands, but he breathed in the acrid scent of deception with every breath. Her body vibrated from the effort, her eyes darted ever so slightly to the side. Every part of her being exposed her as a liar.
She was good at it; he'd grant her that. Her lies went to her very core. Her bullshit lacked the self-conscious awkwardness—almost as if she believed her deceit to be righteous. She would have no trouble convincing a beta, even one trained to detect dishonesty—but no one lied well enough to fool an alpha.
Still, she was skilled enough that Vonn was having trouble wading through all the crap she spouted to find the smallest kernel of truth. So far, every word had been bullshit.
She was no trader. Even if he wasn't able to literally sniff out a lie, he would have caught that one. Any enterprising smuggler worth their salt knew there was no market for medical supplies in the Boundarylands.
On the other hand, the woman's every action, the emotions he sensed, reflected an organized, structured, lawful mind. She might be a liar, but she was not a cheater or a thief. Whoever she was, she lived for rules.
But most importantly, she wasn't a beta…and she knew it.
Even if Vonn had somehow been fooled by whatever wizardry she was using to keep her true nature hidden, he would have known by her reaction to his touch. While she did her best not to show it, she hadn't been able to hide the powerful scent of relief pouring off her. These days no female smuggler would come within miles of the Boundarylands without first taking the test to make sure they weren't a dormant omega. And while most women weren't exactly anxious to get up close and personal with an alpha, none reacted like this.
Though he couldn't prove it—yet—Vonn was certain that she was somehow deliberately keeping her true nature hidden. Which meant that there was something terribly wrong going on here.
And he was going to root out what the hell it was.
The animalistic part of Vonn's alpha nature knew precisely what she was…and demanded satisfaction. If his touch wasn't working, there were other options. Whether technology or sorcery, her bag of tricks wouldn't be much help in the face of his kiss.
Vonn tightened his grip on her hand and pulled her forward, meaning to take her in his arms for an embrace that would establish exactly what was going on between them…but that wasn't what happened.
She offered no resistance until the very last moment. Then she twisted her body and deftly slipped through the gap between his arm and his ribs while holding tightly to his wrist.
Vonn roared in frustration as he realized what she'd done. Yeah, it hurt like hell—she'd twisted his elbow and shoulder joints into an unnatural position—but the brief shock of pain didn't bother him a fraction as much as having been outwitted. The woman was smart enough to release her grip as soon as she was behind him, obviously aware of how easily he could overpower her despite her hold.
Sure enough, by the time Vonn turned to face her, she was back in a defensive position, slightly crouched with one foot behind her. His instincts had been right: this woman wasn't some merchant but a trained fighter.
A bolt of heat rocketed through Vonn at the notion of his omega being a firebrand. He'd always gone after the fiercest prostitutes, the ones who enjoyed provoking almost as much as the consequences. After all, dominance meant little if it wasn't earned.
But he couldn't shake the feeling that this was much more than a show. She wasn't some fetishist, and she was clearly too smart to be running a con in the Boundarylands of all places.
Something much deeper was going on here. Something sinister—and it was screwing with his destiny.
Vonn's roar of frustration had temporarily silenced the camp and the roadhouse, and the only sounds were the crackling of the fire and the occasional call of a night bird. And the woman's breathing, of course…and the faint, steady beat of her heart.
The silence should have given her pause. Alphas on edge were generally considered a bad portent. But the woman showed no sign she even noticed, the fight and determination in her eyes undiminished. For such a slender thing, she certainly had an alpha-sized dose of confidence.
But it was time to put a stop to this. For her own sake, she needed to learn that she couldn't go around doing shit like this. Another alpha could easily have become enraged. If that had happened, she would no longer be breathing.
And once Vonn had driven that lesson home… he'd go after her secrets, and he wouldn't stop until he knew everything there was to know about his omega.
Vonn dug his heels into the spongy blanket of pine needles on the ground, then launched himself at her again, focusing his energy with a guttural bellow that shook the trees.
The woman didn't even flinch. Instead, she dropped down into a crouch, tucking herself into a tight ball, and his battle cry turned into a howl of frustration as only his shin impacted with her, knocking him off balance. Vonn briefly—and bizarrely— found himself hurtling through the air before landing on his ass in the dirt.
A hot metallic taste washed over his tongue, and he spat coppery drops of dark red.
Vonn shook his head in disbelief. He'd faced off against a woman—and he was the one bleeding. His pride stung way more than his cut lip or bruised ass, and he was on his feet in an instant.
The woman wasn't near as quick to recover. She struggled to stand, favoring the side he'd crashed into, and Vonn realized that even the glancing, ineffective contact with his shin had done some damage.
But it wasn't enough to diminish the determination from her eyes, and Vonn changed his mind about her being a fighter. Clearly, she was a warrior—and she was nowhere near surrender.
Vonn grinned, ignoring the blood dripping down his chin. This slight, unarmed woman had done more damage in a fight with an alpha than any outsider who'd ever come onto this land.
"You're pretty damn impressive; I'll give you that," he said. "But you have to know you can't win."
She raised her chin defiantly. "I seem to be doing okay so far."
Vonn snorted and pointed toward the patio, where nearly a dozen alphas and a handful of smugglers had emerged from the roadhouse to watch her little show. "So far," he conceded. "But now you've got an audience, and if I know my brothers, they're already lining up behind me for their turn in the ring."
Vonn watched her go rigid as she realized how many in that crowd were capable of ripping her in half. She might have stood strong against a single alpha—at least briefly and with surprise on her side—but she was outnumbered and outmatched.
Vonn: The Boundarylands Omegaverse: M/F Alpha Omega Romance Page 3
