Shared Omega (Quarantine Omega Book 2)

by Lizzy Bequin

  Powerful arms coil around my upper body from behind, pinning my arms and compressing my ribs to the point of cracking.

  I swing my head backward, and my skull connects with the Alpha’s nose.

  He stumbles backward, but doesn’t loosen his grip.

  My breath is shallow, lungs unable to expand.

  I strike again with another head butt and another.

  This only enrages the Alpha more. He roars, and my feet lift off the rotting floorboards. The room whirls around me as my opponent hefts me backwards, slamming me to the floor with a bone-crushing suplex.

  The floor is what saves me. The ancient boards sag under our weight, absorbing the impact.

  We roll, and the Alpha ends up on top, pummelling me. His lip and chin are streaked red with blood flowing from his nose.

  I hook my legs under and kick hard, sending him flying across the room. His body crashes into the crumbling wall, and it shatters behind him. Even more sunlight streams in through this new hole.

  The Alpha reels backward, on the edge of falling to the ground below. His hands claw at the ragged plaster and wood of the wall.

  He manages to catch himself.

  The Alpha rushes me, but this time, he’s attacking head on and I’m ready for him. I shift my weight low, catch him, and throw him over my shoulder, slamming him to the floor so hard that its rotten boards break and he crashes to the floor below.

  “Dog!” the omega shouts again, as if it is the only word she knows.

  Is the Alpha’s name Dog?

  Seriously?

  I turn to study her, and once again our eyes lock in the sunlight streaming through the gaps in the wrecked walls.

  Are these two mates? They must be. The omega is in heat. But her scent is weak. The Alpha has been tending to her needs then.

  Her neck, however, bares no mark. There is a dark, rectangular symbol, an Outsider tattoo, but no sign of her Dog’s teeth.

  He has not marked her yet.

  She is yet unclaimed, and her heat is calling me, sending my body into the rut. It is clouding my judgment as my blood is rerouted from my brain to my hardening cock.

  “Sloane!” a voice growls from down below.

  Is this the omega’s name? Sloane? It is a strange Outsider name, but somehow it appeals to my desire for her.

  She could be called anything, and it wouldn’t matter.

  All that matters is that I bury my knotted cock deep inside her and paint her womb with my hot Alpha seed.

  “Sloane,” the Alpha calls again from below.

  The omega just stands there, brandishing her knife and gun. For a moment, I think she’s actually going to attack me, but then she turns, and I hear the patter of her booted feet racing down the stairs.

  I turn back toward the smashed hole in the floor and peer over the edge. The second floor is dark, but in the hazy light from up here, I can just make out the Alpha getting to his feet.

  Though I’ve been fighting with him, I haven’t really taken a chance to look at him yet. His dark hair is cut close to his skull like the omega’s. He is not naked like a Farlander would be, but he is also not dressed in leather or furs. Instead he is wearing a pair of shorts made from some manufactured black material.

  More Outsider clothes.

  Who are these two?

  No time to think about that now. I need to eliminate this Alpha so I can claim the omega for myself.

  I leap down, landing on top of the Outsider Alpha with a snarl.

  Probably not the best strategy.

  The ancient floorboards protest beneath our combined weight for a moment, then they give way with a terrific crash, and I find myself tumbling through the air, riding the Outsider down to the ground floor.

  We land with a thud as dust and debris rains down on top of us. The impact knocks the wind out of my lungs, and the Outsider gets the better position, rolling on top and clutching my throat in his hands. In the light streaming through the open front door, I see his face red with fury and his eyes bloodshot.

  “Die,” he growls between gritted teeth.

  I hear another sound.

  Tiny feet thump-thump-thumping down the stairs. A pause as she leaps over the missing steps, and then more footfalls as she races down.

  I break the Outsider’s grip on my throat and shove him off of me. I climb to my feet, and we grapple, snarling and barking, slamming against the walls of the house, which shakes with our struggle.

  “Dog, look out!” the omega shouts.

  But her warning is too late. I send a hard kick straight into my opponent’s gut, and he stumbles backward, crashing through the wall and opening another glowing portal to the outside world.

  There is a snap of wood as a main support beam breaks under his weight, and a terrible groan as the beam supporting the upper floor starts to give. In the dim light filtering in from above, I see the wrecked ceiling start to sag.

  The ceiling is collapsing, right on top of the omega.

  “No!” I shout.

  A dose of adrenaline, born of some primal protective instinct, surges through my muscles. Before I even have a chance to think, I’m flying through the air, covering the omega’s helpless body with mine as the structure comes crashing down, burying us in wood and plaster and darkness.

  CHAPTER 12: SLOANE

  At first, I’m quite certain that I’m dead.

  Yet somehow, as if by a miracle, the weight covering my body isn’t crushing me. And it is not broken pieces of debris. Oh sure, there is some of that. The dust is stinging my eyes and coating my mouth and throat, making it difficult to breathe. And I can’t see a damn thing in this total pitch blackness.

  But the weight pressing down on my body is not hurting me. It is protecting me. It is something warm and smooth.

  And breathing.

  A voice, deep and rumbling, speaks directly into my ear. The words are in a language that I do not understand.

  It’s the Alpha. The one that looked at me upstairs. The one with the stunning, silver-gray eyes and the wild mane of hair the color of burnt gold and skin like polished bronze.

  “Are you okay, little one?” the voice murmurs at my ear.

  It is not, in fact, another language that he is speaking. It is English, but the accent is strange, unlike anything I’ve ever heard before, harsh and guttural. Even now, at this most inopportune of moments, it stirs something deep inside.

  I do a quick check of my body. It’s difficult to move, but that is because we are buried under a heap of rubble. However, as far as I can tell, nothing seems to be broken or injured.

  “Y-yes,” I stammer, “I’m okay…”

  Suddenly I notice Dog’s voice calling out for me. It sounds muffled and distant through the layer of debris.

  “Sloane!” He bellows. “Sloane, are you okay?”

  Wow, two protective Alphas concerned for my well-being. Again, it’s totally inappropriate, but it sends a wave of warm tingles rushing through my body.

  “Yes!” I shout, my voice sounding flat in this cramped, enclosed space beneath the heap of rubble. “I’m here! I’m okay!”

  Already, Dog is scrambling at the pile of debris. The sounds of him digging and flinging away chunks of plaster, wood, and rotten insulation gradually become louder and louder as the pile gets smaller.

  At last, a little light begins to trickle through.

  “Sloane!” Dog shouts again, his voice much louder now.

  With the weight of the pile reduced, the other Alpha on top of me rises, taking care to make sure no chunks of debris fall on top of me.

  Soon, two pairs of strong hands are lifting me to my feet.

  On the right is Dog, and on the left is the nameless Alpha who protected me with his body.

  Both of them inspect me in the light shining through the walls broken by their fighting.

  A wave of relief rolls over Dog’s face when he sees that I really am all right. A moment later he turns to his opponent with a snarl, his muscles t
ensing and the veins on his neck and forearms bulging with renewed aggression.

  “Get your dirty claws off of her, Farlander!”

  He is on the verge of attacking again. Two minutes ago, I was fully behind him on that. I assumed that this Alpha meant us both harm. But based on the way that he protectively shielded me from the collapsing rubble, I’m starting to rethink that.

  “Dog!” I shout, before another fight erupts. “Stand down!”

  Instantly, Dog backs off. Some of the redness goes out of his face, and his muscles relax. He turns toward me, with an almost hurt expression on his face.

  “Sloane.” His voice is hoarse from roaring. “What are you doing?”

  The other Alpha just looks on in amazement for a moment before he throws his head back and guffaws. His body shakes with laughter, sending up clouds of dust.

  Dog’s face reddens again, this time with a combination of anger and embarrassment.

  “I can’t believe it,” the other guy snorts. “An Alpha taking orders from an omega? By the Source, now I understand why she calls you Dog.”

  Dog stands his ground but doesn’t move to attack as the other Alpha approaches him, getting in his face.

  “Watch it,” I snap at the blond Alpha. “If you try anything, I’ll turn Dog loose on you again, just like that.”

  “Just say the word,” Dog growls under his breath.

  Now it’s the Alpha’s turn to back down. He turns his dusty head, looking back and forth between me and Dog, his eyes gleaming with curiosity.

  “Who are you?” he asks at last.

  “I’m Sloane,” I answer, “and this is Dog.”

  “And my name is Truk,” the Alpha says. “But I mean…”

  He looks at my body, and I suddenly become very aware that I am naked. But Truk’s eyes are looking at my feet. He’s looking at my boots—the only thing I’m wearing. He turns toward Dog and looks at his black shorts.

  “You are Outsiders,” Truk says. “And yet you are Alpha and omega. How…how did you come to be in this place?”

  Dog has calmed considerably, his breathing growing steady again. He has drawn close to me, and he is possessively dusting the debris from my body. The old house groans and creaks around us. A board knocked loose from the fight spontaneously clatters to the floor.

  “We can talk,” Dog says to Truk, “but not here. This house is unstable. Let’s go outside.”

  Truk nods.

  But I’m not ready to go outside just yet.

  First, I sift through the rubble and scrounge up my dropped knife, which I slide back into its secret sheath in my boot. Next I find the gun. Even though it is out of ammunition, I want to hang onto it. If nothing else, I can at least use it as a deterrent, although that trick clearly didn’t work very well with Truk.

  Once I’ve fetched my gear, I head back toward the stairs.

  “Where are you going?” the two Alphas ask in unison, before giving each other a look of annoyance.

  “To get the rest of my frigging clothes.”

  ***

  Out in the clearing, the air is warm, and the rays of the mid-morning sun are lighting up the motes of pollen sifting from the swaying branches of the trees and dancing over the tall grass of the clearing, which is rippling like water in the breeze. Somewhere off in the blue shadows of the forest, hidden birds are singing again.

  I’m beginning to like that sound.

  In fact, I’m beginning to like all of strange new sensations that this place has to offer.

  But I remind myself that the city hive is my home—my natural habitat—and if we ever want to make it back there, we have a mission to complete.

  Perhaps Truk can help us see it through.

  Out here in the sunshine, I can finally get a better look at the primitive Alpha. Like a wild animal, he has shaken the plaster dust from his body, revealing his taut and deeply tanned skin. His physique is chiseled and smooth, a little less bulky than Dog’s. A little more lithe.

  I find my eyes drifting back to that physique again and again.

  Truk’s only clothing is a loincloth of rich, golden fur, probably from a blond bear. It looks like something a primitive barbarian would wear in some of those antique movies I saw as a girl. Truk’s only other articles are a leather headband keeping his long golden hair out of his eyes, and an obsidian knife in a fur sheath at his hip.

  For an Alpha, his face is not like Dog’s. It doesn’t have the same sculptural beauty. Yet it is not like those horrible Farlanders we encountered yesterday either. It is somewhere in between. His brow is sloped and heavy, concealing deep-set eyes that glitter and dart about with curiosity and animal caution.

  His nose has clearly been broken many times. His lips bear a couple of scars where they have been split in fights.

  But the worst scars are the ones on his back and shoulders. Long and thick, they criss-cross his muscles, spelling out a history of intense pain and violence.

  Those scars can’t be from fighting.

  They are from punishment.

  Abuse.

  What happened to Truk? Was he a prisoner? An exile? Or something worse…

  Dog, meanwhile, is standing protectively close to me, eyeing this newcomer with suspicion and more than a little jealousy.

  Though my inner warrior doesn’t want to admit it, I find it comforting to have Dog here with me. I may be tough, but I have no illusions that I would be able to match my strength against that of a feral Alpha, especially considering that my only weapons are a knife and an empty pistol.

  Still, some tickling intuition tells me that we can trust Truk and that he is willing to help us.

  I glance at Dog and a moment of understanding passes between us. He nods, and begins explaining to Truk why we are here, telling him about our mission to save Lily.

  It’s strange, but after what we did together last night, it’s as if Dog and I have developed some kind of empathetic connection.

  I blush as I think about that dirty act we did upstairs in that old house.

  The way he made me climax again and again, more times than I could even count until my body was weak and submissive with raw bliss. The way he forced his hard cock so deep in my throat, using me roughly and mercilessly.

  The knowledge I could have stopped it with those two magic words, but chose not to.

  The fact that his seed was inside me—is still inside me now—particles of him literally nourishing my cells.

  And last, the thought that the scientists back at SynerGen saw the whole thing via my neural chip.

  I try to push that out of my mind. This is no time to be thinking of such things.

  When Dog has finished telling Truk about our mission, the primitive Alpha is quiet for a minute. He is crouching in the weeds, plucking at some blades of grass thoughtfully, occasionally raising his face to test the wind for scents.

  At last he shakes his head, stirring his long, golden hair.

  “There’s no way you’ll make it into the city ruins,” he says. “It’s not like you can just walk in there. The Alphas are vigilant. They’ll smell you coming from a mile away. And with an unmarked omega in heat? No…”

  My face flushes with warmth, but I don’t look away when those deep-set eyes glare at me.

  He said I was unmarked.

  I don’t know what that means, and I’m not sure I want to.

  “But you’re an Alpha, Truk,” I entreat him. “Surely you can vouch for us. You can act as our guide.”

  He shakes his head again.

  “I’m not part of the tribe that inhabits the city ruins. The Alphas there shun me for being a half-breed.”

  “A half-breed?” I ask.

  The flicker of emotion on Truk’s face makes me suddenly feel bad for asking about that. It’s not really my business. Then again, he brought it up.

  Looking off toward the trees, he explains.

  “There are two types of Alphas here in the Zone. One group lives within the city ruins. They live cl
ose to the Source. It nourishes them, keeps them sane. They are honorable and follow strict codes of conduct, and above all else, they are devoted to protecting their omegas.”

  At that last part, his eyes dart toward me, then Dog, before looking away again.

  “Then there are the Farlanders. They are descended from the ones who were exiled long ago for their crimes. They have strayed too far and too long from the Source. Through generations of inbreeding, their minds and their bodies have become warped. Their only code is cruelty.”

  I find my eyes drifting again to those scars on his back and shoulders.

  It is Dog’s voice that breaks the silence.

  “So when you say you are a half-breed, you mean that you are part Farlander and part city Alpha?”

  Truk nods.

  Now it makes sense why his face looks the way it does, mostly human, but kissed with that bestial quality of the Farlanders.

  His demeanor, however, shows no sign of cruelty to me. He can be ferocious, yes, but I sense that his heart is good.

  “My mother was an omega from the tribe that dwells in the city ruins. My fathers were Farlanders.” Truk flashes Dog a searing look full of pain and pent up anger. “Understand?”

  His fathers? Plural?

  For a moment, I find myself wanting to ask why an omega from the supposedly honorable central tribe would willingly mate with those awful Farlander Alphas. But I catch myself, as the realization begins to sink in.

  It wasn’t done willingly.

  His mother was raped.

  Truk goes on, his voice shaking with restrained rage.

  “My mother didn’t survive my birth. That was probably for the best. The Farlander Alphas raised me, if you can call it that. They beat me every day of my childhood. Clawed me. Burned me. They took great delight in my screams. As I grew older and stronger, I learned to deny them that pleasure, accepting my punishment silently, which only made them beat me harder. I hated my fathers. But I am also grateful for the strength they gave me, even if that was not their intent.”

  His eyes gleam with fire beneath the shade of his heavy brow.

  “Truk,” I whisper. “I’m so sorry, I…”

  “Don’t be sorry,” he cuts me off brusquely. “Eventually I grew big enough and strong enough that they couldn’t beat me anymore. I killed my fathers, all three of them. That would have made me the leader of the pack, but I wanted nothing to do with the Farlanders, so I set out on my own.”