by Eileen Glass
Rourke watches him walk away.
“Christ. You want it too, don’t you?” She sighs and shakes her head. “You and blue guys, huh?”
“Yes, please,” he says to make her smile. I don’t have a lot of time.
The End
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Author Bio
Eileen Glass lives amongst the sounds of sirens, car stereos, and the yowling of stray cats. She commands two minions of destruction, slobbery beasts that eat power cords and wall plaster. While she enjoys cafes and urban life, she's known to be a bit of a hermit, shutting herself away on weekends to write and being bad at noticing her phone. She likes m/m romance with sweet, protective heroes and paranormal creatures.
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Also by Eileen Glass
Chapter 1
Skye hooks his thumbs in his backpack’s straps. At least he got through the summer in an air conditioned apartment before reality kicked him back to the road. That was nice. If he times it right, maybe he can hide out for the winter too. Fall and spring aren’t so bad for hitchhiking.
A big truck passes, roaring, kicking up a whirlwind. Skye drifts further off the road, into the dirt and weeds. A little later toward the evening he’ll stick his thumb out, and likely one of those truckers will stop for him. Skinny boys like him get rides pretty easy. They don’t find out until the end that Skye isn’t their kind of pleasure. Too many teeth.
He smirks, remembering such a run in. But not for long. In his mind, the trucker transforms into an alpha, and suddenly the tables have turned.
No human could ever rape him unless he was mightily drugged first. Not so for the assortment of rogue wolves on his tail.
Each new home holds new acquaintances and friendships, and for awhile, safety. The chance to live like a stranger with a normal life. He really liked this place, but he’s already stayed about six weeks too long. That’s when the wolf attacks started showing up on the news.
He’s sorry about that. As an omega, violence doesn’t come naturally to him the way it seems to do for the others of his kind.
The unranked aren’t too bad. They’re typical, generally easygoing. All want to impress the alpha, of course, but that’s just normal for wolves.
Betas are pretty bad, the second in command, always sucking up while looking for an opportunity to take the lead.
But alphas? They’re ruthless. Just thinking about it creates a painful pulse in his chest, makes a tightness like tears form around his eyes.
His mother was the alpha female of their pack. She went through three males, each more vicious than the last. He can’t remember much about the first, his father, except that he missed him when he was killed and replaced. It doesn’t matter. Likely, his father would have abhorred and exiled him just the same.
Omegas are a sin. Irresistible yet always male, meaning they’re a genetic dead end. There’s nothing his people revere more than their pups, few as they are, so nobody wants an omega in their pack. He’s useless, except for rutting.
It’s not his fault. He can’t exactly change the way he smells. Hiding out in the city worked for awhile, keeping the other wolves at bay, but it was only a matter of time before they became impatient. Once they realized he wasn’t leaving, they started creeping in. And sure enough, mangled, half-eaten pets began showing up on the news, along with the occasional midnight mauling.
Blood thirsty, violent, wild. Alphas just can’t help themselves.
The actual sky, the blue for which he’s named thanks to his eyes, is vast and cloudless in all directions. No place to hide.
Eventually, they’re gonna catch him.
Skye looks back at the interstate, all the cars flying at him.
It was nice to walk for awhile, but it’s time to find a new place. Maybe the place for once, if the rogues decide he isn’t worth it.
They’ll know which way to look.
He’s thinking he should stick his thumb out now, best to get up the road, get a few towns between him and the mutts gunning for him…while a sight as terrible and inescapable as the grim reaper rides up over the crest of the hill.
Not that one, he thinks, but he knows it is. The one who found him in the first place, who went right into the heart of the city and staked out where he worked downtown. The one that got too close. He rides a big black motorcycle, a cruiser, wears a leather coat and sunglasses. Skye remembers how his body bulges with muscles that could break him in half.
There’s nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. He can’t shift and run in broad daylight, not with this traffic. Some small hope sparks when the bike rides on past him, but of course, that’s stupid, it’s already showing brake lights, already slowing down, and it pulls off the side, kicking up a cloud of dust and gravel.
He comes to a stop, boots landing down to steady the machine.
He stares at Skye hard in the review mirror, eyes hiding behind sunglasses. His hair is just long enough to reach the tie at the base of his neck, several dark strands loose and wild from the wind.
He’ll smile any second now. Smug prick.
I got you, say the eyes behind the sunglasses. Skye can sense the words even if the distance prevents them from speaking just yet.
The dust settles.
The alpha doesn’t smile, doesn’t speak, doesn’t change expression really, his face worn in a permanent frown. Doesn’t take his eyes off Skye either. The wind pushes lightly at Skye’s back, and though his nostrils don’t flare and he doesn’t tilt his head back, the way alphas do when they sense a bitch in heat, he has to smell it. It’s been getting worse lately. All the alphas coming around probably have something to do with it.
Though Skye has a fully functional human mind, his biology is built for a creature far more primitive and cutthroat.
His legs want to run. And boy, can they. He could be across the field and out of sight in about fifteen seconds, and that’s saying something in this treeless landscape.
God, what a mistake it was to pay his rent instead of getting a bus ticket. Stupid, stupid move, a decision made by his soft heart. Ruth, his generous old landlady, relies on social security and his rent check each month, so he couldn’t leave her in a lurch like that, especially when she took a chance on him with no references, no credit, no nothing except a job and a promise.
Idiot. Self preservation should have taken priority. He should have bought the bus ticket.
Unbidden, a thought comes.
He’d just follow the bus.
The alpha shuts off the machine and sits there, watching while Skye stands still and thinks.
His silent gaze seems to say, Well what’s it gonna be?
The alpha’s hands leave the throttle and clutch to fish some chew out of his jacket. Disgusting habit.
Though he seems relaxed and patient, waiting him out, Skye knows an alpha doesn’t put up with much, and he’s pushing it already. There really was never a choice to run to begin with. He should have known the second this alpha showed up at his work that he was done.
The constant moving was wearing on him, and he’d met good people this time around. He’d wanted so badly to stay. He blew it.
A dragging step carries him forward. There’s no choice. The alpha knows it, that’s why he hasn’t bothered to even give the order. It’s a done deal. The only question is whether Skye will refuse. The alpha might want him to run just for the sport.
Small, shuffling steps carry him forward unwillingly. He’s a chained dog and that blank gaze reels him in link
by link. Better to show obedience and wait for escape than to get a vicious beating for being stupid. Skye can’t fight, and he can’t run fast enough. So forward is the only way.
Thoughts fly by faster than the cars, asking if he’s nice, asking if he drinks, if he’ll have a pack, what they’ll think of him.
He knows the answer to all of that, and none of it means anything good. Humans have it so easy, their minds completely obliterating whatever animal instinct they might have possessed once. Skye is a sex slave thanks to a goddamned pheromone and a glitch in the programming.
He hesitates. He doesn’t want to get so close.
Yet, he already accepts his fate. His arms shake, and he’s too aware of each step to balance naturally, but a tiny unknown part of him relaxes with relief as his toes touch the alpha’s shadow. Finally, that part of him thinks and regards the bigger man with hope.
Through all this, the alpha just sits, chews, puts the tobacco back in his jacket pocket. Even when Skye gets very close, he doesn’t react much. Now it’s Skye’s turn to wait.
A blue sedan comes coasting by, not in any hurry apparently, a couple of young twenty-something girls peering as they pass. Wondering what’s up, Skye thinks at first, until he notices that the alpha is stretching and reaching around to get an itch on his back shoulder. His t-shirt can’t hide the six pack. What they find so alluring makes Skye cringe in fear.
Will he be nice?
He hopes so, but it’s too good to be true.
The alpha settles. Looks forward at the interstate going north, then back at Skye.
“You ever been on a bike before?”
“Yeah.”
The only vague memory of his father he has is of a motorcycle, sitting on the front with his little hands braced on the gas tank while the engine rattled his joints and sockets. They rolled around the camp where they were staying while the pack cheered for him. He’d grinned ear to ear, full of love and admiration for his daddy.
It’s almost impossible to believe, but once he was precious. Something happened around the age of eleven and that all changed. He was on Dad Two at the time, and he went from being ignored to being punished.
Skye hugs himself. Motorcycles and werewolves go hand in hand. The feeling of flying down the road is as close as it gets to running. Definitely beats the sweaty, smelly bus any old day, but there’s nowhere else Skye would rather be.
“You’re a lot of trouble, you know that?” The alpha leans forward on the bike, showing off his abs without really trying to. “You put us at risk, playing human when you’re reeking of heat. And each time you jump ship, you cross another territory and get another sonofabitch after your ass.”
He smirks like this is funny.
“I bet it was just a matter of time before the ladies came after you too. You’re depriving a lot of good women of some good men right now, ya know that?”
Yeah, as a matter of fact, he does.
Skye turns his angry glare on the ground before it gets him hit.
“Well…” The alpha puts his hands on the bars and rests his boot toe atop the gear shifter. “Get on, Trouble. You’re mine now. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
All of Skye’s muscles are painfully tight. Move, he urges his limbs and gets only trembling for a response. He realizes he’ll have to touch the alpha to get on, and suddenly his brain forgets how. Which leg to put over? What to grab onto?
It’s a small relief that the alpha doesn’t seem to be in a hurry, sloshing the chew, scratching the back of his hand. Then twisting around to pull out the pedals for him on each side.
His only sign of impatience is a simple, “C’mon. Let’s go.”
So maybe he’s nice. For an alpha that doesn’t mean much.
Skye’s ass clenches tight to think of what’s in store for him now. A barren bitch. A cum receptacle. A pleasure fuck and never anything more.
Hate for himself is marginally easier to deal with than fear. He gets his right leg over the seat, slides into place. Jostling the bike, but the alpha steadies them easily. With a timid, hovering hold, he rests his hands on the alpha’s waist, the thick coat preventing them from touching overly much. He has to keep his mind on the pleasant smell of leather. Otherwise it’ll go to his thighs, which can’t opt for a less intimate position.
The alpha leans over to spit, taking the center of gravity with him, and Skye’s whole world shifts from the simple action. It’s an uncomfortable foretelling of the future to be. Skye swallows, tries to scoot back, but the alpha grabs his hands and pulls him forward, wrapping them in place like he’s putting on a seatbelt.
“Hold tight,” he says, and Skye can feel the words reverberate in his stomach. “Don’t go thinking stupid on me, alright? You think I won’t shift and run you down in broad daylight, you’re very mistaken. I’ll take you right there in the field with the humans watching and all, understand? I don’t care if our mating ends up on the six o’clock news.”
That would be bad. Murder and rape for his kind are a part of survival, but exposing oneself to humans brings the death penalty. Some packs go on great hunts to bring down an offender, no matter how small the infringement. Fear takes root in Skye’s spine, makes all his nerves come alive while his body goes very still, his gaze dodging the alpha’s as he utters a submissive whine, nearly inaudible to humans but not to them.
The alpha reaches back and pats his thigh, twice, and gives him a squeeze too. Like praising a good horse, a beast of burden but not without its uses.
“Nah, I probably wouldn’t. But you ain’t gonna test me, right?”
Skye wants to whine again, but this time he forces himself to clear his throat and speak. “No.”
“That’s good.”
The bike comes on with a loud roar, the alpha twisting on the throttle to rev her up the instant the engine catches. That’s all the warning Skye gets. For all his patient sitting and waiting, the alpha takes off like a bat out of hell, only checking the road once before peeling out, leaving their dust behind and flying down the lane.
It’s been a long time since Skye was allowed on a bike. He forgot how scary free they feel, like he could blow away and go rolling back in a bloody mess, road kill for the next car to swerve around.
What’ll happen to him now?
Skye clings tight and hunches into the alpha’s back. Closeness be damned, the alpha’s makes a good shield from the brunt of the wind. Unfortunately, he can’t stop his crotch from pressing into the guy’s butt, like a coy female playing scared.
Pain awaits in his future. But right now isn’t so bad if he stops thinking for awhile.
The alpha doesn’t look back, doesn’t grab his hands or make any other gesture of comfort, just rides on like Skye might be an extra saddlebag on the back. He’s so big that Skye is willing to bet the alpha can hardly feel the smaller boy behind him, clutching to him like a frightened pup.
They come up on a big truck, and he swerves into the passing lane. Skye ducks his ear to the leather, shutting his eyes against the imagined sensation of getting crushed under the wheels. He holds tight and lets the alpha guide him ahead of the danger, until the monstrous machine is behind them and harmless.
It’s relatively quiet, easy cruising.
Skye looks back at the city.
How did he let this happen?
Omega: Liam & Skye >>
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
© Eileen Glass
Published by Glass Fiction
www.eileenglass.com
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