OmegaMine

by Aline Hunter

  The distraction was the reason he didn’t immediately scent the dangerous fragrances of silver and death the moment he opened the glass door to the building. One moment, he and Ava were alone. The next, Shepherds surrounded them, five of them total. Their weapons gleamed brightly in the streetlights as they lifted them into the air. The long, polished steel barrels displayed the etched bible reference: John 10:9.

  I am the door. By me, if any man enter in, he shall be saved.

  There was only one reason the men in brown dusters and matching Stetsons didn’t fire, and it had nothing to do with bringing unnecessary attention. They didn’t want to hit any of the random passersby who froze in alarm and watched silently.

  “You know why we’re here.” The largest one addressed Diskant and leveled his obsidian firearm, his arm, hand and trigger finger nice and steady. “Where is he?”

  Diskant shoved Ava behind him and placed his larger frame between her and the gun. She wrapped her arm around his stomach and pressed her chest into his back, remaining close.

  “I don’t know what you are talking about.”

  “Don’t lie to me, Omega,” the man cautioned, shadowed jaw clenching. “We know Emory Veznor is finally here. Your pack won’t be able to hide him forever.”

  Emory Veznor.

  Shit.

  Years of practice allowed his face to remain expressionless, giving nothing away as he processed what he knew. Trey was with Emory, who had shown up earlier in the morning after a lengthy and acrimonious absence. He didn’t know the details but could garner a pretty decent guess as to the reason for his unexpected return.

  “I don’t know where Emory is,” Diskant answered. Shepherds were good at three things—tracking, destroying what they viewed as unclean and detecting lies.

  “Then call to him.”

  “I can’t.”

  The Shepherd obviously didn’t like the answer. “Explain.”

  “Emory severed all ties with the packs in this area before he left. His wolf is no longer mine to call.”

  “Then call to his brother—” The Shepherd stopped midsentence, stepped back and slid the gun into a holster beneath his duster as the others did the same. Their focus drifted from Diskant to the vehicles approaching from the east. The big red and blue lights affixed to the roof were dull and silent but all it would take was a decent scuffle and they’d be blazing in all their glory.

  Thank fucking god for the neighborhood watch.

  “Come on.” Diskant grasped the trembling hand at his waist and started for the bike.

  “We won’t be leaving until we have him,” the Shepherd called out but Diskant didn’t respond.

  He placed the duffel in front of him, helped Ava climb to the back of the bike and bent to retrieve the half-shell helmets inside the saddlebags. Normally he didn’t bother with them but since Joe Law was helping them out, he’d play the part of law-abiding citizen.

  He placed the first on Ava and adjusted the straps before taking care of his own. The police vehicle was getting closer and the Shepherds were standing idly on the sidewalk, watching his every move. If he wanted to put any kind of distance between them he needed to make sure he and Ava were long gone before the police left the vicinity and they were able to return to their mode of transportation and follow.

  After he straddled the bike, Ava pressed against him again until her pelvis was flush against his ass. Her body was still shaking, her breathing shallow and uneven.

  “What are those men?” she whispered and tightened her hold, burrowing into his back.

  He didn’t answer until he started the bike, wanting the loud thrumming of the motor to drown out his voice. He lifted the kickstand with his heel, turned his head and asked, “Do you know what Shepherds are?”

  “N-no,” she stammered, and he realized that her body must be burning on one hell of an adrenaline high.

  “They hunt our kind.” He kept his right leg on the ground until the bike stabilized as he slowly increased the speed and they drifted onto the street. “When they come around, it’s not a good sign.”

  “What do they want?” The heady scent of fear that emitted from her was blessedly carried away as he turned off the street and gave the throttle a generous turn.

  “I don’t know,” he answered as he set the engine loose. The wind caressed his face, wrapped around his shoulders and effectively ended the conversation.

  But by god, he was going to find out.

  Chapter Ten

  Diskant stopped the bike in front of a building in West Village. The large window below the vintage Dougan’s Bar sign revealed everything just inside. There was a large bar with stools and a few tables were lined up just along the glass. Even from where she sat, Ava knew the patrons were shifters. Their movements were too powerful, their eyes—which turned the moment Diskant pulled to the curb to study them—too alert.

  The motor went silent and she took a deep breath, struggling for control. The last hours had been the most bizarre of her life. She couldn’t decide if she should be frightened or angry at being bossed around and accosted by men with guns. Not when her body continued to crave a solid fucking, as if she truly were no more than a dog in heat.

  She grimaced at the comparison but accepted the truth.

  With Diskant, everything was primal and raw—her feelings, her reactions, her desires. It was as if she were evolving in some way, becoming someone or something else. Never had chemistry played such a role in her decisions. If she was being honest with herself, she knew that nothing she had done in the last twenty-four hours qualified as rational. Something else was calling the shots, setting the pace, liberating her from a timid mousy novice to a fearless tigress.

  The terror she’d felt as she stared down the barrel of the weapon had changed the moment Diskant put her behind him, shielding her from harm. She’d reacted instinctively, reaching out with her mind, seeking the barest essentials from the armed men who looked like they’d jumped straight out of a cheesy Western. They’d been angry, searching for someone who had wronged their congregation, although it had been impossible to take the proper time to explore the path of their thoughts any further.

  Seconds established which was the leader of the group—Elijah, the tallest one, who addressed them—and she’d immediately formulated a plan to have him lower his weapon and instruct the others to do the same. It would have been dangerous and was sure to have been tricky. The others could have questioned his orders, and if they had, there would have been no way she could have manipulated the thoughts of all of them. Adding to that had been the armed entourage that Elijah had silently signaled from across the street, their insurance plan if things went to hell in a handbasket.

  Thankfully, her talent hadn’t been necessary. Her street was safe due to the patrol that combed the area hourly. For once she was grateful she paid a little bit extra and lived in Brooklyn Heights. When she’d seen the police car, she’d wanted to sag in relief and demand the city give them a raise for the service they provided.

  Her only regret in the aftermath was allowing her alarm to shadow a greater need—to learn exactly what it was they wanted. Although now she was fairly certain she was due to find out.

  Diskant shifted his weight and rocked the bike to the side to engage the kickstand, and she let go of his waist. A laughable amount of propriety saw her climbing off the seat without his assistance. She removed the helmet and ruffled her hair, unwilling to meet his eyes as she felt the stares of the shifter patrons inside the bar boring holes into her back.

  What must they think? She wasn’t one of them and yet she was riding on the back of the motorcycle owned by their Omega. The shifters at Club Liminality were always cordial but never overly friendly. There was an invisible line that always existed, an understanding that either you belonged among them or you didn’t. Maybe there was a reason for that. Perhaps the incident at the bar with the newly bloodbonded couple was an indication of what happened when you decided to mate outside the speci
es.

  For a moment she visualized the woman cradled in the shifter’s arms that night at Liminality months ago. Her dark hair was slick with sweat, and her skin-tight cream-colored camisole was soaked with blood. The look in her eyes was dazed, her lips almost purple. Her skin had been so pale she looked near to death.

  When Diskant extended a hand to take the helmet from her quaking hands, she wasn’t prepared when his fingers circled her wrist instead. She lifted her head and glimpsed the wounded look in his eyes, saw the hurt in his face.

  “Don’t be afraid of me.” His voice was hoarse, the words raspy. “Don’t be afraid of us.”

  The fear and uncertainty suffocating her was replaced by the need to reassure and comfort. Like a switch had been flicked, exorcising the darkness that shadowed her thoughts, there was nothing else in that moment but her and Diskant. The spectators vanished, as did the vehicles and pedestrians on the sidewalk.

  “I’m not,” she answered, slightly stunned that she was telling him the truth. She wasn’t afraid of him. Her uncertainty arose from the unknown, from entering into something that left her blind and unaware.

  “I didn’t want it to happen like this.” He smiled when she peered up at him curiously. Wrapping a hand around her nape, he explained, “When I woke up this morning I wanted to shower you with affection for the rest of the day. I had it all planned. Breakfast in bed followed by a round or two of sex and as much time as you needed to talk things through.”

  The mere mentions of “bedroom” and “sex” caused her body to go warm. She’d started to say something when he yanked her into his chest and his mouth covered hers. His taste was intoxicating, so rich and unforgettable. She ran her hand along his jacket before sliding it under the leather until her palm rested on the firm pectoral muscle covered by thin black cotton.

  She’d never truly thought about just how fortunate inanimate objects were until that moment. First it was the fork. Now it was a thin T-shirt.

  He ripped his lips away, snagged her duffel, took her hand and pulled her toward the bar. He didn’t stop to explain and she didn’t argue. They entered and the people in their path moved aside as if they were already well aware of the score. Diskant led them down a hall and entered an empty office. As soon as they were inside he closed the door, tossed her bag to the ground and turned a lock. She mirrored him, plopping the helmet beside the duffel.

  There were no words. One moment she was standing beside him, shivering in anticipation. The next she was bent over the desk, her shoes, jeans and panties gone, leaving her lower half naked and entirely vulnerable to the two-hundred-plus pounds of sexed male directly behind her.

  Somewhere in the back of her mind her all-but-forgotten modesty reminded her that there were people outside in the bar, all of whom were probably aware of what she was doing. Strangely enough, she told that part of herself to zip it and leave well enough alone. Finally she was going to ease the unrelenting madness. She wanted to feel the heat of his skin against her, the firm, unrelenting length and width of his cock inside her.

  “You’re so beautiful.” He pressed his chest into her back, forcing her to lie flat on the desk.

  She remained there when he rose and she felt his hands cup her ass, his fingers curving over and carving a path along her skin, leaving tendrils of electricity in their wake. A quick swipe of the tip of his cock along the lips of her sex and he was pressing inside, that hard ridge of velvet steel spreading and filling her until she rose on her toes to take him deeper. Like this, she felt as if they were truly connected, in a way she’d never been before.

  Diskant groaned and rolled his hips. “Damn, you feel good.”

  Gripping the edge of the desk, she pushed back as he moved forward until all she could hear was the steady slap of skin meeting skin. The softness of his sac slapped her clit, creating new, dizzying waves of pleasure. She shifted slightly to the left and felt him stroke the spot inside that made her crazy, the wide length pressing against her until she welcomed the intense burning in her belly that signified ecstasy was close.

  The room spun as he pulled free and turned her around. She wrapped her arms around his neck when he cupped her hips and lifted her until her legs were situated snugly around his waist. A smooth thrust joined them once more and he carried her to the nearest wall. His hand came down and plucked her clit, his index finger and thumb heightening her ecstasy with exquisite, expert touches.

  “You like that?” His expression was one of passion as his thrusts continued, and his voice was distorted and thick.

  “Yes,” she whispered and watched the muscles rope and cord in his neck as he supported her weight, adjusting her so that he went deeper and deeper.

  A firm yank sent her into his chest and she lapped at the visible skin along his shoulder before pulling at the leather jacket to reveal more tanned flesh. She teased the surface with tiny nips of her teeth. An encompassing heat spread through her from belly to pussy. The impulse to bite and mark him as her own was too powerful to ignore and she chose the fleshy spot that connected the neck and shoulder. She bathed the area with her tongue, cleansing his skin, and pulled her lips back as her teeth sank deep.

  His hoarse, elated cry as she bit down was accompanied by a metallic bitterness on her tongue. She bit harder in response, forcing her dull incisors and canines into the giving flesh, driven by the taste of blood and the smells of sweat and sex. An unrecognizable growl rose in her throat, as if she contained an animal of her own beneath her skin. She rotated her hips, pressing against him until he was lodged so deeply inside that he felt as if he was a part of her.

  “Fuck, yes.” Diskant continued thrusting as he mirrored her and claimed the unmarked side of her neck. His teeth sank deep and she felt her body begin to peak, that delicious warmth spreading from her womb beyond.

  Then things went terribly wrong.

  Pain radiated from her bones, her head, her limbs, her everything. It felt as if molten lava were trapped beneath her skin, blistering hot and boiling its way from the inside out. She relinquished her hold on his neck and cried out, agonized by the feel of his skin, his touch too much to bear. It felt like a thousand needles plunging into the skin in all the places they touched and her eyes and ears began to sting as if they were being stabbed by shards of ice.

  “Stop,” she begged pitifully and closed her eyes. Tears streamed down her cheeks, forming salty trails to her chin.

  Yet it didn’t stop, it worsened until she thought she’d rather die than suffer the pain any longer. The endless waves of fire in the pit of her stomach felt like a blowtorch. The breeze from the overhead ceiling fan sent waves of coolness against her bare skin that were almost too brutal to endure. The cashmere sweater she’d always adored was suddenly as coarse and rough as a Brillo pad, chafing and scratching her arms, back and stomach.

  Scents took over—earth, water and forest—and then she felt an odd brush under her skin, as if something soft and velvety wanted to press through and out. The texture changed from soft to dense, from silky to coarse, as if she were being tormented by fur, skin, feather and hide. She thrashed against Diskant, unable to hold her head upright. Each new wave through her muscles was replaced by a different one, each blessedly faster and less painful that the one before.

  She was aware of Diskant whispering something, promising everything would be all right as she wept uncontrollably. The pain slowly dimmed until she was able to breathe again. The agony in her eyes, ears and skin dissipated, leaving her a shivering mass in his embrace. She blinked back the wet tears on her lashes, wondering if she was dreaming.

  What in the hell just happened?

  “Diskant?”

  “It’s over, Ava mine.” His expression was harsh and his eyes flashed oddly, going from amber, to emerald, to silver.

  “What happened? What was that?”

  He shook his head and slowly pulled away from her until only the tip of his cock was embedded in her pussy. Just as carefully pushed back inside. Even wi
th new and strangely sensitized skin there was no pain now, only pleasure. Again he withdrew and returned—harder this time. With each thrust, thoughts of what transpired fled, replaced by newer, better memories.

  “Stop distracting me.” She contradicted her request by arching her hips, taking him deeper. “It’s not fair.”

  “Can’t help it.” He increased the pace.

  “Diskant…”

  Logic told her this was insane. She’d just suffered something she couldn’t explain and she was willing to let it slide because of this new inner calling that demanded she take him into her body, claim his seed, mark him as her own…

  “Come with me, baby.” He ignored the worry in her voice and the question in her eyes. His clawed fingers dug into her hips, guiding her into a crazed rhythm. “You need this and so do I.”

  He bucked his pelvis and she ground against him. Release was so close, all she had to do was reach out, take hold and claim it. She wrapped her arms around Diskant’s neck and allowed him to set the pace, relying on his strength, trusting he would be the one to take them there.

  They climaxed together, his cry deep and hoarse, hers soft and muted. The tension left over from the odd ordeal disappeared, muscles going soft, leaving her sated and content. She reveled in the way he felt inside her, basking in the rightness of his weight against her, the heaviness just enough to keep her trapped but not so much that she couldn’t breathe.

  She lifted her head and was stunned to find a still-oozing bite at his neck—with visible teeth marks. Slowly, the sounds coming from the club registered. She waited for panic or embarrassment at engaging in sex inside a very public place, but surprisingly, none came.