by V T Bonds
I don’t want to, but last time I refused to come out, they let another monster in. A Beta man had stolen my cover and carried me to the table. I’d been so frightened I’d wet myself, which meant he’d had to strip me before he left the room.
My stomach lurches as I remember the shame and terror of a male seeing me naked for the first time.
My fingers tremble as I untuck the sheet from under me and lift it over my head.
At Georgia’s stern look, I drop the material to the bed and scoot to the edge, putting my feet on the cold floor.
I want to cry. It feels so wrong to be naked, but they haven’t given me anything to wear. Before she left last time, Georgia told me I had to earn clean coverings, since I’d been bad and dirtied the other.
I hate her. I hate the meanies on the other side of the glass.
She waits until I stand to motion me towards the table. My legs only wobble a little as I walk across the room. Pulling the stool out from under the table makes my muscles shake, but I do it on my own. My thighs threaten to give out as I lower myself to sit, but I settle before they do.
I nearly gasp as the frigid seat makes contact with my intimates. It’s almost too much, my rear unhappy, but not as bad as the cold against my lady bits. Shifting in the chair, I want to cry at the discomfort, but Georgia taps the tabletop in demand.
I stop fidgeting and pick up my fork.
“Good, just like last time. Hold it the way I instructed you,” she demands, the fake sweetness in her tone making me want to stab her with the fork. Twisting my wrist and using my left hand to resituate the utensil, I change from fisting the handle to letting it rest along my middle finger, pinching it between my pointer finger and thumb.
I remember eating this way, with my mom. She ate like a delicate princess, and I loved doing what she did.
My joints ache from the hold, as though they’ve never done this before. It hurts, but I grit my teeth and try to spear a chunk of food on it. When the weird greasy cube slides off the tines, tears form in my eyes. I try again, this time getting the morsel halfway to my mouth before it plops back onto the plate.
The weird gravy-looking stuff splatters on the table. A little bit gets on my chest. Terror overrides my frustration.
A tear warms my cheek as it slips free, and I turn wide eyes up to Georgia.
Even with my Alpha sending comfort through our link, I can’t stop my trembling. It’s too cold and I’m too scared.
“You will clean it once you finish eating the rest of it. Keep trying.” An odd glint in her eyes makes me shrink in on myself, but I’m so thankful there’s no punishment I turn back to my task as quickly as I can.
It takes forever, but I get a squishy piece in my mouth. I fight down a gag as I chew it. It doesn’t have much flavor, but the texture makes me want to vomit. Once I force it down my throat, my teeth feel gross, and the urge to scrape my tongue clean makes it hard to focus.
My hand and wrist burn as I fight to get another piece in my mouth, and my stomach tightens when it lands on my tongue. Its so squishy and weird, almost slimy but not quite. I force my abdomen to stop contracting so I can swallow it, trying to hide how disgusted I am.
After my third bite I fear I won’t make it. There’s only two more pieces on the plate, but its so revolting I don’t think I can make myself eat anymore. My fingers seize, too unused to the movement to keep going.
Even though I try to set it down carefully, the fork clatters to the plate. Fear and pain make my heart beat harder, my hand poised in the air. I can’t straighten my fingers, the muscles cramping in agony.
I stare, petrified of Georgia’s reaction.
Her silence makes me feel worse.
“Massage your hand with the other. Once it relaxes, get back to eating.”
The hardness in her voice makes me hunch lower, trying to make myself even smaller.
With a lump in my throat, I do as she says, gathering support from my strong Alpha and eating the rest of the nasty food.
Before I can set the fork on the table, she stops me.
“Lick it clean.”
I raise the utensil back to my mouth and grimace as I clean it with my tongue.
“Place it on the far right corner of the table.”
It isn’t a big table, but I still have to shift in my seat to reach, which reignites the burning cold on my butt.
Trepidation fills me as she steps closer.
“Now clean the table.”
My eyes dart around, searching for a napkin to use, but there isn’t any. The plate seems clean since the meat sucked up the gravy every time I got it on the fork, but the splattered yuck still sits on the table and my chest.
I swallow down the ball of unease and whisper, “With what?”
“Your tongue, Shya. We don’t waste things around here,” she whispers back, her finger tucking my hair behind my ear.
I can’t move. Shock holds me hostage as she slides to my other side and moves my hair. The heat of her digit on my earlobe is anything but comforting. It makes worms crawl in my belly.
When I don’t move, her palm pushes my nape, forcing me to bend. With tears streaming down my face, I shake my head, not wanting to do it.
“If you want to be wasteful, I’ll call in a Beta. He’ll help you,” her breath floats across my ear, and I cringe.
I stick out my tongue and lick the table. Never again do I want any male to touch me. I crave my Alpha too much to be able to stand any other man’s touch.
She guides me around the surface of the table by putting pressure on my nape. Everything I ate threatens to come back up, but fright alone keeps it down.
I shudder to think of what she’d make me do if I threw up.
When my tongue scoops up the last drop of gravy, she releases my neck.
“Sit up.”
I do, my spine crinkling as I follow her instructions.
“Turn and face the door.”
I shuffle away from the table, the seat still frigid, as though my body heat isn’t strong enough to warm it. When I pivot my legs around the table leg, my butt slides back so the stool holds me up by my thighs.
I aim my knees toward the door and lean forward to shift back onto the seat.
“No. Go back to how you were. Move back in the seat.”
My insides quake as my bottom hangs off the back of the stool, but the last thing I want is someone else coming into the room.
“Gather your hair into a ponytail. Hold it with both hands.”
I can’t see her since she’s behind me, but her voice sounds wrong. An odd note dangles under her words, and worms wriggle in my belly.
As I reach up to my hair, the wet spots on my chest feel like snot. I fight back my gag reflex.
She steps in front of me and meets my eyes.
“We don’t waste things around here. Do not move.”
I clamp my fingers around my hair, the knot in my throat growing as she leans down.
I sob as her tongue swipes up the center of my chest. The snotty feeling was better than her unwanted lick.
Even though I want to scream and push her away, I stay where I am, weeping as she laps at my flesh. She cleans the gravy from my upper chest, tracing my collarbone before lowering to the outside of my right breast. My skin goosebumps as her spit makes me colder. She avoids my nipples, and I hold it together only because she doesn’t touch my naughty bits.
There isn’t any gravy on my left side, but she swirls her tongue there anyway, my crying making her almost lick my hardened tip.
When I look down in panic, I find her eyes studying my face. The calculating, ugly expression she wears makes me freeze in terror.
My thoughts fragment as she hovers by my left bud, the horror of her potential swipe on it making me lose control.
I jerk away, letting go of my hair and thrashing as the stool tips backward. Despite my freefall, I catch the smirk on her face before my back cracks against the unforgiving floor.
She sets
her face into a fake grim expression and turns to the mirror. I writhe in agony, my lungs emptied from the terrible impact with the floor. By the time I suck in a breath, gloved hands wrap around my upper arms. As they haul me up to my feet, I screech and fight, but I’m no match for one male, much less two. They each hook an elbow under one of my thighs and lift, carrying me to the bed with ease.
The chilly air wafts over my intimates, highlighting my vulnerability, and I wriggle and scream, pleading for them to stop.
Amidst the drama, I slip further into madness, shrieking for my mommy and yelling for my Alpha.
Interested eyes and sinister smirks reveal my slip, and I howl until my voice becomes as inconsequential as air.
Dirty hands hold me to the bed, evil faces set in mucky expressions. They let me fight until I have nothing left, no vocals or energy to spare.
Georgia’s face leans into my view, the perky woman from before now a leering demon.
“Today is your first inspection. Since you’ve proven to be incapable of staying still, these men will help me.”
She hits the word men with relish, and I realize how trapped I am. I gave my secret away, and now she’s using it against me. Tears wet my hair, and huge sobs wrack my body.
All I can do is bawl as she catalogues every inch of me, rubbing gloved hands from the top of my head to the soles of my feet.
Her feminine voice crushes my soul as she uses weird words to speak about me. Humiliation flushes my cheeks as she strokes my private areas, misery sucking me into sobbing so fiercely bile climbs into my throat.
When she instructs the Betas to reposition me for internal inspection, silent screams reverberate into my bond, blocking any comfort my Alpha may be trying to send me.
Her invasion scars my soul just as deeply as the explosion did. Pain, terror, and misery rule me, my splintered heart sending me further into the abyss.
I run out of tears as male hands press my knees to my shoulders, folding me into myself until my lower back no longer touches the bed. When something hard and cold presses into my bottom, I turn my head to the side and vomit, giving in to the urge to expel my stomach.
Feeling like a poker burns my back hole, I hear clucking.
Georgia clicks her tongue again and hums through her next words.
“What a mess you’ve made. Good thing I have these males to help make sure you clean it up. Hold still while I finish down here.”
Large chunks of my heart die as the instrument expands, her voice a constant horror in the background. With no hope of escape and vocals too hoarse for words, I form my lips around words.
I plead for them to stop. I cry for my mommy. I beg for my Alpha.
The thing inside me deflates, she removes it, then all hands leave me.
Depleted of all energy, I lay unmoving.
A weird pop sounds, then Georgia’s face blocks the light above me. She shakes a spray can in one hand.
“Unfortunately, this will be uncomfortable. Be still so I only have to do it once.”
She sprays whatever is in the can all over my front, and my skin feels heat for the first time in what feels like decades. A few seconds later, ice steals away every bit of warmth.
Still too worn out to move, I watch in dread as she swaps the canister for a pencil-like object.
With her back to the mirror she smiles as she pushes the top. Her shiny white teeth flash through my brain as a million tiny beasts with poisonous teeth eat my body, one tiny bite at a time.
The demon above me whispers promises of every horror imaginable. She reveals terrible truths I’d never have realized on my own.
She’s gathered the information needed to put me where I belong. My place in life has been chosen.
I’m going to hate every second of it.
Because she’s in charge and she knows my every fear.
I sink into unconsciousness, but the pain follows. Darkness, agony, and terror.
No relief.
Chapter Seven
Dirk
My shirt tightens along my shoulders as Vander’s fist twists the collar.
“Snap out of it. We need you here. Now.”
I growl, but his other fist connects with my face, making my head fling to the side.
My surroundings return to me, and I lock eyes with Vander. I thank him with my eyes, rubbing my sternum, the pain in my cheek nothing compared to the agony emanating from my lifemate.
My sweet little Omega needs me. I’m on the way, but each second she’s left suffering is another moment I fail.
Instead of hiding away from her distress, I let it motivate me. I envision strangling every individual that dares to so much as look at her wrong. My knife will show them mercy while my knuckles long to smash in their faces.
We don’t have time. We don’t have a second chance. It is now or never.
I rip Vander’s grip free, snarling my anger and turning to the open door.
Wind whips through the tiny craft, our new acquisition ready for it’s purpose.
Jumoke makes a terrible comment, one even more difficult to ignore than his last one.
Through nefarious means, we’ve gathered seven other Sky-Flyers like this one. They were easy enough to steal. The special ignition materials and combustibles were more difficult to come by, but we managed.
Jumoke taunts Seeck, asking him if he has enough ammunition for his laser blaster.
Almost at the end of my wits, I clench my fists at my side and cast an annoyed glance over my shoulder. Seeck looks hyped, focused on the dangerous mission ahead, but a grimace forms his mouth, as though he’s eaten something sour.
If this goes the wrong way, I’ll never forgive myself. This driving need to be with my Omega outweighs my worry of the future, but I know if any of my teammates lose their lives because of this, I’ll be devastated.
Yet the compulsion to claim my lifemate carries my body closer to the Sky-Flyer’s threshold.
The basic plan is to stay together, separating only if necessary. I’ll lead, my bond guiding me to my Omega.
Almost time.
Kwame’s voice halts my steps.
“Speak now, Jumoke, or the opportunity will be lost.”
Despite the howling wind, all five of us freeze in place, the finality of Kwame’s words ringing through us.
He may use his words sparingly, but they always carry the weight of the future in them.
“Damn it, fine! My lifemate is down there too!” Jumoke yells, the fury erupting from him like lava from a volcano.
The fall out sprays into the air, his admission warping our plans while adding more difficulty to our mission.
The odds are already not in our favor.
Vander steps toward him as though to cuff him upside the head, but stops with his hand held shoulder height. He grabs Jumoke’s scruff and asks in a low, deadly voice.
We hear it clear as day, even with the turbulent airflow.
“Why didn’t you say something before?”
Jumoke’s face crumples for half a second before he pulls his uncaring mask back on.
“She doesn’t want me. I don’t want to settle down. Neither of us wants mates. We’re not built for it.”
“The pranks on you, asshole. You’re getting her out. Tonight. Kwame, you and I will follow Jumoke. Seeck, stay on big boy’s heels. Time to drop.”
Without hesitation, Vander releases Jumoke and sprints out the opposite door. I step forward, not bothering with theatrics.
Air just as epic as within the aircraft rushes past me, except the howl of it dispersing around metal ceases. The ground grows closer, and I prepare for impact.
My feet hit swirling sand, but before my momentum sucks them further down, I roll forward. A few feet away from my initial contact, I pop up and run, following the direction the Sky-Flyer was heading.
A figure emerges from a cloud of sand a little further down the path, Seeck’s flaming hair catching the sun’s glimmering rays. As the bottom of the sun sinks
beyond the horizon, green and purple flames explode on our right, miles away.
A few seconds later, the sounds of a collision fills the air.
About ten seconds later, a second kaleidoscopic explosion fills the skyline to our left.
Before the sound of the crash reaches us, the Sky-Flyer we just jumped out of impacts its target.
I push harder against the sand, catching up to Seeck, Vander and Jumoke to our left as they sprint in the same direction. Kwame’s lithe figure forces its way forward in front of us, the lucky bastard the last one out of the Sky-Flyer.
By the time we reach the site of the crash, the combustibles have eaten away all metals, leaving a gaping hole where an escape hatch used to be. Lingering particles continue to work their way further down the shaft, their greenish glow otherworldly.
Not bothering to slow my stride, I lunge into the tunnel, snatching my laser blaster out of its holster. The floor shakes as more Sky-Flyers bomb the facility, but I ignore the percussion and rush down the hall.
Seeck’s boots pound behind me, and I know he’s on my six as firm as a pair of tighty whities.
We’ve brought weapons this mission. A buttload of weapons, a tiny first aid kit, and a closed-circuit encrypted tracking device, but nothing else. Kwame’s mate, Britani, has been added to our loop, so no matter what happens, we’ll be able to find each other.
We wear no bullet proofing. No stealth items. This is a turn and burn. A snatch and run.
Alarms blare, but I block out the sound and focus on where my link tells me to go. Even as we turn corners over and over again, I keep track of our position, knowing we’ll have to either retrace our steps or forge our way out.
A pack of people rush around the corner, their fear obvious. Not an ounce of pity enters me, the scents wafting off them murdering any hope of their survival. Each one of them carries the smell of torture and fear.
Three trigger pulls later, eight men lay in a heap on the floor, their carcasses smoldering. I bound over them, intent on reaching my lifemate.
She isn’t responding. I know she’s still alive, but pain and terror no longer reverberate along the line.
Down the next hallway, Alphas move in and out of doors, entering rooms empty-handed, exiting with huge crates stacked between them. One sees me and shouts, his call ending as abruptly as it began. I squeeze the trigger again, the beam of light flying through the hole in his head and running through the next two men’s necks like a hot knife slicing through butter.
