Untouched Omega (Alpha Elite Series Book 4) Read online

  The accusation in his voice does little to stop my tactics, for even though he sounds unhappy, I sense the way he soaks up my efforts.

  His vibrant soul absorbs my comfort with gusto, the energetic quality of his life force difficult to endure amidst my decay. I funnel more gentle coaxing into him, using the only weapon I have against his vitality.

  “I am requesting you give me space. Please, Jumoke,” I implore him, staying statue-still.

  He groans as another shiver wracks his body, but I feel the heat of his hulking form dissipate from my back as he moves away.

  “Don’t say my name with that sexy plea unless you want me to take you against the table. I swear to fucking hell, I don’t know what game you’re playing, but I’m not one to deny myself.”

  The wet slap of drenched fabric hitting the floor makes my stomach lurch. With his husky voice and provocative scent battering my senses, it hurts to stay facing the wall.

  A chair scrapes against the floor before it creaks as his weight settles on it.

  My mind supplies a visual. Shirtless, water droplets dripping from his hair and running down his chest, the roguish male would look all too enticing as he unlaces his boots.

  Unlocking my muscles, I wrap my arms around the mostly empty box. Before I can lift it, a solid thump denotes his first boot landing on the floor.

  I clench my eyes closed as a wave of longing sweeps through my veins. On its heels, depression and dismay swell and douse the want.

  His second boot hits the floor.

  I lift the box.

  “Where are you going?”

  His voice almost hides the sound of his movements, but I know he’s shucked off his socks when a wet slap rings through the air.

  “To finish my task.”

  “I thought we needed to talk.”

  The chair squeaks as he stands.

  Retreating into my sorrow, I relax my features and find the home I’ve created for myself and my failures.

  “We shall do so once you are less indisposed.”

  His belt buckle clicks as he pulls the leather free.

  “You don’t want to stay for the show?”

  Turning toward the door, I keep my eyes trained on my destination.

  I do. I want to stay. Never before have I been presented with the opportunity to see an Alpha in all his glory.

  Yet to watch would be foolish.

  And futile.

  I nearly collide with a mountain of muscle as Shya’s lifemate steps into the doorway.

  A spike of adrenaline jerks me backward, a squeak preceding the gut-wrenching slide of my shoe as Jumoke’s trail of water denies me traction, making me slip. As gravity pulls me backward, I toss the food box toward the huge Alpha, trusting he’ll catch it.

  Nausea boils in my guts as the world shifts, the apprehension of landing on the floor a keen misery.

  Too in tune with the half-clad male darting across the room, I tuck my arms and chin against my chest. Curling away from his intent hands, I narrowly avoid his attempt to catch me.

  A blast of agony explodes through my left shoulder and hip, sucking the breath from my lungs.

  Despite being aware of both men's lack of want to hurt me, familiar terror seizes my mind as I register masculine forms hovering over me.

  Neither have masks or protective gear covering them, a shocking difference from my past experiences.

  The change does not lessen my fear. In fact, another tide of horror overwhelms me.

  When thick fingers reach closer, I cringe and roll away, choking with pain.

  Tightening my abdominals, I force oxygen into my lungs as I settle onto my back, staring up at Jumoke’s shocked face. My bones feel bruised from the hard floor, but the need to separate myself from them overrules the pain.

  “No.” My agony vibrates through my voice, the unexpected events uprooting my resolve.

  Heaving for a few moments, I realize my gloved hands hover over my shoulders, the palms facing away from my body, an unconscious plea for him to stop.

  His bare foot steps closer, making panic prolong my ragged breathing. I scoot further away, my heels propelling my prone body along the smooth floor.

  “No closer, Alpha. Stay away,” I croak, still fighting the explosions of pain from hitting the floor. When he leans nearer, I angle the top of my head toward the corner of the room and push away, wincing as more aches make themselves known.

  Shya appears beside her mate, large pink eyes flitting between us. Her eyebrows scrunch before her fingers dig into Dirk’s shirt.

  When she uses invisible efforts to check my well-being, I clench down on my defenses, protecting her as I always have. Except, for half a second, my usual control eludes me and I shove away her care, my reaction too harsh for such a gentle soul.

  Immediately repulsed by my own actions, I caress her heart in apology, even as I shake through my misfortune.

  Sensing her Alpha’s presence in her heart, I veer away from the side throbbing with their link. I meet his eyes, repentant for the hurt I’ve caused his mate, the hard edge around his eyes softening. Before I can react to the residual concern residing within his clear blue eyes, a warning growl fills the air.

  “You’d ask Dirk for help, but run away from me?”

  Jumoke’s livid visage dips closer, his furious movements making petrifying fear burst through my veins. Unrelenting fingers wrap around my covered bicep, crushing the muscle against bone. More agony spears into my shoulder.

  Fear rules my instincts. The sole of my shoe embeds itself into his stomach, my unexpected kick knocking the wind out of him. Already pulling me off the ground, he jerks backward, causing my torso to lift and the back of my head to smack the floor. Whiplash pierces my neck and spine, and my vision goes blurry.

  Sharp motion hovers just within comprehension as sounds of anger penetrate the buzzing in my ears, but as though miles away.

  When the ringing and confusion lessen, I do as I must when dazed.

  I hold tight to my memories, paying homage to the wreckage I’ve left in my wake, smoothing theoretical hands over the broken stems protruding from my heart.

  Except this time upon awakening, heavy numbness does not block out whatever pain my body holds. The smell of sharp disinfectants and metallic instruments waft only from my clothes, not permeating from every direction.

  This time, there’s no new emptiness. No new brokenness.

  Yet there might be soon.

  I haven’t washed. Haven’t changed clothes. Haven’t properly warned them.

  Closed in my world of misery and mourning, I don’t register my words until they’ve already left my mouth. The entire world stands stagnant, shock stealing their motion.

  His voice breaks the stunned silence.

  “WHAT?! You’re contagious? Sick? Lethal? Why the hell weren’t those the first goddamn words out of your mouth?”

  Another sharp motion, my mind supplying the visual even if my eyes refuse to focus. Dirk’s big boot connects with Jumoke’s shoulder, kicking the kneeling Alpha over. Jumoke hits the ground only to hop to his feet.

  The potent growls filling the room scatter my hold on the corporeal world, my desire to protect the fragile memories hidden in my soul too important to relax for any portion of time.

  Different voices break through the chaos, changing the atmosphere, reminding me the dangers of leaving my hollow frame defenseless.

  Echoes of foreign sensation snap my awareness to my body, forcing my attention to widen to the punishing floor beneath me and the discordant noises jabbing my eardrums.

  My arm hurts from his hand.

  Shaking begins deep in my ribcage, panic growing. Fighting through layers of pain, I demand my eyes to work, taking in the situation I shouldn’t have ignored.

  Jumoke stands with clenched fists and turbulent fire in his eyes, staring at the oldest Alpha. Other individuals peer through the doorway, but only myself, Vander, and Jumoke remain in the room.

  No one mo
ves. No one speaks.

  Quakes vibrate my chest, my gasps signaling the onslaught of a terrifying break down.

  One thought takes hold, my constant internal tribute supporting my frantic thought.

  “Shower.”

  Force air in.

  “Now.”

  Stilted breath out.

  “Jumoke.”

  Jagged in and out.

  “Shower.”

  Broken inhale.

  “NOW!”

  My throat hurts with the intensity of my shout. I don’t understand why he isn’t moving.

  He must wash, right now.

  A tear drips down my right temple, the warm wetness something I haven’t felt in over a decade. It’s so foreign I can’t process the magnitude of its significance.

  When he bursts into movement, a measure of calm returns to me.

  Maybe he’ll be okay.

  He’s strong. There was a barrier.

  Maybe he’ll be okay.

  Chapter Four

  Jumoke

  Uncaring of the audience, I shuck the rest of my clothes off. Her words ring through my head, and in a moment of caution, I toss my pants into the trash chute before rushing to the shower stall.

  Fuck, that single tear…

  Smashing the button for the harshest cycle, I grit my teeth and suffer through a disinfectant spray. As tons of soap accost me, I scrub my hands with vigor, ignoring the stinging of my cuts, hoping to stem whatever made her cry.

  Her formal façade from our first meeting hid too much. She hid too much.

  Dammit, I don’t like this.

  The terror and sorrow in that one tear threatens to rip my heart in two.

  The pull to comfort her, to gather her in my arms and shelter her from the world…

  Is that from the lifemating bond? Or from me?

  I’ve been resentful of the lifemating concept ever since Seeck found Nova, even though I’ve never wanted to settle down. Each new development has compounded my frustration. With the issues piling up and creating a solid defense around my heart, I thought I was prepared to deny her.

  Yet seeing her sprawled on the floor, accepting what must have been excruciating pain with such a stoic expression.

  I hate this.

  I want to save her from everything.

  How the hell am I supposed to save her from herself?

  Shit, just glimpsing the shape of her legs as she slid along the floor, her gown hiked above mid-thigh from her fall, had made my cock rock hard.

  The sweet feminine scent revealed along with her shape had blasted through my skull, alighting every nerve in my body. I had almost lunged forward and ripped her stockings from her, desperate for a closer sniff.

  Except her agony had tainted the air.

  Was there something else as well? Something I’d missed?

  When I’d first barged into her cell, I hadn’t noticed any smell of sickness, but then again, the entire facility smelled of misery and decay.

  I sift through my memory of her scent from just now, the pleasure lingering in my nostrils.

  Astringent disinfectant. An echo of surgical equipment—harsh metallic scents and potent medicines. Acrid fear. Bitter sadness.

  Pushing those aside, I pinpoint the oddity. A foul, hungry thing, unnatural and rotten.

  How had I missed it?

  Duh, chaos.

  I’d been too wrapped up in my own shit, too worried about the bigger picture to focus on something so abstract.

  She’s telling the truth.

  She’s sick.

  Rage roars in my soul, the tiny flicker of hope I’d harbored of getting my own lifemate shredding to pieces.

  Such shit.

  This feels like a trap.

  One I refuse to walk away from.

  When the shower finally swaps to water, I scrub until every trace of soap is gone, not daring to open my eyes until I know it’s rinsed off my face. Watching the last of the suds swirl down the drain, I can’t help but relate to the foam.

  It can’t stop being pulled by gravity, sucked down the drain to be eliminated.

  My gravity?

  The Omega with no sense of humor. The female too dangerous to touch. The woman I’ll never walk away from.

  You’d think I’d learn from my teammate's mistakes, but here I am, in the thick of it, without knowing her name.

  What a dunce.

  I can see why this seems to be a pattern, though.

  Even though she’s done nothing but lock me out and hide from me, I feel as though I know her. As though she’s the part of me I can’t breathe without.

  The water shuts off. Hot air blasts across my skin, and I don’t hold back the profanities aimed at the cursed temperature.

  The desert was cooler.

  Did my hair scorch and burst into flames?

  No?

  Sure feels like it.

  Shaking out my hands when the torturous dry cycle ends, I grumble and run my fingers through my hair, trying to smooth out the frizz.

  My senses snap to alertness, feeling someone approaching. Through the tempered shower glass and residual fog, Vander’s bulk moves close enough for me to identify him via his salt-and-pepper hair.

  I yank open the shower door just in time to get hit in the face with a bundle of clothes.

  “Get dressed in there. You’ve shown enough of your ass for the day,” Vander snaps, slamming the door and stomping away.

  Looks like I’m not the only one pissed.

  Stemming the urge to roll my eyes, I pull my shirt on, the fabric highlighting how sensitized my skin has become. The usually soft material scratches my abused flesh, my pores unhappy with the intense heat.

  Wait, I’m complaining about a shower? I just got knifed, swam in the frigid ocean, and climbed a cliff wearing sopping clothes with the cold wind pummeling me.

  I check the hand I grabbed her with, not seeing any new blemishes or sensing any weird changes.

  I shrug and pull on the rest of my clothes. A twinge in my shoulder makes me pause, but the faint sensation fades faster than a heartbeat, so I file the information away but keep moving.

  Pushing open the shower door, the room’s somber ambiance washes over me.

  Vander sits in a chair near the little table, the back flush with the wall, his laced fingers propping up his chin while his elbows rest on his knees. The calculating look on his face tells me he’s working hard to solve this new puzzle, but I feel no relief.

  He can’t fix this situation any more than he can correct the nonsense going on with his own lifemate.

  Movement near the corner of the room snags my attention, a pair of slim legs the only part of her visible, since the hygiene bay wall and food storage block my view of a small sliver of the room. The portion near where she fell.

  She shifts again, her tiny heels pushing her further out of sight.

  By the time I step where I can see all of her, she’s propped her shoulders on the wall, half-sitting half-lying in the corner.

  Even though a cloud of pain surrounds her, her expression remains neutral, the creases around her eyes the only hint she’s suffering.

  I fight the tightness in my gut, but it spreads through me, infecting every part of my body, including my toes. The cold, hard floor does nothing to deter me from curling the digits so hard every joint in each foot pops.

  The noise pulls her attention to me, her black pupils pushing the orange irises into smaller rings, another sign of her pain. Despite the hazy quality of her eyes, she’s forcing her body to move, an instinctual awareness of her surroundings demanding she get out of the vulnerable position on the floor.

  My leg steps forward of its own accord, my tie to her pulling me closer, begging to help her.

  She sacrifices a struggling arm to ward me off, my advance clearing some of the fuzziness from her eyes. Her gloved palm motions for me to halt, her shaky fingers a few inches away from her body. While her forearm angles toward me, her upper arm stays tucked
against her side.

  Guarding her shoulder.

  Fuck, she must have injured herself.

  Protecting me.

  A bitter taste permeates my mouth, the realization making me so angry I bite my tongue to keep from roaring.

  This new notion gives me a deeper glimpse into her psyche. I’m not comfortable with what I sense.

  She isn’t moving her battered body to stop herself from getting hurt again.

  She’s moving further away from us so we don’t get hurt.

  Us. Myself and Vander.

  Big.

  Macho.

  Alphas.

  Lethal killing machines.

  Kept safe by an Omega.

  From an Omega.

  Understanding her motives only cranks my fury to epic heights. Too many emotions battle for supremacy within me. Common sense tells me not to engage with her right now.

  I can’t find my normal sense of humor.

  Usually I can laugh at even the most morbid of situations. This one hits too many buttons.

  Biting my tongue harder, I stomp to the wardrobe and finish dressing. When I turn back around, she’s sitting in the corner with both hands in her lap, one on top of the other. Pale orange eyes, as clear as the brightly lit sky at sunset, peer at me with such resolve my stomach lurches in response to my resulting churning emotions.

  She holds her body rigid regardless of the shaking so obviously trying to take over her small frame.

  Vander drops his arms and sits up, the chair creaking as his weight shifts.

  Damn, that chair is loud. Or maybe the room is just that quiet.

  Before he can say anything, she speaks.

  “I will explain to everyone. Please allow me a few more minutes to recover. I wish no harm to any of you.”

  A snarl leaves me, her words mocking me in ways I can’t process. Even with Vander’s sharp look and her face going ashen, I can’t stop the fury rolling through me.

  “You “wish no harm”? What a load of shit! If you were-”

  Vander’s knuckles slam into my jaw, reminding me of our recent scuffle. My booted foot reacts as explosions of pain blast through my skull, snapping forward to kick Vander’s shin. His huff of pain mingles with the detonation of agony in my left side, his secondary punch rearranging my insides.

  Grabbing his retreating wrist, I suck in a much-needed breath and prepare for impact. Focusing on his cold expression, my periphery tracks his reddened knuckles’ approach. Seconds before he punches my jaw again, I yank his other wrist and crouch low, not ducking to escape his blow, but to disrupt his balance.