Untouched Omega (Alpha Elite Series Book 4) Read online

  His fist cracks against my head just before I spring forward, barreling my skull into his sternum, mimicking his movement from earlier.

  As we freefall toward the hard floor, my senses pick up a distressing signal.

  Amidst our cloud of angry testosterone and lethal aggression, her stunned feminine shock stands as a stark reminder of our differences.

  Vander’s hard muscles and sturdy bones do little to soften my impact with the floor. His elbow connects with my temple, his rage taking a backseat to survival instincts and years of training.

  As we both growl through the pain of landing, we lash out with quick jabs, causing the scent of our blood to strengthen and mingle with the cloud of aggression around us. His nose leaks crimson while trickles of warmth trail from my right temple and busted lip, but the worst culprit is the slice above my hip. A red patch soaks through my layers of clothes, yet the cut doesn’t hurt as much as my new injuries.

  With an unexpected maneuver, Vander’s knee knocks the wind out of me before he shoves me off him.

  Prepared to roll to my feet, I snarl as massive boots block my way.

  Dirk’s soft yet menacing words hold multiple meanings, warning being the most prevalent.

  “Look at her.”

  As though pulled by gravity, my eyes turn to her.

  Her ashen face and clenched jaw betray her attempts to appear unaffected, the dilation of her pupils showing large black pools of terror.

  Yet all I get from our link is the normal vague disconnect.

  Her muscles quake so hard her body rattles against the wall behind her back, pain apparent in her thinned lips.

  In unison, Vander and I sober, the cloud of aggression and anger retracting as though we’ve inhaled it, leaving nothing but masculine pheromones hanging in the air. The potent smell cannot be helped, but knowing other males’ scents will linger in my den makes me want to rampage.

  Except the trembling Omega in the corner looks fit to crumble to pieces, even as her mask settles over her face.

  Her pupils stay large, but her lips and jaw lose their tenseness. Still pale, she finally turns her head and meets my gaze.

  Tempered though her misery is, it punches me in the gut. Guilt spears through me.

  Which makes a wave of anger wash through my emotions, my cells heating in response.

  I want to comfort her.

  I can’t.

  Usually a scuffle with a teammate releases enough testosterone to cool me down.

  Not this time. I feel more worked up.

  Unable to stand the situation any longer, I push to my feet and stomp from the room, heading back outside.

  I’m too volatile to be around people right now.

  Chapter Five

  Anastasia

  Breathe in.

  Hold tight to the echoes of wailing, hearty and lively. Use the beautiful sounds of the purest of innocence to temper the acid eating away at my veins, the pheromones present in every inhale too potent to ignore.

  Breathe out.

  Remember each minute detail, every feature, each bittersweet moment spent together before my inevitable failures arrived. Stroke, pet, and embrace the dried husks protruding from my heart, treating them as I longed to do before my inadequacies caused them to fade away.

  Use the pain I’ve been enduring for years to buffer the new agony.

  A heavy silence blankets the room, my shaky breaths interrupting what could be quiet so heavy it would seem otherworldly.

  Inhale.

  Exhale.

  The pain in my shoulder pierces across my back and runs down my spine, making every breath a trial. It hammers through my ribs and infects every organ within.

  Yet the ache in my abdomen is worse. Weary muscles and hollow bones support foul tissues too afflicted for their current state. Battered, bruised, and ill-used organs pulse and contract, reacting to my surroundings. Tools too sick to realize their attempts at usefulness are futile. Plagued devices too defective to stop trying despite their numerous defeats.

  My hips ache, the thick skin along my lower abdomen pulling with every dejected throb of my insides.

  Dread writhes in my soul as my lower back pounds in response to my uterus’ heavy tensing, the familiar pain worse than normal.

  This cannot happen, yet it was destined to occur.

  Biology cannot be denied.

  I’ve never been exposed to such potent Alpha pheromones before, for good reason.

  I must recover quickly, explain the situation, and accept whatever they decide.

  There is no way to undo what has been done.

  I will do as I must to survive another day.

  And pray I haven’t doomed Jumoke to the worst of fates.

  Or ruined the lives of these other healthy individuals.

  Chapter Six

  Vander

  I feel like a heartless asshole, standing here and watching her struggling to her feet without offering to help.

  If her words are true, and her scent tells me they are, then I’d be an idiot to tempt fate and move close to her.

  The panic she just pulled herself out of, by her own bootstraps, might I add, hadn’t been feigned.

  Nor are her signs of pain.

  It chafes to hold back my Alpha instincts, the ones demanding I protect and help the weaker dynamic. As awful as her clothes smell, they cannot completely mask the allure of her Omega markers.

  I’ve met my lifemate, her spicy scent forever branded in my mind, yet still the urge to conquer this unclaimed, vulnerable Omega pulls at me.

  I want to punch Jumoke in the face again, just to relieve a bit more frustration, but I know it would do no good. Seeing this woman’s horrified expression and deep agony at our violent display curbs my urge to chase down Jumoke.

  She makes it to her feet, one shoulder tucked tight against her side while her other palm braces her against the wall. Leaning in the corner for a moment, she meets my eyes.

  Her breaths, though shallow, even out as I watch her iron will clamp down on her expression of pain.

  “I’ll gather everyone in the cockpit,” Dirk’s clenched jaw makes his words sound harsh. Shya clings to the doorjamb, her unease making her tremble as she waits for her lifemate to cross the room. Once he reaches her, he gathers her to his chest, turning them so he’s blocking her from the orange-eyed Omega.

  “Dirk, stop,” she squeaks, trying to slide around him so she can see Jumoke’s lifemate.

  “Anastasia isn’t bad. She’s good. She helped me.” Her feminine voice shakes, the stress of the last few minutes apparent in every word. Yet, the stern, pleading tone brooks no argument. She will be heard.

  “I know, Little One.” Dirk’s massive finger tucks Shya’s golden hair behind her ear.

  “I want to help her,” she states, large shimmering pink eyes shining up to beg her huge lifemate.

  “Shya.”

  The surprisingly strong yet gentle voice comes from the corner of the room. Dirk pivots so Shya may see Anastasia, but tightens his hold on the leaning Omega.

  “You have helped me. Thank you, sweet soul. Listen to your lifemate. Distance your body from mine. I am not safe.”

  Dirk’s stillness sharpens my senses, and when I turn my attention to the invisible bonds between them, I stand as stationary as Dirk.

  Shya’s eyes snap from pink to grey, the agitation in her emotions flatlining.

  The pain-riddled, miserable Omega forcing herself to stand as regal as a queen soothes Shya with such gentle love a lump forms in my throat.

  A lump forms in my throat.

  What the fucking hell.

  Her tender, motherly comfort makes me want to weep at its pure beauty.

  Locking the emotions into a dense ball, I swallow it down and force myself to analyze the situation.

  She’s dangerous, yes, but her current actions aren’t feigned. Her calm assurance pulls Shya from her angst, which settles her into a malleable bundle of Omega. Dirk scoops his lifemate into his arms. He turns wide blue eyes to Anastasia, perusing her face for a moment before the startled look fades from his expression.

  “Thank you, Anastasia.”

  “My pleasure. She’s precious, Dirk. I’m glad she found such a fierce protector.”

  Dirk opens his mouth to say something, the emotions rolling from him a jumbled mess, but he only nods and moves down the hall.

  Turning back to Anastasia, I understand his decision. Her usual stern expression has returned, the aura of dark misery hidden behind a look of disapproval. “I am prepared to speak with everyone,” she claims, despite the shaking of her body.

  I can’t stop the scoff any more than I can help her stand.

  “How about you take another moment? Either sit back on the floor or settle in this chair,” I say, snatching up the empty seat, walking across the room, and placing it a few feet from her. Scooting it with my foot, it stops sliding just before it hits her knees.

  Glancing from the chair to me, she says nothing. After a moment, she reaches out with her uninjured arm and turns the seat, lowering herself with an unnatural amount of grace.

  The wave of pain wafting from her makes me grit my teeth, causing my head to throb.

  Fucking Jumoke. I clobbered my head on the floor when he tackled me. My entire chest pounds from being squished between him and the hard surface, plus my nose hurts like hell.

  On that note, I should clean up before heading to the cockpit.

  When she shifts to sit further back in the chair, a pathetic noise slips from her lips. My feet lurch forward, my instincts driving me to help her, while another odd sensation spears through me.

  As though scrambled by an outside source, my heart goes haywire, things turning upside down and confusing the hell out of
me.

  Halting in place, I search for the reason, the almost painful tugging snapping my attention to the unseen.

  Damn it, she picks now to fuck with me?

  As quickly as it began, the sensation fades, leaving a vague disgust at my actions. Stepping back to where I was before almost giving in to my instincts, I blink a few times, trying to find my bearings.

  Eyes with weary creases at the edges stare up at me as she watches me with an unreadable look. I get the impression she guards important knowledge, yet I also know her defenses won’t budge.

  A warm drop of liquid lands on my arm, blood dripping off my chin. I weigh my options before I speak.

  “Don’t move until I come back.”

  Not bothering to wait for her response, I stalk from the room, working the pain from my joints with each step. The throbbing in my chest lessens as I make my way down the hallway, but the pain in my head and nose increase.

  The weird, upended feeling in my heart still lingers, making me sharpen my attention on my surroundings, my hackles riding high.

  Opening my door as softly as I can despite my agitation, knowing several females on board wouldn’t react well to loud, sudden noises, I cross my dark room to the hygiene bay. Turning on the light, I look in the mirror and survey the damage.

  Cracking my nose back into place, I let the flood of crimson gush into the sink. Breathing through the agony pulsing through my head, I wait for the bleeding to stop. It doesn’t take but a moment, so I turn on the water and wash my face.

  The hairs stand up on the back of my neck. Flinging water across the room, I spin and check the dark corners.

  No one.

  The feeling of being watched lingers, even as my eyes prove I’m the only one here. With quiet steps I move along the wall until I’ve touched every corner in the room. My face and hands drip, the water no longer warm. Confirming there aren’t any hidden people or electronics, I return to the sink and finish washing.

  It’s her, messing with our lifemating bond again.

  Drying my face, I steady my breaths and firm my resolve.

  One problem at a time.

  Compartmentalize. This experience needs to be filed away so I can focus on more pressing matters. It goes in the box of weird happenings.

  Prioritize. Our position has been protected against spying. Between putting the Sky-Flyer in stealth mode and setting out the blockers, no electronic communication can reach here.

  Whatever just happened wasn’t a threat. The Omega in the other room needs to be dealt with first.

  Checking my clothes for any stains, I decide to change even though there aren’t any. Jumoke’s scent clings to me, which means my aggression probably lingers too.

  Dressed in clean clothes, I head back to Jumoke’s den, hoping the hothead has gotten his shit together.

  Anastasia sits where I left her. Color has returned to her face, the white pallor of shock faded. She still holds her arm to her, but not as stiff as before.

  She meets my gaze.

  “Ready?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I’ll follow you.”

  It hurts to see her in pain. Gritting my teeth, I wait as she moves with slow, deliberate motions, standing with difficulty.

  We’re the last to arrive.

  Chapter Seven

  Anastasia

  Instead of entering, I continue past the door, turning to look at Vander once I’ve left plenty of space for him to traverse into the room safely.

  After a long, silent moment of close perusal, he slips past without a word.

  Taking a stilted breath, I use the pain in my decrepit body to strengthen my defenses.

  I step into the silent room, checking everyone’s placement to note the largest empty area.

  Distance is best.

  Finding most of the occupants on the right side, I move to the left, standing near the corner.

  Every Alpha in the room holds an aura of deadliness, their presence just as shocking and intense as the first time I stood in this room with them. There were more people before, but the crowd did little to hide the way they held their bodies. Their eyes don’t look at things, they seem to see through objects, understanding the history, intended purposes, and most lethal ways to use them.

  Perhaps that was a reason I held back my explanation. A part of me expected them to recognize what I am without me having to say a word.

  I was wrong.

  So were they. They refused to see the danger lurking behind my Omega façade.

  Best to clear up any confusion.

  There are people whose names I know only because I overheard Vander address them. I’ve only introduced myself to a few of them.

  Marvelous. A place to begin.

  My shoulder spasms, sending a wave of agony through my entire body. Firming my muscles after the initial barrage of pain, I wait no longer.

  “My name is Anastasia. I have a contagion, an infectious particle in my DNA. It infects others via direct contact, either through touching my skin or handling my blood. Symptoms begin one to four hours after initial contact, resulting in death anywhere from two to seventy-two hours from time symptoms begin”

  The horror blasting from the female occupants of the room causes a chain reaction, yet no one moves to interrupt me. Hackles rise, Alphas pull their Omegas closer, and tension fills every crevice of the room. Jumoke’s stance doesn’t change, but his anger seems doused by concentration.

  I continue. Prolonging the inevitable would be cruel.

  “Symptoms typically begin with a headache, sore muscles, and general malaise. Duration times vary, but symptoms worsen. Vomiting, diarrhea, fever, and swelling accompany a painful rash. As the skin infection grows, internal organs fail. Survival rate of those infected equals zero.”

  Silence blankets the cockpit, the controls not even daring to make noise as the weight of my words sinks into my audience.

  Refusing to give way to my body’s injuries, I stand tall and unmoving, giving them time to assess the predicament.

  Of course, the Alpha requiring the most effort to keep distanced speaks first.

  Jumoke’s explosive words are combative, but there are reasons for everything.

  “Why did you come with me, then? When I opened your cell door, why didn’t you say something? Why the hell did you come willingly?”

  I take a deep breath, meeting his eyes and infusing every word with as much gentleness as I can manage.

  “The enraged male who busted down my locked door was not open to discussion. What would you have done if I had refused you?”

  The silent room seems suspended in time, utter stillness permeating every muscle. Knowing I have everyone’s full attention, I lay my weakness out for them to see.

  “You would have reached for me, touched me. You would have died. You would have taken me, then lost your life in the most excruciating and wasteful way. I cannot, Jumoke. I cannot be the reason another soul shrivels and dies. I will not be the downfall of another being, especially not you.”

  His furrowed brows rise, one settling higher than the other.

  Tons of emotions flicker through his eyes, skepticism squeezing through them and taking a prominent position.

  He sucks a breath in through his nose, the cock of his eyebrow and waves of disbelief emanating from him making his stance on the matter obvious. Before he can speak, Vander intercedes.

  “How many have been affected?”

  I’m glad for the logical, straightforward, yet neutrally worded question.

  Not how many have died, nor how many have been murdered.

  How many affected. Medical terms for a medical issue.

  Yet, even with his diplomatic word choice, he may as well have stabbed me through the heart. The answer plagues me constantly.

  “Twenty-seven.”

  The smell of salty liquid yanks my focus to Shya. Her perch on Dirk’s lap allows her the opportunity to hide her face, but she makes no effort to conceal her emotions. Electric pink eyes leak tears, the sorrow in her heart overflowing and expressing things I’ve never allowed myself to show others.