บท 76: Beginning of Chapter 25
Rue
There was something wrong with her, and there was something wrong with those fucking drugs.
Because Rue was hot, then cold, pressed against the ceramic tiles, head against the seat—too fucking icy. She was shaking through gasps, arms wrapped around herself. The world was spinning miserably—unrelenting, bouncing lights and scattered attention shimmering. Her eyes were all glazed, her body heaving, her breath too loud and then too quiet.
Heat licked at the edges of her, rushing up her spine, throbbing between her legs, wanting.
And with it came the hypersensitivity, the rush of feeling that she had squashed down with a dose of deadly suppressants every morning. A white tablet downed with water, bitter aftertaste over her palate. And now burning through her system, trying its best to quell the heat, was the powdery remains of the drug that could barely amount to half a pill.
She must have gone through it all in a matter of minutes because before now she was all sensitive.
Her nose was working right through the mint, bypassing the spicy wads she'd stuffed into each nostril. And she was blown back by the trickle of sickening acrid pheromones, perfumed thick in the air like a mark of territory slathered across the ground, like piss sprayed wild from a dog.
It was a scent that waddled in the sea of foreign smells from the orgy just three doors down. And for Rue who'd not smelled another for so damn fucking long, it was a putrid stench that made acid bubble up her throat. Her body rumbled over the sudden influx, and then she was gagging over the bowl.
But under all that smell of sex was something quite different.
A pack, her Omega quietly reminded her, softly tracing the scent. It was that godly twist that traced the lines of territory. The most powerful smell that meandered in that sickening sea. It was a concoction that smelt so fucking delicious that drool formed at the corner of her lips and her thighs were shaking, slick puddling under her thighs just from a mere whiff of it—
An expletive-ladened pause and she was hurtling to her feet.
Her hands reached, grasped at bags and pulled at zippers. Rue had no choice. There was nothing she could do at this point except to protect herself. And her things bounced free from her bag. Methods of protection—blockers, sprays, fake scents, herbs.
She stuffed more into her crevices, ripped open bottles, and slathered her body in liquids and chemicals. Then poured the rest all over the space with trembling hands. It bubbled, slipping down her skin, burned on her glands, hurting her, piercing her Omega. And she muffled a cry, calmed once the smells were dulled, and the pain allowed for clarity to return to her mind.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
She was so fucking uncomfortable, back aching, skin damp. The friction of clothes rubbing against her skin seemed to tear into her nipples and scald her flesh. And suddenly the sheets on the bed were what she had her eyes on. The bed that Halcyon had gotten for an Omega, smooth glided silk, bundles of soft pillows and fabrics. Hundreds of little toy bunnies. And her hands were fidgeting, her body throbbing. She wanted softness, wanted calm. She began picking, twisting pillows, digging nails through the fluff, and plucking at corners. Rue pressed them around her, made borders and dips, softer spots to lie on. And then she stopped, horror skating across her face.
She was building a fucking nest on the carcass of Halcyon's fucking soft toys. And pressed to her lips was Halcyon's pillow, nuzzled against her cheek. Despite the blockers she'd sprayed all over the room, she felt as if she could smell him. The honeyed gold drench of musk, of sweetness, dipped in salt. Rue knelt, sniffed hard, and traced her nose over the surface of his bed. Her mouth lapped at spots that smelt the strongest, licking and tasting the traces of Halcyon, and then she reared back, terrified.
His clothes were in her nest, torn and shredded into spots. The softer bits under her thighs, pressed to her core. And his scent was there, she could almost taste it despite the cleanse of laundry soap, and the press of steam. She felt as if she could smell him, so delicious that her mouth watered for the real thing.
She was going fucking insane.
Cold sweat seeped and beaded over her forehead and she trembled, eased back with horror, pussy licking, ready for a knot, ready to be fucked. Her fingers dipped into the sodden, swollen pussy, and a moan twisted from her throat. Rue hissed as the pleasure spiked, hot and painful. It tore through her, molten unfurling, lava roaring. It felt as if her body were angry that she'd tried to satisfy herself with her own hands instead of an Alpha. Tears welled in her eyes as she sagged, almost begging for relief, for something to fill her and squash the burn down, to press against her glands and milk her dry.
There was no doubt that Rue was going into Heat and if the peddler was right. Then the Heat was going to be hard. It was going to be fucking painful. Rue could die a painful, burning death. Only an Alpha could calm her, only a Poseidon with a fake dick could give her relief, and only a soulmate could bring her out of this—
Rue gasped, tears down her cheeks, wet and angry. How fucked up that she had to have this. That her Heat had arrived with more food in her belly and better health. That her nourishment would be her downfall. How fucked up that this had to happen just when she had everything under her fucking control. Her thoughts darted again and twitched back to problem-solving.
Poseidon. She needed a Poseidon. One that could turn himself into any dick and create a false penis that was in the shape of her soulmate's. The peddler had claimed that Poseidon could save her, and Rue had discovered that to be true in the articles that flooded the news.
A Poseidon would relieve her from this hell.
She had one, one writhing in Rut and buried between three other Alphas. To call on Seraphim would be to risk a certain form of death, to risk the wrath of four aliens born from the universe's most misogynistic of planets. Rue had no control over them, no true power aside from her ability to jest and outwit. She might be able to hold them down but it wouldn't take much for Dante to overpower her weakened body. Then milk her slick for his sick pleasure.
Seraphim might claim to love her, and Levi and Kieran might want her. But they could change their mind knowing she was Omega. They might toss her into the orgy at their feet, and simply watch her die. They killed their guides, after all, Alpha guides. So an Omega would be nothing to them. And one that they once believed to be Alpha? Why, they might snap her neck from the audacity of her actions.
They might kill her for her lies.
Or they could chain her up and impregnate her, have her reliant on cock due to her condition. They might exert their revenge and punish her for her actions. Seraphim would fuck his eggs into her body and she'd give birth to his deformed kids for the rest of her life. She'd lose herself completely, need him forever.
Perhaps, they'd call the authorities, as any decent student would. And that would send her straight to a facility, locked in jail. She'd lose her position in Hakon, her scholarship, her life, her mama's life. The government would find her an Alpha, and tie her down.
No, Rue couldn't use the Poseidon even if he were only three doors down and waiting to satisfy.
Her mind began twisting, blurring as the Heat throbbed, twitched and oozed through her body. It was only luck that the orgy was happening, that there were Omegas there in their Heats to muffle the smell of her that dripped from this room. And perhaps that would make her safe from them.
But she needed them, she needed them all.
Her hands were shaking, her body pressed to the bed, nest forming, shoddily made. And the mints were losing their grip on her nose, disintegrating with the heat of her body and suddenly she could smell herself, the reek of her fertility, no longer missing, no longer scentless as she'd always believed herself to be.
She was sweet.
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