Page 76 of Shared Omega

To my horror, I find my body acting against my will, moving with a strange, almost robotic precision. It is like I’m possessed—like I’ve become a puppet, and some demonic force is controlling my motions. The sensation is terrifying, and my stomach churns inside me.

With frightening quickness, I unwillingly raise my leg, and of its own accord my hand darts to grab the thin, steel dagger concealed in my boot. Another fraction of a second, and the weapon is drawn, its deadly razor edge flashing like cold lightning as it catches the light.

“No,” I gasp breathlessly.

What is happening to me? Why am I doing this?

Time seems to stretch out into slow motion. Lily’s eyes grow wide with fright, and her face blanches. In the background, I’m dimly aware of her Alphas moving forward to protect her, but they are too far away. The blade is already poised to be thrown. One quick flick of my arm and the blade will have flown and struck home.

I want to close my eyes, but the lids won’t shut. They are focused with laser intensity on their target, which is right between Lily’s breasts.

My muscles twitch. My arm begins its throw.

But at the last instant, a massive fist engulfs my wrist, arresting my swing and squeezing with a crushing pressure.

At the same time, a powerful arm coils around my neck, muscles flexing, cutting off the blood to my brain.

Warm breath tickles my ear.

“Sloane, I’m sorry.”

It’s Dog.

His voice is the last thing I hear.

The knife drops harmlessly from my crimped hand, but I don’t even hear it hit the floor before the world folds in on itself, and all that remains is endless darkness, silent and cold.

CHAPTER 23: SLOANE

I wake with a start.

At first I think I’m still inside the cathedral—there is the same kind of eerie reverberation in the air that tells me this is a vast empty space. But I soon realize this place is different.

Much different.

It is an enormous domed room, dark and cavernous, with high-tech metal paneling all over the rounded ceiling and walls. I glance down at my body and see that I’m completely naked, lying on some sort of pallet. The air is cold, but my body is beaded with sweat.

I try to sit up, but my muscles are weak and uncoordinated.

“Come quick,” someone calls out, “She’s awake.”

It’s Dog’s voice. The last sound I heard before I blacked out, and the first one I hear upon regaining consciousness. His voice is stern and militaristic as ever, but there is a clear note of concern.

As I struggle to sit up, his strong arm slides under my shoulders, supporting me. He places his other hand on my chest, over my heart.

“Easy,” he whispers. “Just relax, Sloane. Don’t strain yourself.”

I open my lips to try and ask what the hell is going on, but my mouth is dry, and the only sound that comes out is a rasping breath.

“She needs water,” Dog says.

I realize that he is talking to Truk, who is kneeling on the other side of me. His ugly-handsome face framed with golden blond hair is a welcome and comforting sight. He nods and runs off, presumably to fetch some water for me.

“Where…am I?” I croak.

Dog simply shushes me gently and lays me back onto the pallet.

There is a patter of running feet, and soon another figure leans over me, long strands of wavy auburn hair hanging down around an open, honest face filled with concern.