Page 21 of Generation Omega: Revealed
CHAPTER12
THATCHER
Against every instinct, I don’t fight the SWAT team that descends on me. There are too many. No, that’s not true. There are never too many to fight, only too many to defeat. In the absence of a possible win, I’m forced to make a split-second decision. Resist and give them cause to kill me on this stage or allow myself to be taken, delaying my inevitable death and inviting probable torture. The reason I choose to delay my end surprises me, but it shouldn’t. I don’t regret the choice even as my arms are wrenched behind me and metal handcuffs surround my wrists.
Sage’s piercing voice cuts through all other noise as she demands to know the meaning of this attack on a peaceful lecture. She carries herself like a queen, calling for the names of their leadership and insisting her lawyers be summoned. Sage also releases a string of threats, warning of terrible consequences if any of the attendees are harmed by this unwarranted police brutality.
Her voice, potent as it is, fades into the background as I remain bound in the middle of the heavily armed mob. I haven’t spoken to them since they attacked, not one word of protest, indignation, or even the confusion of an innocent man. I don’t know why I’m not adding to the cacophony—the omegees are certainly shrieking like delightful banshees as they stand against our enemies. Why am I not confronting them, and why is it suddenly impossible to understand my own reasoning, or lack thereof?
I reach for thoughts that abandon me, along with my ability to assess anything. I simply can’t think, which is problematic on many levels, but I can barely process even that.
Without my mind to guide me, I’m lost and vulnerable, a state my body fiercely rebels against. Adrenalin spikes within me and my muscles tense, the pounding of my pulse drowning out all sound around me. I’m abruptly aware of myself in a way that feels entirely unfamiliar, though that isn’t confusing at all.
For years, my physical form has been an afterthought, nothing but a carrier for my brain and my unending guilt. But now, all I can focus on is my own body. My feet in Italian shoes, the texture of the cashmere suit against my skin, the tightness of the tie around my neck—everything feels novel though none of it should. Time ceases to move as the entire landscape of the universe seems to live inside me.
If I could think, I’d reject the absurd conceit of my own self-importance, but as it stands, I have no option but to allow the ripples of this perception to flow through me. It’s almost as though some profound truth is seeking to evade my mind, while gaining purchase inside me, whether my body, my heart, or my soul. But why? Because my mind is my greatest defense or my most damaging liability? What truth wouldn’t favor the mind over the body, the birthplace of irrational passions and murderous impulses?
Whatever this is—whatever knowledge is seeking to breach my defenses—I’m confronted by two very different pulls. Impatience and resistance. Impatience for me to acknowledge the truth and resistance that’s entirely mine, my own desperate need to remain unchanged.
The mind can be outwitted, but the body will not be denied. Its needs must be met and I’m jarred by the awareness that I haven’t drawn a breath in minutes. Why? Why won’t I breathe? Nothing is preventing me and yet I hesitate as my vision wavers and darkness chases my consciousness. It makes no sense that suffocation is preferable to the life-giving force of oxygen.
Sage’s hostile tone, speaking my name, wrecks my concentration and I gasp a breath that irreparably changes my life.
Fresh orange and vanilla spice.
It’s on my lips, in my mouth, all the way to my lungs, definitely in my soul. It’s everywhere and it’s instantly the most important thing in my life. I will never forget my urge to resist its power, or my absolute surrender as I lick the divine flavor from my lips.
A lifetime of study—of actually believing I understood the power of an omega’s scent to her alpha—crumbles to dust. No historical reference or even firsthand account could instill what I comprehend after one breath and one taste of my omega’s fragrance.
My omega—those words are bare fists pummeling me from within, as a snarling beast awakens. No, not a snarling beast… analpha.
It’s already not what I thought, not the easy blooming of a flower. No, this is violence, the brazen stalk fracturing concrete and refusing to yield. A vine that smothers a castle. A ferocious, amoral being that understands the price of power will be paid by someone else.
I always believed omegas needed alphas to protect their tender spirits. That may still prove to be true, but I already know that alphas need omegas to ensure they remain human and humane, not instruments of callous destruction driven by their delight in breaking things.
I wish to break things, to break everything. Iwillbreak everything to reach my omega.
Finally, my mind ignites again, pelting me with data. My omega is female—sweet-scented omegas are always female. Male omegas emit just as compelling a fragrance, but theirs is always savory.
With the tiniest hint of her perfume—she won’t perfume in earnest until her pack is formed—I suddenly have a glimmer into the madness of the heat, the rut, the uncontrollable nature of omega/alpha biology. I already want her. I already need her. I don’t even know what she looks like or her name, but I’m already imagining tasting the nexus between her legs, feasting on the cream that belongs to me.
I shudder in a weak effort to free myself from the delicious haze of desire and possessiveness that’s like nothing I’ve ever known. I am not a man who’s ever claimed his share of life’s pleasures. I’ve even been called too cerebral to be a decent fuck. That was then. This is now.
My captors are speaking to others about how they’ve secured us.
Us?
I force myself back into reality, where Sage and I are surrounded. She’s not fighting or shouting anymore—why isn’t she? I find the answer in her emerald eyes that appraise me like I’m the most interesting and valuable object in the world.
Sage mouths a word. I don’t apprehend it on her first attempt, my senses entirely fixated on capturing another trace of spiced orange and vanilla cream. In flashes, like my mind blinking, all my accumulated knowledge fragments and reforms, translated with the understanding of a man whose intellectual pursuit has become his reality.
The omegaverse is no longer my life’s work—it’s my home.
It will define every breath I take until my heart stops.
My heart.
Her heart.
