Seventeen
FELIX
Consciousness slams into me like a freight train made of confusion and Juniper's weight on my chest. My eyes crack open to find her straddling me, brown hair falling around her face like a curtain, and she's holding something that smells like stale breakfast cereal.
"Open up," she commands, pressing the granola bar against my lips like she's trying to feed a stubborn toddler.
"What the fuck?—"
She shoves the bar into my mouth the second I part my lips, and I nearly choke on dry oats and what tastes like cardboard pretending to be chocolate chips. My hands find her hips automatically, steadying her as she grins down at me.
"Eat," she insists, breaking off another piece and forcing it past my lips. "You need your strength."
I chew mechanically, trying to process what's happening through the fog of sleep and lingering pain medication. The medical bay's fluorescent lights stab into my retinas, and my wounds throb with each movement, but Juniper's warmth against me makes everything else fade to background noise.
She watches me swallow with the intensity of someone monitoring a science experiment, then leans down and crushes her mouth against mine. Her tongue slides past my lips, and I taste granola and coffee and something else—something bitter that she passes from her mouth to mine with practiced ease.
A pill.
I swallow reflexively, pulling back just enough to breathe. "How did you?—"
She silences me with another kiss, deeper this time, her fingers tangling in my hair. "Shut up and be grateful," she murmurs against my mouth, then attacks my lips again like she's trying to devour me.
"Clever girl," I manage between kisses, my hands sliding up her back, pulling her closer. The suppressant—because that's what it has to be—slides down my throat, buying us time I desperately need. And with this not-so-subtle delivery method, our captors who may be watching will get a show, but not the one I've been afraid of since we were captured. Time is a bit hazy still, but without the suppressants, my omega scent would start bleeding through within hours, and these alphas are too observant to miss that particular revelation.
Juniper grinds against me, making a soft sound that goes straight to my cock despite the stitches pulling in my thigh. Her hands map my chest through the thin hospital gown, nails dragging just hard enough to leave marks, and I forget about the pain, forget about our captivity, forget everything except the way she feels pressed against me.
Someone clears their throat.
We freeze like we've both been caught with our hand in the cookie jar, and I look past Juniper's shoulder to find Bane standing in the doorway, filling it with his mountain-sized frame. His expression is neutral, but I catch the slighttwitch at the corner of his scarred lip that suggests he's fighting amusement. Or maybe ire.
"Sorry to interrupt," he says, not sounding sorry at all. "Just wanted to let you know we're heading out on a mission. Should be back in a few hours."
Juniper doesn't move off me, just turns her head to glare at him over her shoulder. "And you needed to tell us this why? Want us to water your plants while you're gone?"
That eyebrow of his climbs toward his hairline. "Thought you should know there'll be guards stationed outside if you need anything." His tone is conversational, but the message is clear:You're being watched. Don't try anything stupid.
"How thoughtful," I say flatly, my hands still on Juniper's hips, making no effort to appear less compromised. Let him see what he's interrupting. Let him know she's mine, even if we're trapped in his cage.
"Try not to burn the place down while we're gone," Bane says, and there's definite amusement in his voice now. He backs out of the room, pulling the door shut with a click.
The second he's gone, Juniper's entire demeanor shifts. The playfulness vanishes, replaced by that sharp focus that appears when she's planning something dangerous.
"They're leaving," she whispers, though we both know they're probably listening. "This is our chance."
I sit up despite the protest from my wounds, studying her face. The shadows under her eyes have gotten darker, and there's a tremor in her hands that wasn't there yesterday. The hallucinations are getting worse—I can see it in the way her gaze keeps darting to empty corners, tracking things that aren't there.
"The vents," she continues, voice barely audible. "I loosened the screws yesterday. I can fit through them, find a way out."
It's risky. Insane, even. But staying here until my synthetic pheromones completely fade is a death sentence of a differentkind. Once they realize what I am—an omega masquerading as an alpha—everything changes.
"Be careful," I tell her, pressing my forehead against hers. "If they catch you?—"
"They won't." She kisses me quick and hard, then slides off the bed like water. For the first time, I notice the clothes she's wearing. Pants that barely fit—and look like half of some guard's uniform—and a black shirt that might as well be a dress. It's clean, but beneath the laundry soap, I can smell the big scarred one. Bane. Clearly a message meant for me. The faint scent clinging to her fills me with possessive rage and something else I'd rather not examine. "Give me twenty minutes, then create a distraction."
I watch her stand on the bed, working the ventilation grate free with fingers that know exactly where to apply pressure. The metal comes away silently, and she pulls herself up into the darkness above with the fluid motion of someone who's done this before. The grate slides back into place, leaving only one missing screw as evidence of her escape.
I force myself out of bed, ignoring the way my leg screams in protest. The stitches pull with each step, and I can feel fresh blood seeping through the bandages, but I've worked through worse. I dig through the drawers in the dresser across the room until I find scrubs that almost fit. The fabric catches on my bandages, and I bite back a groan as I pull them on.
