Page 34 of Ruined Omega

Another rush of embarrassment and panic flushes up from my chest and into my face. I try to swing my thighs shut again, but Baen’s arm is positioned between them, supporting his leaning body and making it impossible for me to close my trembling legs completely.

Yet another convulsion of need pulses through my interior. I whine and arch my back. It’s like a hundred little fingers tickling my tummy from inside.

No, not my tummy exactly.

A little lower down.

But as intense as these sensations are, I know from first hand experience just how insane an omega in heat can become if her needs are not met. I’ve witnessed it first hand in the SynerGen labs. I’ve seen an omega doubled over in agony with need. I’ve seen her seize and writhe and snarl like a mad animal.

What I’m experiencing right now is just a pale echo of that.

Wherever this shelter is, I can assume that it is not too deep inside the Quarantine Zone. We are probably only a few miles inside the perimeter of the Quarantine Wall, in fact. Out here on the edge, the contamination field is weaker, which means the mutation is slower.

My transformation is not complete. Not yet.

There’s still time.

“Pills!” I gasp.

I flop one weak arm across the soft materials of the nest and gesture toward the leather coat flopped in a puddle on the concrete floor. “Pills…”

Baen’s smooth forehead wrinkles with perplexity. He looks at the coat, which once belonged to Tal—poor, brave Tal—then back to me, then the coat again. For a long, stomach-tightening moment, I’m afraid he won’t understand. Or that he simply won’t care. But at last he gives in. He moves on all fours like an animal, inspects the sodden coat, rifles through its pockets.

I hear the rattle of pills against plastic, and a rush of relief flows over me. But it is followed by another strong pulse of estrus.

“Pills,” I murmur.

Crouching, Baen lifts the orange bottle out, holding it up in the candlelight. He gives it a shake, rattling the pills like a miniature maraca. He sniffs the bottle.

“What are these?” he asks.

I have to wait for the current wave of estrus to subside before I can answer. “Medicine…please…”

Slowly and doubtfully, Baen crawls toward me, walking on his knuckles like an ape, shoulders high. He extends the pill bottle toward my hand, but as I reach for it, he snatches it back.

“What medicine?” he asks. “What does it do?”

I strain desperately for the bottle, but Baen effortlessly holds it just out of my reach.

“It’s for my…my allergies,” I lie.

He frowns, eyeing the bottle incredulously.

“Allergies? I don’t understand.”

“I have a disease,” I whimper. “I need the medicine to make me well. Baen, please…”

It’s not a total lie. From a certain perspective, it is true. I’m just omitting a few important details.

Baen’s frown deepens. Slowly, he moves the pill bottle forward to place it in my hand. My heart jumps with elation. Just one pill is all I need to stave off what is happening to me. That will buy me time to think, to plan. Just one more inch and the bottle will be in my grasp.

But at the last moment, Baen snatches it away again.

“No,” he says with cold finality. “I don’t trust Outsider medicine.”

He reaches behind him and sets the bottle on one of the shelves next to the canned goods.

“Baen, please,” I beg. “If I don’t get my medicine, I will die.”