Page 107 of Shared Omega

Frostgrave grins behind the dripping gruel and plucks at his white goatee.

“My, my, you’re nearly as protective of them as they are of you.”

I take a few wobbly steps toward the window, doing my best to appear as threatening as possible under the circumstances. I ball my fingers into fists, but my hands feel weak.

“What have you done with them?” I repeat.

“Patience, my dear. You’ll find out soon enough.”

I swing my fist at the window in a hammering motion, but it bounces off uselessly. Weak and unsteady, I stumble backward from the impact and fall on my naked butt on the cold floor, defeated. Hot tears are brimming at the corners of my eyes.

All I want is to see my Alphas. To know that they are okay.

“Careful,” Frostgrave hisses. He rises and stands closer to the window, looking down on my naked body. “We don’t want you injuring yourself unnecessarily, omega. You are much too valuable.”

“Fuck you,” I spit.

Frostgrave clucks his tongue again, chiding me.

“Oh come now, Sloane. Why are you being so spiteful, after everything I’ve done for you?” He makes a sweeping gesture with his open hand. “I’ve provided you these spacious living quarters. A nutritious meal.”

He taps his finger at the window where the splattered gruel is still slowly crawling down the glass toward the floor.

“For starters, you lied to me,” I snarl. “You said we were going into the Zone for a rescue mission, but it was an assassination all along. You just wanted me to get in striking distance of Lily so you could take control of me like your little puppet.” I glare at him through the window. “You just wanted me to get rid of a whistleblower for you.”

Frostgrave folds his thin, skeletal fingers and sighs.

“Yes, I confess, I lied to you, Sloane. I lied to you about a great many things.”

He returns to his seat where he reclines and tents his fingers thoughtfully.

“For example, there was that unfortunate but necessary little ruse about the advanced protective gear that would allow you and the other marines to venture into the very heart of the Zone. The truth is, despite pumping obscene amounts of cash into R&D, we still don’t have shielding that will work that far into the Zone. But we couldn’t very well tell that to you stupid little grunts, now could we? Of course not. You would have refused to embark on what was essentially a suicide mission. So, we just had to take our chances. All of the team members, yourself included, were selected specifically for your genetic profiles. We chose those troopers who showed the highest likelihood of surviving the mutation process as Alphas. Of course, as you witnessed, it is hardly an exact science, and it is extraordinarily difficult, indeed, nearly impossible, to foresee what transformation a person will undergo when exposed to the contamination of the Zone.”

A cold, evil light glints in Frostgrave’s eye.

“But I can’t tell you how pleased I was when I discovered that you had survived, Sloane. An omega warrior and an unwitting assassin. It was perfect. It would be so much easier for you to get close to Lily so that we could silence her for good.”

I draw my arm across my mouth, wiping away the residue of the disgusting gruel which is now sitting uncomfortably in my stomach.

“Yeah, but Dog really fucked that one up for you, didn’t he?”

Dr. Frostgrave’s brow furrows. He folds his fingers together.

“Indeed, that was quite the fiasco. Entirely my fault, I admit. I mis-calibrated and miscalculated Dog’s training and his deeply ingrained directive to protect you at all costs. It never occurred to me that he would intercede in order to keep you from killing Miss O’Neal.”

He lets out a wistful sigh.

“Oh well, live and learn. Our overly obedient Dog is being dealt with appropriately.”

Anger courses through my body as I think about what they are doing to my Alphas.

“Where is Dog?” I ask, raising my voice. “What are you doing to him?”

Frostgrave chuckles.

“Oh don’t worry, my dear. He hasn’t been harmed. At least not physically. He will simply be put through another round of intensive reconditioning to make sure that we can trust him to follow orders. The other one, however—the blond one with the long hair—he is proving to be most intractable. So far he is totally resistant to our conditioning methods. But he will break eventually, I have no doubt about that.”

Poor Truk. I can only imagine what kind of awful things they are putting him through.