Page 25 of Desperate Omega

Syra has grabbed her spear, which she had left leaning against the wall last night.

It’s not the worst idea ever. With that spear, she can fend off any alphas who might be closing in on us from behind. I hope it doesn’t come to that, but I fear it might, considering my weakened state, and the awkwardness of trying to run while I have an omega on my knot.

I abandon the rest of our belongings and flee down the main corridor of the mausoleum. Ordinarily, I would not run from a fight, but right now all I care about is protecting Syra. My reputation as a fighter doesn’t matter. I know what I am capable of.

The howling is really loud now. It sounds like some of the alphas have made it over the gate.

“I thought we would be safe here!” cries Syra.

I thought so too. I thought no alphas would dare to desecrate the sleeping places of the ancestors. Then again, that didn’t stop me and Syra from hopping the fence last night. Perhaps it was foolish to think others would not do the same.

But I have an uncomfortable feeling that the alphas howling outside are not from the Central Ruins Tribe.

I head for the back of the mausoleum. I rarely use the door on that end, but I thankfully had the foresight to check it the first time I came to this place, so I know it is unlocked, and it will yield to bodies.

“Door!” I tell Syra.

She understands, and holds on even tighter as I charge forward. She gives a little gasp as her butt slams into the push bar, and the door flies open. I catch a faceful of cobwebs as we burst out into the gathering brightness of the new day.

I do my best to keep the building and hill between us and the gate, as a way to conceal our position from the eyes of our pursuers, but it is a futile attempt. The alphas are already spreading out around the gate that surrounds the cemetery, and I can tell that a few of them have spotted us by the way their howls grow louder.

Syra gasps.

She’s facing backward, so she’s able to see who’s pursuing us. Based on the sound of her gasp, I can guess that the situation is not good.

I glance back over my shoulder, and my earlier suspicion is confirmed.

Our pursuers are not from the Central Ruins Tribe like we are.

They are Farlanders.

Even at a distance, their misshapen forms are easy to identify. After years of living in the distant regions of the Zone where the power of the Source is weaker, their bodies and minds have become twisted. Some of them barely even look human at this point. They do not wear steel piercings the way the Central Ruins alphas do. Instead they decorate their bodies with pieces of bone and wood and polished stone. Some of them even have ornamental shards of glass permanently embedded in their flesh.

Three of them are already inside the cemetery and running straight toward us. I can see three more scaling the fence, and I can hear half a dozen more howling somewhere out of sight.

This is even worse than I expected. I should have known the cemetery would not be safe from the Farlanders. They do not respect the resting places of the ancestors—or anything else for that matter.

But what are Farlanders doing this deep within the Zone?

No time to worry about that now. The only thing that matters is Syra. I must get her as far away from here as possible.

That would be a lot easier if we were not yoked together by our loins. I try and will my knot to shrink, but my traitorous anatomy refuses to obey. It’s the running that’s the problem. The running is causing jostling, and jostling is causing unwanted pleasure. Even though I’ve already come inside Syra twice in quick succession, I can already feel another climax brewing in my balls, and it won’t be long before I have to unload into her a third time.

And I can tell by the way Syra is moaning, that she is experiencing similar problems.

“Markus!” she cries. “They’re getting closer!”

“Can you hold them off with your spear?”

“I’ll try.”

I can hear two of the Farlanders closing in behind me. I pump my legs as fast as I can, but it isn’t enough. Between the medicine and my knot, there’s no chance I can outrun them.

One of them snarls as he lunges for us, but Syra lashes out with her spear, and the snarl shifts into a scream. I can tell from the amount of warm blood that sprays against my back that she hit an artery. A moment later, the screaming cuts off, and there is a heavy thud as the Farlander collapses behind us, either dead or dying.

“Good girl,” I say.

Syra’s pussy clenches around my cock, and I almost come again. I make a mental note not to praise her again until after we make it out of this mess.