Untouched Omega

Chapter 3 - Anastasia

Squelching noises accompany his arrival. There's no need to straighten my spine or check my defenses since I haven't let them down. Despite the briny scent of salt water emanating from him, the part of me I've never been able to sever aches at his aroma. A hard thump of my heart distresses me. Acting as though the view of his slickened hair and dripping clothes don't affect me, I continue my task.

I'd rather they not affect me. The instinctual yearning causes a ball of dread to settle within my chest. Fear thickens in my throat, but I swallow it down and reach for another container.

If these weren't double-wrapped, I would have refused the work given to me. Even so, I'm careful to touch the food kit as little as possible, hooking my gloved fingers under the edge of the packaging and balancing it between two digits. Lifting and placing it in the designated slot within the food storage, I can't help but glance over at his movement.

His broad shoulders tip sideways as he leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest and tucking one ankle over the other. A decidedly intimidating pose despite the ease with which he settles into it, I allow my lips to tighten.

Alpha displays of dominance have held no control over me for years. I may obey, but not because I am Omega. I do as suggested because to do otherwise would be foolish. And deadly.

Yet his mere presence calls for me to bare my neck in supplication. His piercing eyes and menacing stance make my blood burn in my veins and my stomach to tighten.

Sinking into memory, I caress the newest husk protruding from my heart. I need not go far to acquire a stark reminder as to why I must deny him. I fill my lungs with a steady, deep breath, lifting a new food tray from the box. Ignoring the flare of pain caused by my deep breath, I slide the tray into its new slot and begin to expel the air. As my lungs depress, sharp aches spear through my abdomen, my decrepit organs making their displeasure known.

Another futile caress of my beloved failure, and I clamp down on the barrier between myself and the male in the doorway. I meet his gorgeous hazel eyes, not allowing myself to fall into the dance of bright green and copper flecks within his pupils.

"Omega," he greets me with a soft word, the slight rumble natural, his husky voice one of the nicest sounds I've heard. The memory of my most treasured noises batten down my resolve. I clasp the back of one hand with the other and let them rest against my thighs.

His earlier agitation seems to have abated.

"Alpha," I respond, realizing we haven't exchanged names yet.

Vander, the Alpha nearest my age, called him Jumoke, but our first interaction wasn't conducive to civil conversation.

One eyebrow rises, the tilting of his lips mingling with the stormy intelligence behind the golden flecks in his eyes. When he continues to stare without speaking, I turn back to the box of food and continue restocking the room's supply.

The sooner I leave this room, the better. I'd hoped to finish filling the cabinet before he returned, but the box had been too heavy to carry all this way first, so I'd had to refill the rooms according to their proximity to my starting point.

This is his room. His scent wafts from the luxurious bed, the echo of his presence apparent in every corner of the space.

His den. His bed. His food.

Not his Omega. Not his lifemate.

No matter the definitive link connecting our hearts—I cannot fulfill his needs.

Filling the last spot in the food storage, I twist to close the almost-empty box. Painful pinching and pseudo tearing grips my internal organs, a result of the unaccustomed activity I forced my body through a few hours ago, since running is not my forte. A sharp inhale through my nose gives away my agony, but I force my breathing to regulate and resume closing the box.