Unknown Omega

Chapter 6 - Dirk

She first caught my attention because she's a female. Even though her clothes are ugly and shapeless, the wind gave hints of her curves as it pressed them against her frame. I missed my quota for female samples yesterday, so I had to approach her.

As she walked near, I figured she was just another sick beta. Most of them smell of disease around here, but she didn't carry the stench of sickness. Something was off in her scent. Not wrong, per se, but not right. Almost like her smell was incomplete.

She doesn't smell like an Omega, though. I don't expect her to, since only betas have lived here for decades.

Her puzzle seems to be missing pieces. There's a quality in her aura that doesn't fit. It doesn't match her clothing or her surroundings. My senses tell me she's way out of place here.

She isn't accustomed to being out at this time of day, that's for sure. No one in this society would walk around blindly like she is if they meant to survive.

Although, if the skin around her eyes is any indication, she doesn't have a choice.

When I grabbed her wrist and met her eyes, something in their depths held me captive. I can't decipher what I saw, nor do I have a name for what I sensed.

It's annoying as hell.

Her light blue eyes were overflowing with pain and fear, and she was pinching her rich brown eyebrows together. A few distinct freckles were visible on the bridge of her nose, and patches of skin under her eyes were a telltale contrast of color from her pale forehead. Ugly purple blotches grew in severity until her head cloth covered her left cheek, blocking my view. Her right cheek was less marred.

An unexpected surge of protectiveness rolled through me. Something that only happens during my Rut when I hoard my females, or when a mission requires me to collect and deliver a child.

So instead of finding a patch of skin, attaining the blood sample, and moving on, here I am following her to market. Her uneven gait and bruised face leads me to believe that she's mistreated often. My blood boils and my hackles raise. I'm ready to protect her, whether she wants it or not.

I follow her and observe, logging every bit of information into my mental files. Before I let go of her wrist, I knew I had to shadow her to market. Some driving force demands I usher her to safety.

I review everything that's occurred since I first saw her, trying to pinpoint what's bothering me. I'll have to give the team a report, but I don't know how to relay what I'm sensing. We do not ignore instincts, since there's always a reason behind our heightened intuition, but I have no clue how to identify her.

Somehow, I need to uncover her face so I have a more detailed profile to give them.

I stalk behind her, changing my gait so I make a normal amount of noise, and keep pace a stride away from her. The terror and uncertainty rises off her in waves. Her coverings are a mass of shivering, shaking misery, but her chin stays raised and she makes her way to the market by sheer determination.

This whole city is in ruins. Crumbling buildings and half standing structures fill the cityscape while sand piles onto the surrounding stone walkways. Sand everywhere—in each groove, covering every surface, grinding down every rock, slowly returning each one to the dunes.

Everything is a variant of brown. From a muted, murky black to a light, sandy tan, and every shade in between. That's most likely why her eyes seem so ethereal—the blue is so light it stands out amongst the drabness of the world. Even the sky holds a brown tint, as though the sun rays rebound off the ground and carry the brown coloring into the atmosphere.