Unnatural Omega

Chapter 5 - Dirk

I'd rather die. This gaping hole in my soul carries the worst pain I've ever felt. Give me trials, give me agony, give me torture, anything but this. When it flashed through me, the initial pain was so fierce I feared my heart had burst, and the blood filling my chest cavity had turned to acid.
These tears are the poison overflow. My limbs refuse to move as my soul roars in anguish. Horror clouds my senses and I let loose my misery.
The pain is too much. Death would be sweet release.
I lose myself in despair, uncaring about the world around me. Swimming in my broken heart, I nearly miss it, but when I feel it, all my senses snap to attention.
The ragged hole in my heart isn't empty. A thin, burnt, almost ruined thread threatens to dissolve. I pounce, desperate to save the connection between myself and my lifemate, but before I snatch up the brittle strand, I halt. Poised a breath away, I push my haste to the side and let the voice of reason grow inside my mind. Through the delicate line I feel her struggle for life. My brute strength cannot save her. My demands will not bolster her.
Imagining my massive hands without their callouses, I use the lightest touch to envelope the fragile bond. With gentle caresses, words of comfort, and encouraging love, I praise her every breath, exalt in her bravery, and promise to support her every step of the way.
She just needs to survive. Breathe in. Breathe out. Stay alive.
Coaxing her with gentle nudges, I encourage her as though I'm urging an ember to light—soft breaths, cautious movements, and tiny bits of nutrients. Ages pass, but I'm oblivious to everything except her. The tiny spark of her life grows in little increments, until the fear of immediate death recedes.
She doesn't have the strength for more, but glowing coals assure me of her existence. I pull back, widening my scope of vision, and process the aches of my body. My thighs shake in exhaustion and my arms threaten to fold under my weight.
Taking in a shaky breath, I push off my elbows and rise to my hands and knees. I lift my head, my neck straining with the movement, and see Kwame. He lies flat on his back with his hand over his heart. His chest rises and falls, but his unfocused eyes stare unblinking at the ceiling.
My relief at my lifemate's survival screams in guilt, his expression telling me everything.
I've coaxed my Omega to stay alive.
He never got a chance. She is dead.
I crawl to him, my joints creaking as though I'm an old beta, and grab his shoulder.
He does nothing to acknowledge my presence—his eyes stay blank, body remains lax, and his chest slowly rises and falls.
I have no words to give him. Nothing will ease his pain, but I squeeze his shoulder, letting him know he isn't alone.
My instincts tug me, and I follow the urge to look out the window. I crawl the few feet to the wall, then use the windowsill to pull myself to my feet.
The black smoke is so similar to the charred link in my chest that seeing it causes nausea that almost makes me vomit. I swallow down the excess saliva and focus on the scene. Flashing lights from emergency vehicles and spotlights from hovering city flyers paint the transporter in brightness.
They've cut a large section near the back of the car open and extracted a few bodies. Three lay, side by side, on a tarp a few feet from the opening. Paramedics stand about, the hopelessness of the situation apparent in their reluctant movements. A figure catches my eye, my senses alerting on him, but I can't figure out why. He moves among the mayhem just like everyone else, speaking words to a select few, wearing the same uniform as the others.
Something about him doesn't sit right with me, but I can't pinpoint what.
Movement from the transporter yanks my attention away, and I watch as two men emerge from the smoke, a stretcher between them. A form small enough to be a child is strapped to it, a white sheet wrapped around everything except the head and face.
From this distance I can't make out the features, but deep within me I know who it is. The link between us is so weak and tenuous that my heart aches, but she's mine.
My lifemate. My Omega.
I lean my forehead against the window, the cool glass smearing with my sweat, and I press my palm to the surface. Spreading my fingers, I imagine my hand resting over her heart, shielding her from the chaos of the world. The connection between us shudders, but I let love seep from my heart, a trickle of strength flowing into her.
The men rush the stretcher to an emergency transporter. To my surprise, the strange man leads another stretcher in directly behind them. My eyes flick to the bodies.
There are only two.