Omega Bound Chapter 253

Ayla

The whooshing sound surrounding me is unfamiliar and confusing. “Her heart rate is elevating. I’m hitting her with another dose,” somebody says near my head. I attempt to move, but my body feels weighted down, as though invisible chains have me anchored. My limbs refuse to obey. Everything sounds like I am submerged under water.

A sharp, sterile scent burns my nose, and I can feel the cold bite of metal against my wrist. A pinch causes panic to stir in my chest, clawing upward, but my mouth won’t form words. “She’s out. Keep flying.”

*“Arama...”*

My eyelids feel like they’ve been weighted with lead. It takes more effort than it should to peel them open, and even when I do, the world comes into focus in hazy, overlapping shapes. A dull, rhythmic beeping echoes somewhere nearby; my head throbs in time with it.

I’m lying on something cold and hard. It is not the comfort of my bed, not even the forest floor. The air smells faintly of chemicals, sharp enough to sting the back of my throat. My fingers twitch against a thin blanket, and I realize I’m in some kind of narrow cot. When I try to sit up, my muscles protest, sluggish and stiff as if they’ve forgotten how to listen to me. I have felt this way before.

Wolfsbane.

It’s then that I noticed the bars. Not thick iron like a dungeon, but reinforced glass walls with a metal frame, trapping me in a small square room no bigger than a storage closet. A narrow, metal-framed door with a thick locking mechanism is set into one of the panels, the kind that looks like it would take a battering ram or me to break. Through the glass opposite me, I can see into another identical holding room. It’s empty now, but the rumpled blanket tossed carelessly on its cot tells me someone was in there recently, maybe only minutes ago. The blanket is bunched to one side as if whoever slept there had left in a hurry. Beyond the cells, the floor stretches out in sterile, gleaming white tile, too clean, too perfect.

Memory comes in fragments: a sharp prick in my neck, Eric’s calm voice saying something I couldn’t quite understand, the warm scent of herbs masking something metallic.

Eric. The pack’s healer. My pulse spikes.

I push myself upright, swaying, gripping the edge of the cot. My mouth is dry, my voice rough when I manage to whisper, “Where am I?” The question goes unanswered, swallowed by the quiet hum of machines.

I search within myself for the thread of my power, but instead of it glowing and thrumming with power, it is dull and muted. The small amount available barely hums in my veins. If they continue poisoning me, I will have none left and no pup left either.

*“Aramana,”* I attempt to mind-link, but I already know the answer.

I slump back down on the cot and rub gentle circles over my stomach. Aramana and I planned for this. We planned for internal shielding of the pup, but in those scenarios, it was either a judgment call I made based on the circumstances of my abduction, shielding the pup when eating in other packs, or to protect the pup during poisoning. In all those scenarios, though, I was conscious.

The memory of allowing Eric into my home slams into me. He had been explaining to me why Amani could be agitated and restless then the next I woke up here. I should have known Amani was growing more hostile because she sensed something hostile due to her heightened emotions.

Her wolf was trying to warn us, but she just didn’t know what to warn us about.

I let him into my home and left Amani behind. Fates, I hope they found her. My mate bond aches within me. Cold and lifeless. I have no ability to mind-link and no wolf, and I have already been poisoned. I swallowed hard before taking a deep breath and searching inward. I can feel the life of our pup within, and I focus on the beat of our pup's heart as I tug my thread of power, imagining the power within it pulsing one with my pup’s heart, the two beats synchronizing.

I can see the life of our pup now as a line, another thread within. It now has my thread of power woven around it, pulsing what is left of our gifting outward with each beat of our pup's heart, shielding the lifeline of our pup.

I have no idea how long I can hold it.

If I eat or drink anything, it will be poison.

My pup still needs sustenance.

I can only use what I have to shield my pup.

I should have taken Cyrus up on his offer to chip my ass.

How much of Thane will I lose if he goes on a killing spree for me? Will this be something he can’t come back from?

I won’t be kept in a cage, whether a real one or forced seclusion in my home.

My thoughts feel like a tornado of turmoil threatening to sweep me into a place of fear and despair, but I can’t go there. I remind myself of who I am now.

I am Ayla Knight, and I am the Luna of the Midnight Pack.

I am Fates gifted, and I have a family to protect.

I remind myself who my mate is.

My mate is Thane Knight.

He is the Alpha of Alphas.

And he has quite the temper and no patience for anything that hurts me.

I repeat this to myself over and over as I rub my stomach, soothing my pup within. Thane will come for me. Always and forever. Forever and always.

Dull footsteps sound through the thick glass surrounding me from somewhere, and soon I can see somebody in a white lab coat and two guards emerging from the shadows, dragging somebody behind them. Shifters that I can’t scent due to the wolfsbane and whatever else within me. I stop my stomach ministrations as they get closer to my cell, and I make no attempts to move, remaining calm and hoping not to draw attention to myself.

The cell door next to me clanks open, and I can hear the scuff and shuffle of boots followed by a groan as they dump the shifter in the cell next to me. They murmur and laugh amongst themselves as the door shuts behind them. The sound of their footsteps fades away, and I open my eyes. I would be stupid if I assumed I wasn’t being watched on camera somewhere, although I didn’t see one.

I sat up slowly, looking around before turning and looking into the glass box next to mine. Our cots align with each other against the glass. A small place in between both of our cells. There is a large shifter lying on his side, arms and legs sprawled over the edges of his cot, limply. He groans loudly, trying to blink his eyes open. His skin is so pale it almost seems translucent, stretched thin over sharp cheekbones and a narrow jaw. The shadows beneath his eyes are deep enough to make him look perpetually hollow and unrested. He had jutting collarbones, narrow shoulders, and limbs that looked like they’d snap under too much weight.

Even his lips lack much color, giving him the appearance of someone who’s been drained of both blood and sunlight.

A thread pulls within me. One that has lain dormant since the day my mother died. A part of me I didn’t know I was missing because I was too young when it left.

The tug in my chest links me to the Alpha on the cot next door.

My father.