Page 3

Most of them were betas, their scents obvious and dull, but a few alphas were present. He wished that fact mattered to him like it used to. To his disappointment, though, he remained unfazed.

The council didn’t like human alphas. While not as common as betas and omegas, they did pose a threat if given too much freedom. Humans were still heavily dependent on their sex designation, while Telex had evolved to control those baser instincts down to a passing sensation. Saren overheard Matthias say once that if too many human alphas lived in New Grove, they might spread more rebel propaganda, leaning on their instincts to protect and provide instead of following the natural order.

It made sense to Saren.

Before the council…fixed him, Saren was almost too sensitive. Too easily influenced by a potent alpha. That's why he heeded Patryn so easily. He’d been told that was a problem. Saren couldn’t possibly sit among the council and bare his throat every time someone got a little firm.

This party barreled through the decontamination chambers, not giving the sections proper time to sanitize the vehicles. Most new refugees developed the pestilence anyway. A horrible virus that didn’t have a preferred host, but tended to target humans. There were some Telex cases, though infrequent. Quarantine was necessary to keep New Grove from being overrun by it. Whatever came into his community must’ve been worth the risk.

Others seemed immune to the pestilence, among their other deplorable traits.

Saren had been taught to fear them, to recognize their mastery signature by its absence.

Others blended in with humans too well—only detectable by Supremes—and he often asked Patryn how they could be so sure.

“But how will I know? Humans also don’t have mastery signatures.”

Patryn looked at Saren. “Trust me, boy. You will know.”

Science indicated that anyone could develop an immunity to disease. He’d mentioned it too. Saren had been scolded, called a blasphemer, and threatened with the penitentiary if he didn’t stop questioning facts. But now, as he skimmed over the newcomers, his mastery snagged and sank into someone. The hole inside him cramped fiercely, nearly doubling him over.

His vision blurred, sweat gathered on his brow, and he panted through gritted teeth. A nearly overpowering alpha scent invaded his nose. He’d never smelled anything like it before. Something deep inside him thrummed with recognition. A steady, intense tug around his base nature. While he desperately tried to pry into the mind he was stuck on, his skin grew hot.

He couldn’t explain why he needed to know who it was so badly, but he did. However, the pain in his stomach skyrocketed to new levels. His sweat poured into his eyes, and just before he started screaming, he pulled his mastery away. He felt instant relief, then heard his guardian’s voice.

“What is your name?” Patryn barked, sharp as a whip.

Saren wiped his face with the back of his hand, crept closer, and peered around the tail end of the truck. The scent was stronger. He paused to savor it for a few seconds. Tasted it. Let it sink into his bones and find a home there. Unable to discern what he was smelling yet, he instinctively knew it was familiar. Some sort of spice, perhaps. Smokey and alluring.

As much as he wanted to keep sucking in deep breaths through his nose, his curiosity overrode the desire. His lilac eyes rose up and up, over the tailgate and into the truck bed. Saren’s breath caught. That thrumming intensified. A knowing unlike anything he’d ever experienced struck his core. Gooseflesh pimpled down his arms, and the hairs on the back of his neck rose.

All alone, surrounded by soldiers and half the council, sat a boy with hair like a raven’s wing. It covered most of his pale face, obscuring his features. The boy shivered like he’d been left in a blizzard. His gangly limbs were wrapped possessively around his middle as the tips of his fingers twitched.

“Boy,” Patryn hissed. “Give me your name, or I’ll have to let them take you.”

Saren spotted the shackles around his wrists, the metal collar around his throat, and the paper-thin shirt falling off his shoulders. The breeze wafted his scent, that potent edge of alpha curled into Saren’s nose once more. He blushed immediately, the urge to lift his chin in submission almost too strong to bear. Not knowing why he was affected so strongly, he fell into the sensation. Like a siren’s song, it lured him out from behind the truck entirely.

Dazed, drawn to the poor boy, he inched closer. The newcomer’s head snapped up and steel-colored eyes bored into him. The only reaction Saren could see was a barely perceptible flare of the boy’s nostrils. Flutters exploded deep within Saren’s belly as he was beckoned even closer.

For a moment, he forgot that half the militia and council were present. All of the community ceased to exist for a few moments. Voices dimmed to a low buzz—his worries over the exam, his future role among his people—it all stopped. He had eyes only for the boy staring at him.

“Saren!” Patryn gasped, seemingly panicked, making Saren jolt. “Leave at once.”

Patryn was a formidable alpha. His proud square chin, broad shoulders, and thick arms felt imposing on the best day, but right now, Saren’s guardian looked capable of terrible things.

If Saren didn’t do something, there was no telling what would become of that boy.

“He’s human,” Saren blurted without thinking. The council couldn’t have the boy. He wouldn’t let them. “I—I sensed it.”

Avis, who’d been watching the prisoner like a hawk, panned his gaze to Saren. “Best keep the Maven in his cage, Patryn. Meddling like this isn’t a good trait.”

Saren bristled at being referred to by his eventual title. No one in the Telex communities had been a Maven in three generations, and no one in New Grove ever had. The Maven was a title revered and sanctioned only by unanimous council approval, which hadn’t happened yet. It was an insult, one Saren recognized and desperately wanted to lash out at.

“He is human,” he insisted, deepening his voice as much as he could, but even so, he sounded like a child, tinkling and airy. “Put him with the others.”

“You would give me orders?” Avis thundered, rounding the vehicle and ready to pounce. He stunk of offense, pumping it out so intensely that if Saren were any one else, he’d have fallen to his knees and bared his throat. In the past, he used to.

That fact jarred him. Avis’ posturing didn’t sway him, but he felt the effect from that boy. Felt it invade his genetic makeup.