Page 7

The Un

With Bezeck driving the transport, Mer walked ahead, scouting the way. In theory, the vehicle was made for all kinds of terrain. They’d discovered through experience what a lie that was.

A whistle sounded behind him. Mer turned to go back. He had fresh-killed rabbits in hand, food for dinner. The season was ripe for wild fruit, too. If he could find any among the trees.

Bezeck still managed to hang his head out of the driver’s cab as far as it could go so Mer could see the alarm on his face as he pointed up and west. “Don’t you see that?”

A cloud of rolling black moved in the distance. Mer had seen it, hoping it kept going in the other direction. They’d only been moving for two hours; he did not want to stop again.

“It’s coming this way. We should go back.” Bezack’s face was stern with his concern.

“No, it’s not. The wind is going the wrong way.” Mer pointed in the opposite direction.

“I’ve got it on the radar, Mer.”

“How could it travel against the wind?”

“I need to turn this thing back. Get in or walk.” Beseck opened the driver’s side door.

Mer called him the Bull because of his shape—how he used that bulk to trample his opponents. Time strengthened the comparison, with the addition of stubborn asshole, arrogant-do-gooder-prick, and rock-headed fool.

“We are not going backwards.” Mer pointed over his shoulder at the way he’d come shaking the rabbits in his hand. “There’s rock cover up ahead.”

“Safer to go back.” Bezeck left the cab and slammed the door shut. Some smart human designers gave this model handy double seats so that it wouldn’t need a wide circle to turn. Bezeck could drive it in the other direction from the steering wheel at the other end.

“It fucking is not safer!” Mer shouted at him.

Bezeck ignored him. The man was in love with the broken female they’d saved from Sector 2 who would have nothing to do with him. Obsessed with her comfort, her wants, and her needs.

Merrick felt sorry for her, but her presence kept them at a snail’s pace. Some days they didn’t move at all. She was tired. She was sick. She was afraid. She had her thumb stuck in Bezeck’s ass and worked him like a puppet on a pole. His friend cooed and purred every time he talked to her. Named her his Prize, when she refused to tell them her name.

After all the time they’d been forced together, she rarely spoke to either of them. Prize cowered at loud noises. Trembled every time they raised their voices. She treated her saviors like one of the men who’d harmed her. Mer had given up on her, but Bezeck wouldn’t allow her to so much as break a twig under her dainty little heel.

Keeping to herself, she had burrowed into the back end of the transport, stealing the extra camp blankets, drenching them in her scent and nesting there as if it were her right. This meant other things, heavy goods, an extra tent, winter supplies—and a precious water filtration system that Mer had killed a man in the pit to win—had to be carried another way.

He’d allowed his friend to talk him into trading some of their things for mules and a cart at an edge settlement. Mer clenched his teeth to keep himself from mentioning they could trade the omega, too. The whole deal cost them both of Bezeck’s drones, who’d been more than happy not to go deeper into the Un, and a pair of air masks.

That mask had been damn handy in helping Mer deal with the scent of the omega. The mix of her fear, sadness, and female hormones drove him mad. He’d been dick-hard with the need to do something. Help her. Fuck her. Kill her. He didn’t know which, but her mixed signals had made it hard to think straight.

The farmer saw him wearing the mask and wouldn’t budge on the sale. The skinny old alpha wanted them both. Bezeck argued that Mer could manage the cart and stay upwind of the omega. He wouldn’t notice her at all.

Safe air or clean water. Mer chose clean water.

The mules lasted six months. They hadn’t counted on the intelligence of camp-raiding wild dogs. With no way to pull it, the cart had to be abandoned along with the water filtration system.

Mer had wanted to just park his life right there. He didn’t want to travel with the omega. They might as well build a camp within reach of other settlements that dotted the rough old road leading away from the 12 Sectors through the mountains. He’d have his own house. Bezeck and the female could have their own places.

Insisting they go deeper into the Un, Bezeck talked Mer into continuing with tales of grand sights. Going to the birthplace of Mer’s parents. Finding lost relatives left behind who hadn’t wanted to join the war to take over the 12 Sectors. Discovering tribes with more omegas than males. Mer could use his pretty face to have his pick of the unmated.

It was all shit. The omega was nervous around others. Bezeck wanted her to feel safe. So, they kept going. Slowly. So slowly.

“You half-wit, get back here,” Mer called to Bezeck’s retreating backside.

“I’m not driving into another storm. Last time the temperature drop had icicles hanging off my arse.”

Mer’s ears popped with a sudden change in air pressure. He looked to see what was going on and saw a massive shadow crept toward them, steady and fast. The storm was almost over them. He didn’t feel any breeze now, just the opposite. Nothing moved. Nothing made noise. The air went solid, hot, and heavy.

What was this?