Page 45 of Claimed By the Psychos

Nineteen

JUNIPER

The forest breathes around us like something with too many lungs, each exhale carrying the scent of pine needles and decay and Felix's blood trailing behind us like breadcrumbs for wolves. My feet have gone num, which is probably a blessing considering how far we have to go. Felix leans heavy against my shoulder, his weight dragging us both down with each step, and I can hear his breathing getting wetter, more ragged.

Run, little rabbit,the shadows whisper, dancing between the trees.Run before the hunters find you.

"Shut up," I hiss at them, but my voice comes out broken. "You're not helping."

Felix's head lolls against my neck, and his scent hits me wrong—the artificial alpha pheromones are fading faster now, stress and blood loss stripping away his disguise layer by layer. Underneath, I catch hints of something else. Diamond-sharp winter, yes, but softer somehow. Sweeter. Like frost on flower petals.

We stumble into a small clearing where moonlight pools like spilled milk, and I ease Felix down against a fallen log. His skinhas gone the color of old paper, and when I press my fingers to his throat, his pulse flutters weakly.

"Felix?" I pat his cheek, probably harder than necessary.

"I'm fine," he insists, slumping forward on his knees. "Just need a minute."

The compound's alarms have gone quiet, which is worse than the shrieking. Quiet means they're hunting. Quiet means they've stopped announcing their presence and started stalking. I learned that from Felix—the loudest predators are usually the ones you don't need to worry about.

I tear a strip from the bottom of Bane's huge shirt and try not to think about how disappointed I am that his scent is fading from it. I press it against the reopened wound on Felix's thigh and the blood soaks through immediately, warm and sticky against my palms.

"Please," I whisper to no one in particular. Maybe the shadows. Maybe the trees. Maybe whatever twisted deity thought it would be funny to make us like this. I don't even know what I'm asking for.

Rescue? Liberation?

A branch snaps somewhere to our left.

My head whips around so fast my vision blurs, but I see them—shapes moving between the trees, deliberate and coordinated. Not the Psychos or their guards. These ones move different, sharper somehow, like knives pretending to be people.

Not the same,the shadows shriek.Different hunters. Dangerous.

The smell hits me before I see them clearly—alpha pheromones, but wrong. Synthetic. Weaponized. It coats the back of my throat like oil, makes my skin prickle with artificial heat that's more biological warfare than desire.

Felix leaps to his feet with false strength, putting himself between me and them, snarling fiercely. "Cover your nose and mouth," he warns.

Before I can respond or obey, we're surrounded.

They step into the clearing like they own it, five of them in tactical gear that makes them look like insects. No identifying marks, no patches, just black on black on black. The one in front pulls something from his belt—a canister that hisses when he pops the seal.

I do as Felix warned and cover my mouth and nose with the neck of my shirt, but it's little use. The pheromones that pour out are thick enough to see, a yellow-green fog that makes my stomach clench and my thighs clamp together involuntarily. This isn't natural arousal. This is violation in aerosol form, designed to force omegas into heat whether they want it or not.

But why? Why are they out here? This place is remote. If they're hunting omegas, which is a common enough "sport" for the sick and twisted, this isn't exactly fertile ground.

Unless… they came here for us. For me, at least.

I try not to breathe, but that only works for so long. The chemicals seep through my shirt, through my skin, into my blood, igniting fires I can't put out. My body temperature spikes, and suddenly Bane's shirt feels like it's suffocating me.

"Well, well." The lead soldier's voice is muffled by his mask, but I can hear the smile in it. "The infamous Juniper. You know, we were supposed to just put bullets in both your heads. Quick and clean, payment for failure."

Payment for failure. So these are the client's men, come to collect on our botched job. I guess it's about time. We've been gone for days, and the Psychos are already out on a mission. Proof we failed ours.

The shadows were right—different hunters, different game.

"But seeing you like this..." He takes a step closer, and I bare my teeth even as my body betrays me, my inner thighs already slick. "Maybe we can have a little fun first. The client doesn't need to know how you died."

Felix snarls again, the growl coming from deep in his chest. The pheromone weapons must be affecting him too, despite the suppressants. His scent is changing, shifting, that last layer of artificial alpha peeling away like old paint.

And underneath...