Page 13 of Generation Omega: Claimed (Originverse #3)

KAZIMIR

Oh, fuck . My intention was to topple all of Ethan’s remaining walls—as a selfish, domineering alpha does—but I got a whole lot more than I bargained for…

and fuck. Like a lust levee breaking, I’m suddenly awash with all of Ethan’s naughty—no, knotty —desires.

Ethan wants me to nail him like the omega’s getting nailed.

He’s imagining in detail the excruciating pleasure of being stuffed full of my knot, so bound no one can separate us.

My critical thinking abilities are on life support, snuffed out by the sheer volume of impure thoughts mobbing my brain. But still, I manage to raise a challenge flag on all of this. If I had a knot, could Ethan take it without being harmed?

It’s possible. He’s yours. Well, the damn omega legacy finally has some good news to share.

I’m instantly trembling all over, and Ethan knows he’s unraveling me and my control with his vivid fantasies.

If my cock weren’t already a bomb about to go off, it would be now.

With dark delight, he’s visualizing being thrown down and claimed in front of the other alphas, with him on his knees and me railing him from behind, his hands intertwined with Tillie’s as Gideon takes her in the same manner.

Ethan’s emotions toy with me, presenting his sincere yearning to earn the right to my knot, to prove he’s willing to embrace all the pain and ecstasy involved in being sealed to me forever.

If I didn’t know him as I do, I would believe his next thoughts were pure manipulation.

With Tillie trapped on Gideon’s knot and Ethan on mine, the picture in his mind is of them—Ethan and Tillie—cuddling together, safe between us.

More than that, Gideon and I soothe them, whispering loving words about how perfect and cherished they are.

Then, over his shoulder, he has me leaning and kissing Tillie, telling her how much she means to me.

Sure, it’s manipulative, but it’s also what he dreams all of this will be, what pack means to him.

Knowing I’m knot-less and can’t provide that experience for him is a festering affront to my damn, unsought alpha pride.

But I can’t, even if I were already cursed with a knot.

I’m not there. We’re not there. And, just as importantly, Tillie’s not there.

In Ethan’s reveries, the woman I’m kissing is Tillie, not a feral omega in heat.

He wants to be with his Tillie and with me, when we aren’t jacked up and rutting like fools.

This instinct-fueled, chaos fucking is hot—he’s on board, and I will show him how amazing it can be—but what will mean more is how we connect, all of us, on the normal days when life begins to reveal how this pack fits together, if we do.

While the double-alpha-on-omega fuck festival continues, and after ensuring my inner fortress is impenetrable, I allow myself to sift through the deluge of grim thoughts and emotions stirring inside me.

I’ll never admit it, but I find myself wondering whether connection like this is the most profound blessing a man could ever receive or the most sadistic form of torture ever created.

It’s hell— this is hell—having something to lose, someone who could be taken from me.

I never got it. I wasn’t given the tools to ever understand what people lost when I took lives.

Well, not every life is, or was, mourned equally, for sure.

There are plentiful examples of fully clothed excrement prancing around, masquerading as upstanding members of society.

We might even have one in attendance right here in our nest, a stooge with or without his professorial regalia.

Would anyone miss him, other than Sage, and would she really at the end of the day?

Are they indeed friends or just co-sponsors of shared perpetual blame and misery?

But they aren’t the issue right now—I am.

It’s my severely limited grasp on humanity that’s forcing me to stare into the abyss inextricably entwined in caring about another person— loving another person, devoting oneself to the welfare of another.

I wasn’t built for this shit. Worse, I wasn’t born for this either.

No, I was bred like the other kind of cocks, destined to tear apart their kind for the amusement and profit of others.

I certainly excelled in the role chosen for me by the lottery of birth.

I did my job better than almost anyone, thriving under the pressure that made others falter.

I saw firsthand the consequences of failure, of disobedience, of free thinking.

I learned to obey, even when I didn’t believe or agree.

If I hadn’t, I would’ve ended the same way my oldest brother did.

I was still a kid—if child soldiers can be called kids , though youthful combatants is an infinitely more appropriate designation—when I overheard their argument.

My father and brother yelled about the violence used on the young, the brainwashing, our corrupt mission.

I didn’t witness everything, but I heard the sound of the impact and saw its aftermath.

I was forced to deal with my brother’s body and also to inform my two remaining siblings of exactly what happened.

Killing my other brother, Ivan, wasn’t just about cleansing the world of a truly repugnant man, but showing my father that I learned from him the exact value of blood bonds in the midst of our never-ending wars.

Just days ago, the disastrously certain structure of my life was intact.

I wouldn’t go back there, just for the peace of expected outcomes, but as I work to accept Ethan’s exquisite surrender to the monster who shot him, I must find my bearings in this new landscape. I must become worthy of him.

That’s an impossible goal, but I can’t allow that inconvenient fact to stop me, because as much as Ethan’s surrender is a gift, it’s also a foregone conclusion.

I’m entirely too demanding to allow him to remain apart from me in any way.

I won’t have him looking to another alpha for guidance, for love, for his carnal needs to be met.

A possessively charged growl erupts at the thought, and my hand tightens around his cock, causing him to moan and thrust upward into my hold, inwardly pleading for release.

No, Ethan… no release for you. That’s what I inform him. You just keep watching them fuck her relentlessly. I have big plans for you, but not yet.

Please…

I send the equivalent of an inner slap to punish him for begging and he winces, though his eyes remain locked on the scene.

Tillie’s still being ruthlessly ridden, until both knots truly claim her and she passes out after a fit of overlapping, screaming orgasms. Omegas can climax through any hole, and her slick is currently gushing down her alphas’ bodies.

I’m so tempted to roll Ethan in that slick and spend the next twelve hours feasting on it directly from him.

But now is not the time for that either.

The feral professor and the president’s uninspiring crotch-fruit are only getting edgier. If they don’t get their dicks wet soon, blood will likely be spilled, so I have some time to work Ethan up while coming to terms with the evolution of our relationship.

What does it mean that I both love and hate the burden of vulnerability forced on those who care?

I only love it because it involves Ethan; otherwise, I would be consumed with hate for the gross act of intentionally embracing weakness.

That’s what love is… it’s weakness , better left to others, and yet, it’s unavoidable to acknowledge that there is no greater valor than the willingness to make oneself weak for another.

It’s also clearly stupid, but here we are.

I have weapons—I am a weapon—and I can kill so easily.

But most people don’t and can’t. They lack the ability to protect and attack like I can, just in who I am, how I was raised, the skills I’ve honed in my life.

They aren’t weapons, and yet they have the courage to love their children, their families, their friends.

They do this thing that’s rattling me to my core so naturally, without even considering another, perhaps better, way to live.

Love is a fucking bear trap—that’s what it is—and they willingly allow its cruel, metal teeth to latch onto their favorite limb.

Then they just drag the damn thing around for the rest of their lives, letting it become part of them.

They know that entire time how vulnerable human life is, how those they love can be taken, can get sick, can die.

Fuck! It’s awful… and yet it’s the most beautiful thing this effective, but worthless, killer has ever encountered.

I’d step into a bear trap for Ethan… I already did.

I knew on some level what this would be, but not the depth of it.

Every ounce of Ethan’s surrender is shaking loose my flawed perceptions of what killers are.

We think we’re so cold and detached, and that it makes us fierce.

It certainly makes us hot, it just does.

Assassins are sexy— everyone knows that.

But we’re also apparently cowards, and that’s an unpleasant discovery.

We lack the courage of any new mother holding her fragile infant for the first time, any man or woman willing to get down on one knee and pop that fateful question, any long-married husband who sits at his elderly spouse’s bedside to help ease a gentle path into death.

Those people have a kind of mettle in their souls that leaves me in awe.

I just shoot—sometimes slice and dice—people. Big fucking whoop.