The drive to the ABO was quick, but it seemed agonizingly long to Cait. She had never been in the presence of the other two classes of people before. It seemed like her body was comforted by her proximity to the Alpha. The car was full of his scent.
"Can you cool it on the pheromones, Silas. That is enough," Kieran waved his hands.
"Sorry, she seems to have quietened down because of them." Silas retorted.
"It's your funeral, you do not understand what releasing all of that did to me. If they can detox her of this remedial poison, then she will probably require more effort to guide." Kieran said.
He felt the bodily response to the burst of pheromones that he had released. They had the same effect on male Omegas as they did female Omegas. He hated his boss so much at this moment. He still had to get out of the vehicle in a few minutes.
Cait panted in the backseat. She was embarrassed. She was just soaked, and even though she realized that she had not peed her pants. She had never been around Omegas or Alphas. Her body was reacting, seemingly against her will in the proximity of one. Her core was broiling hot.
She grew up in the Traverses, which were sections along the high-speed tunnels that existed under the surface. They were safe, cheaper than living above the surface, and for those in production where the lines had stops. She had grown up in ten different sections of the Traverse as her parents did production jobs and needed to stay mobile.
The car pulled up to the building. Cait looked at the vegetation outside her eyes, full of marvel. There were trees, bigger than she had ever seen in her life, standing outside this section ABO building. Flowers were expertly planted and cared for; bushes full of them stood as well. She was surprised to see them in the bushes. She thought they only grew on stems that grew from the ground. The doors creaked open as the car pulled into an assigned space. The vehicle shifted suddenly.
Kieran slid out of the driver's seat and closed the door. Silas watched as he hurried into the building, most likely to explain the situation to the staff. She groaned and shifted in the back seat. "You alright, well as alright as you can be in this situation?"
"This might sound silly, considering the circumstances," Cait grunted as she explained. "I am just shifting to see out the window. I have never seen so many flowers before in person. It feels like I am dying, so I wanted to see something beautiful."
Silas was choked by emotion. This was just the front garden of the ABO building. He had noticed how light she was. He suddenly felt awful about what Kieran had said about what he paid Betas. They made everything possible, yet a majority lived in cheap housing underground. They could not see everyday sights like these. "You will be okay. You will probably be here for some time detoxing. But we will take care of the pressing issues."
"What is the other guy doing, your assistant?" she asked. She was not great with names; however, he was doing her this big favor out of nowhere.
"Kieran? You can't walk, so he will come back with some people to accompany you inside the building. Your situation is not something that they see often." Silas explained. "The substance you took does not really do anything other than dull your drive; it is not effective for managing estrus symptoms. Once you detox," he was interrupted by her.
"It did help somewhat. The fever is really hard to deal with," Cait said as she lay in the back seat.
"It must be hard. Men are lucky; we do not have to deal with cycles as regularly as women do. Though we do rut as well." Silas said. He looked briefly at her in the mirror and her slumped body on the seat.
"Rutt?" Cait asked; she supposed she would be learning more terms. These guys brought her straight to the ABO, so it could not be a matter of taking advantage of her as a Beta Dominant, could it?
"A Rut or rutting is the need to engage in mating behavior to satisfy your biological needs," Silas said. "You will learn more. Here we are." Silas said as he spotted the burst of activity from the door. He hopped out and waited to open the door. They were above the surface, blocks away from the strip. He was beginning to have a hard time controlling his behaviour. He could not imagine a drunk smelling her.
Four men in scrubs exited the ABO with Kieran as he made his way to his car in a hurry with a wheelchair. Silas watched. "You might feel overcome when they give you treatment, lose yourself and your senses. Don't be afraid. If you can't speak or communicate what you want, grab my wrist and I will stop."
The door opened to the back of the vehicle. The Omegas waved their hands. "Damn, that is the strongest I have ever smelled." Dr. Jameson said. He looked at the slender girl in the back seat. So far, what Kieran had said had been true. It was good that she was brought here. If she had been living her life as a Beta, then they would have had a lot to help her out with.
"Hello, Ms. Agneau. I am Doctor Jameson. I understand that you have been under the impression that you were a Beta until now. I can confirm just by smell that you are one of us. Mr. Rose said that Mr. Thorne would be guiding you tonight. I want you to review this as best as you can and then place your thumb here to consent to treatment and the guidance. This is for legal purposes, considering the situation." Dr. Jameson pulled a pad with multiple tabs open on it.
"These are forms, one through five that handle your consent to treatments, allow us to view, notate, share, and store your medical and personal information. " Dr. Jameson said, guiding her through the formalities. "Thumb here to consent and sign when you are finished.
"Move ." The orderly's voice cut through Cait's haze, sharp as a scalpel. Her knuckles whitened on the wheelchair's armrests. Every jolt over the hospital corridor's seams sent fresh sweat trickling down her temples.
Four sets of footsteps echoed around her, two doctors flanking her chair, an ABO nurse pushing it, another carrying a tablet. Their starched uniforms smelled faintly of antiseptic and something metallic.
Cait focused on the tablet thrust into her trembling hands. Words blurred. 'Consent for Emergency Detoxification. Authorization for Biological Stabilization Procedures.' Her thumb jerked against the biometric sensor. 'Accept. Accept. Accept.'
Then: 'Consensual Cohabitation Agreement: Designated Alpha ' Silas Thorne.'
Her breath hitched. "Is this going to be done somewhere private?" The word rasped out, raw. She remembered the wards at the hospital where her mother died.
Dr. Jameson leaned in, the glasses on his nose reflecting the bright, sterile overhead lights. "Private suites are located upstairs. They have fully shielded windows and are soundproofed." His tone was clinical and detached. Cait pressed her thumb down on the biometric sensor, which blinked green.
They rushed her through swinging doors into a cold, bright treatment bay. Machines hummed around her, and Cait's skin felt tight and feverish. "I had bloodwork and scans done earlier at the Civilian Clinic, if that's useful," she managed, her teeth chattering.
Dr. Jameson scanned a tablet and nodded. "The laboratory confirmed the poisoning with artificial and organic compounds, including alkaloids, atropine, hyoscyamine, and scopolamine...Mr. Rose's earlier assumption was unfortunately pretty spot on. This was a highly concentrated inhibitor made with Ophelia's tears. It would have been lethal by December without intervention." He tapped the screen, and a sleek machine whirred to life, synthesizing a vial of pale blue liquid. "You'll need an antidote, and depending on the scans, possibly more. Given your... escalating presentation, we are forced to proceed." He paused, scrutinizing the sheen on her collarbones and the tremor in her thighs. "We'll relocate. Your primal override will likely be quite intense."
'Dead by December?' Cait thought. That was six months from now. The supplies her dad sent lasted only half a year each time. Tears threatened, but her eyes were already sore from crying.
Anger and hurt flooded her heart. It had been so much to handle: the back-to-back appointments in the morning, Henry's mood when she got home, him breaking up with her over her communicator on the train, and now learning that she had been lied to all her life. Her father was either unintentionally trying to kill her or outright planning to.
He had said she would have to be here for at least a week. Cait watched a bead of sweat fall from her chin onto her pants, instantly darkening the fabric.
"Understood," she whispered. The orderly gripped her chair again, and the wheels squeaked as they moved toward the elevators.
Silas cleared his throat, the sound sharp in the sterile quiet. He didn't look at Cait; instead, his gaze was fixed on Kieran, his ice-blue eyes unreadable.
"I will call you," he stated, his voice clipped, "when I am no longer needed." He turned sharply, his precise charcoal suit slicing through the harsh light as he strode down the corridor without looking back. The dismissal stung more than the poison.
A nurse stepped into the space Silas had left behind. Amon had dark hair and kind eyes, which held a remarkable depth of understanding. He crouched beside her chair, bringing himself to her eye level. His voice was soft and soothing.
"Miss Agneau? Before we get you settled upstairs, I need to perform a basal swab. It's best to check the database for your father's lineage. Identifying your clan is crucial." He paused, holding up a sterile swab wrapped in clear plastic. "This helps us tailor everything. Your nutrition, pheromone buffers, and even the shielding protocols. You know how rare you are, being a girl Omega? You're practically a princess."
Cait flinched at the word "princess." It felt alien and mocking against the backdrop of the damp underground and beta ration cards. Yet Amon's kindness was different than what she was used to. She could vaguely sense what Kieran had told her, that they could identify each other by pheromones. She could tell that she was more like Amon, who smelled of dates and mace.
Cait nodded weakly, exhaustion overriding her suspicion. This must be why they needed her consent to share her information. Her jaw ached as she forced it open. The swab touched the sensitive tissue beneath her tongue, cool and impersonal. A sharp, medicinal tang bloomed in her mouth. She focused on Amon's steady hand and the quiet hum of the synthesizer still echoing from the treatment bay. The antidote was brewing. The poison had a name: Ophelia's Tears. Her dad's final, brutal gift. Her throat tightened. Princess? More like discarded trash.
The synthesizer chimed softly. Dr. Jameson retrieved the vial of pale blue liquid, its luminescence stark against the sterile white. "Elevator," he commanded briskly. The orderly spun Cait's chair. The ride to the fifth floor was swift, silent. The doors slid open onto a corridor hushed and gleaming, smelling faintly of ozone and expensive polymers. They rolled past closed, unmarked doors before stopping at one. Jameson keyed it open.
Cait's breath caught. The suite was vast, dominated by a wide medical bed surrounded by discreet monitors. It was bigger than the largest mattress in the Burrows. Sunlight streamed through large, shielded windows onto sleek furniture. A small, crisp white hospital gown lay folded neatly beside plush towels and unopened toiletries on a side table. It was larger, cleaner, infinitely more sterile than the cramped apartment she'd shared with Henry. The sheer size of the space felt oppressive.
Silas stood near the window, his back rigid, silhouetted against the light. He didn't turn. Dr. Jameson approached Cait, a syringe filled with the blue antidote glinting. "This will neutralize the inhibitor," he stated, his voice devoid of inflection. "Within minutes, your suppressed primal biology will resurge. Aggressively. Fighting it will cause distress. Surrender is the most efficient path."
"Okay," she said from the chair. Dr. Jameson took out an alcohol wipe and disinfected it before injecting it.
"Press the call button when you are done, Mr. Thorne." Dr. Jameson said as the needle pricked her arm.
A cool rush spread under her skin, blissful relief washing over the feverish ache. For a few heartbeats, Cait sagged. Then, fire erupted. It scorched her veins, pooled low in her belly, a sudden, shocking wave of heat that stole her breath. Jameson withdrew the syringe once full of concentrated antidote, nodded curtly at Silas, and exited without another word. The door clicked shut.
Silence pressed in, thick with Cait's ragged breathing. The heat intensified, coiling tight, demanding. Sweat plastered her clothes to her skin. Silas finally turned. His ice-blue eyes locked onto her, pupils dilating visibly.
A low growl rumbled in her chest. Cait couldn't bear the fabric, the confinement. Her fingers trembled as she ripped her clothes off, buttons scattering, and shoved them off. Cool air hit her naked, damp skin, offering no relief.
She stumbled towards the adjoining bathroom, driven by instinct and the desperate need to cool herself. Behind her, she heard the rustle of fabric – Silas stripping off his suit jacket, his movements swift, predatory.
The scent of Gardenia, thick and cloying now, flooded the room. He followed her to the cold water already coursing over her body. It was enchanting.
Silas's gaze raked over her. Cait stood under the spray, thin rivulets tracing the stark lines of her ribs, the delicate curve of her waist flaring into surprisingly strong hips. Her skin, flushed pink with heat and exertion, glistened under the water. Her small breasts were taut, nipples hard and peaked against the chill, droplets catching on her thick silver lashes as she tilted her head back. She looked fragile, breakable, yet vibrated with a feral, undeniable energy that tightened Silas's gut. His control frayed, the scent of her primal need was a physical assault on his senses.
He stepped into the shower fully clothed, his soaked white shirt clinging to the hard planes of his chest. Water plastered his dark hair to his forehead. His hands, large and possessive, slid over her slick skin – tracing the dip of her spine, skimming the swell of her hipbone.
One hand drifted lower, fingers slipping through the wet curls between her thighs. He found the swollen nub of her clit, circling it with deliberate, testing pressure.
Cait gasped, arching into his touch, a low whine escaping her lips. His other hand explored lower, fingers probing gently, finding her slick and impossibly ready.
He slid one finger inside, then a second, stretching her slowly, gauging her readiness. Her inner muscles clenched around him, hot and urgent.
"Silas..." His name was a ragged plea.
Then the shift. Cait's mercury-silver eyes snapped open, blazing with pure, unadulterated command. The hunted became the hunter. With a strength that shocked him, fueled by a primal imperative, she shoved him hard against the slick tile wall.
"Whoa, easy." Silas staggered, slipping on the wet floor. Before he could react, she was on him, pushing him down onto the cool porcelain tiles. Water cascaded over them both as she straddled his hips, her wet skin sliding against the soaked fabric of his trousers. Her hands fumbled frantically with his belt buckle, then, struggling with the fastening of his pants, she ended up ripping and shredding the opening.