Saved and Savaged

Chapter 12 - Gric

I pass the capsule to Steil so another batch of water can start the reverse osmosis process.

Commander Draukir, the purple beast who stole this plus other amazing technology from his original command, and his lifemate, Commander Minette, are the reason my teammates and I are on Mai'CuS. Together, they lead the entire fleet of ragtag individuals, all looking for a place to settle down out of reach of the ISC.

Turns out this ugly planet is where we landed. Not only was the place nearly destroyed by the ISC's terraforming, but they still conduct experiments on the population. Our last mission royally pissed them off, which is why they were scouting for our home base.

Now we must find a way back to base without leaving a trail. We hadn't planned to have a dozen omegas in tow, yet here we are.

Thank whatever gods lead our paths that we have these nifty little capsules, otherwise we'd have no hope of keeping these omegas alive.

Steil tilts his head and squints at me.

A warning leaks into my purr. I don't like his scrutiny or his proximity to my lifemate.

"Your horn hasn't healed."

"It will."

He nods and disappears, leaving me with a room full of omegas.

"Gric."

I look down with a raised eyebrow, amused at the threat in my lifemate's tone.

"Your tail. Please stop."

I smirk down at her, hiding my own frustration at my rogue extremity. The bastard wraps around her calf and slowly inches up to caress her knee.

"I'm just checking for injury, like any decent alpha."

"You have not set me down. How could I have gotten hurt?"

I chuckle, enjoying her spirit. With a sigh, I release her leg and wrap my tail around my bicep to prevent it from exploring further.

A few tense minutes later, Steil places two water bags on the floor, leaning as far into the hut as he can without placing his boots within.

I push one container toward the group of omegas and pull the other closer, giving Keziah first dibs. She shakes her head and pushes the mouthpiece away. I snarl and force it to her lips.

"Drink. The others will get theirs. I won't let anyone else drink from this bag until you drink at least a cup."

Her eyebrows scrunch and her teeth clench. I point at the measuring lines on the container, relieved when she scans her eyes over the group of omegas and decides there's enough to share between the two bags.

I long to be the thing dipping between her lush lips but settle on purring my encouragement as she takes her first sip. Once she tastes the water, her cheeks hollow out as she gulps down a big mouthful, her thirst claiming her. I smooth my fingers along her scalp, urging her to slow down so she doesn't vomit. Small circular motions lull her into a pseudo-relaxed state, slowing her enough so her stomach doesn't rebel.

Sensing how upset she'd be if I let her drink more than her fair share, I gently tug the straw from her teeth and kiss her forehead to end her argument before it begins.

Her friend, Carmi, leans over and accepts the mouthpiece, her thirst strong enough to help her get over her fear of me.

The omegas surprise me, reacting unlike any group of refugees we've saved in the past. Each one only drinks a few swallows before passing the straw to the next woman. The bonds of trauma wrap around them, uniting them in ways little else can.