Unbalanced Omega

Chapter 5 - Dirk

I jolt awake, my internal clock unable to tell me how much time has passed since I laid my head down. My throat scratches as I swallow, so I climb out of the bed and uncap a water. Guzzling it down, I toss the bottle in the proper chute, use the relief port, and wash my hands. Leaning my palms on the sink, I stare at my reflection.

I aim to never suffer through my Rut alone again. Shifting through my emotions with rapid speed, I tuck the misery, loathing, and sorrow into a box and lock it away.

My reflection mocks me. With my beard hairs aiming in all the wrong directions and puffiness under my eyes, I look like hell. Splashing water on my face and doing a quick style of my beard, I no longer look so disheveled, but the haggardness remains.

Too impatient to get back in touch with my Omega to wait any longer, I focus on our link and pry open my barrier, ignoring my appearance.

The mess I find makes my heart stutter. Her despair swims through thick black tar, the gooey substance almost camouflaging the heavily drugged sensation tugging her downward. Fear and loneliness threaten to swamp her, and I curse my reasons for shutting down our connection.

She needed me, but I wasn't there.

The link between us feels brittle in my hands, and I curb the urge to flood her with my efforts.

Instead, I begin the process of building her up bit by bit. Stealing away a portion of tar with each of my movements, I work my way closer to my lifemate.

As I get nearer, my heart quails in distress. Scooping up her figurative form, I envision my large frame surrounding her, protecting her from the world. I become her lifeboat, keeping her afloat amidst the tar. Though she eases, worry nags us both.

Her body may be healing, but her mental state seems worse than before.

I spend hours hunched over the sink, reassuring myself she's still alive and apologizing for going away.

An urgent knock on the door pulls me out of my trance.

"You still alive?" Vander's voice pierces the door.

"Yeah," I croak back.

"Good. Get your ass in the cockpit. Five minutes."

I don't move until the sound of his boots hitting the floor drifts away.

Less than four minutes later, I walk into the cockpit. It feels weird to have clothes on—my cock still aches and my skin feels raw.

Nova sits in a chair along the left wall, Seeck hovering over her, his hand resting on her shoulder. Every now and then she lifts her arm and strokes her fingers over his knuckles.

Next to Nova is Kwame's lifemate. I still don't know her name, but she talks to Nova as though they've known each other for decades, and I watch in awe as they communicate. When she scrunches her eyebrows at something, Nova reaches out and grasps her hand. After a quick squeeze, they both let go, acute awareness of their mate's possessiveness making them err on the side of caution.

Kwame's digits weave between the fingers of his lifemate's other hand, the contrast in their coloring striking. A rope lies between their connected palms. One end hangs near their knees, the other leads up to her head, the strand woven into her braid.

She looks content, even with wildness lurking in her vibrant green eyes.

Before I can take another step, Jumoke shoulders my side as he enters the room.

"Good to see you're still breathing, Dirk," he says as he stalks over to stand beside Vander at the control panel. He twists his neck and sends me a challenging look over his shoulder.