Unbalanced Omega

Chapter 10 - Vander

Compartmentalize. Prioritize. Visualize. Attack.

These are the steps that have gotten me through life. These are the things I must do.

Except something isn't right.

The process I've used for years isn't working. Every technique I've tried has failed.

And I can't figure out why.

I've begun the process several times but haven't been able to complete a single task for over an hour.

Compartmentalize? As soon as I think I have everything in its proper place, something snaps and new items litter my thoughts.

Prioritize? I have one thing set firmly in place. My teammates' and their Omegas' lives sit in top priority. Our safety and health matter most. Except, after that, things go all screwy. One moment, completing this mission holds second place, the next, finding my Omega shoves its way in.

Yet, at other times, I don't have an Omega. I remember her, feel her taunting me and see her leading us on a chase through those horrid halls, but she isn't mine. There's no bond between us.

Fuck, if I don't get my head out of my ass, this mission will fail, and I'll kill everyone on this Sky-Flyer.

Checking speed, altitude, and location, I flip a few switches on the console before standing and stretching my legs. Peering out the windows, I roll my shoulders and give myself an internal pep talk.

A cloud of fury prefaces Jumoke's entrance into the room.

"Go back to your den and strap in. It's almost time," I snarl, a little surprised to see him here and a lot not ready to deal with his mood.

"I can't. She locked me out," he snaps back, plopping into the co-pilot's chair and running his fingers through his hair.

I bark a laugh, unable to stop the reaction.

"Shut up, old man," he warns, his anger a palpable thing.

"Well then, I guess that means she's in fighting order. Did you warn her to buckle in?" I ask, unwilling to resist poking his wounded ego.

He scowls, grinds his teeth, then huffs before he surges to his feet.

"Damn it."

The cloud of rage shifts closer to the door, but he stops before leaving the room. He balls his hands into fists and shakes them loose several times, staring out into the hall, and I take the moment to check his psyche.

Yup, the fury goes soul deep. So does confusion, worry, and sexual frustration.

Poor young fool, too rash to control his emotions.

He pivots his neck, halfway turning toward me, his mouth opening as though he plans to say something. His face tightens and he closes his mouth, stomping from the room without saying another word.

My smirk feels hollow. Omega trouble is nothing to make light of, but in order to keep my sanity, I'd rather push Jumoke's buttons.

Turning to the console, I check our location. I'll need to take manual control within ten minutes but have enough time to make the rounds. I leave the cockpit, making my way down the hall until I reach the room we set up as a holding bay. I stand in the shadows of the hallway, watching the three Omegas commiserate in their own way, sitting strapped in the three chairs at the far end of the room. Kwame sits near the door, his hand engulfing Britani's, the rope braided in her hair wrapped around his wrist. On Britani's other side, the Beta I carried in from the extraction rocks back and forth, one arm wrapped around her middle while the other flails about, punctuating the last word in each of her sentences. She's making more sense than she was when we first met, but still rattles off nonsense I can't comprehend. Britani listens, seeming to understand more than I, for she responds in a way the Beta seems to enjoy. When Britani lays a hand on the woman's forearm and asks a question, the Beta's eyes focus for the first time since I pulled her from her captor's dead arms.