Your Omegas Are Mine 1| Euodia's Sun | Omegaverse Apocalyptic Reverse Harem

40-Beginning of Chapter 13

Quinn returned with blood on her tongue, and water sluiced over reddened skin.

A thick acrid fluid had been tossed over her frame to end the sweetness of Heat. Warm sewage poured down the sodden remains of her frock. The stench burned in her nose, but only the waste of Alphas could end the scent of the most revered Omega in the city.

Rowan's scent had been heavy, had grown richer with his orgasm; sticky and pumping with the pheromones that begged for an Alpha's knot. Just the tiniest whiff of his perfume could bring forth the all-consuming urge to dominate and mount.

If Quinn were to return to the House of Fern as drenched in his scent as she was, the Alphas could have gone feral, choosing to breed her instead in their blind search for a ripe Omega. For Rowan's nutty goodness had clung to her hair like a vice even when urine was smeared across her flesh, and her body was rubbed with ash and doused in ice.

It took a couple more tries for her to be truly freed from his Heat, and through it all she'd been docile and kneeling, not an ounce of complaint spilling from her lips. This had pleased the Omegas, and their treatment only grew kinder as they scrubbed her skin raw. Their smiles had stretched over their cheeks as she allowed their manhandling.

'I wouldn't mind a Beta,' some had whispered, bidets in hand. 'She's so docile, so quiet. Like a little lamb.'

'Perhaps, I could talk to my pack,' was the giggly reply. 'It would be so easy to have her.'

Quinn had resisted the urge to scowl, fist clenching briefly as she listened.

Mina had been all smiles—one that stretched so far across her face that gums showed. Her Alpha leader had been pleased. Quinn was a fat, juicy prized pig sent out for slaughter. And surely, Mina as the head rancher, must have received the spoils of the kill.

A hundred stamps had been Quinn's rewards, stars that sent her soaring towards a higher-ranked D that bordered at the edges of a C. She could have easily climbed the ranks if not for her own inability to reproduce like a normal Alpha. Her lack of Ruts was a weakness that hindered her independence and ability to roam the streets.

This had her scowling, her fingers wrinkling the edges of her result slip.

But she didn't care for the prestige, cheeks paling as she read on. Quinn was to be freed from her post as a mere cleaner attached to a nameless mass. She would now enter the realms of dedicated servitude.

She was to be a blood slave.

Blood slaves were Alphas that showed exemplary control.

They were docile and quiet, and hence allowed to exist mildly in society. Her face could be seen, and Omegas would learn her features, taste her fluids. There would be no bags to store her blood, but pipes would remain attached to her skin like a cork to a keg.

Quinn was to be drank from; She would be fresh like a cow in a dairy, an orange juiced in a vending machine. She would be pumped from only when necessary. Quinn was to be stationed behind a café, chained to the ground beside roasting beans, and warming tea leaves. She would be a novelty and a choice on the menu.

A walking blood bag of convenience.

She'd gagged, offended, horrified. It seemed that after weeks of new Alpha blood bags, the vampires were now open to the idea of drinking from an Alpha. And there was a push for a group to be stationed at eateries. A buffet of girls.

A need for the freshest supply.

How disgusting.

Quinn had tried her best to keep herself still, but the tremble had begun in her joints. The panic surfacing once again. The horror that clouded her features had forced a bead of sweat free. Her reward was to be a pet, to be chained to the ground with her fluids extracted from her like some sick, twisted foreplay. Her body churned, the fear of recognition returning to her mind.