Manuscript Monday Omega Untamed (Lost Wolves Book Five): The Jester meets the Giant

It's finally time for manuscript monday! I didn't post an extra one because December has 5 mondays. I probably should've checked that last week. . . .

Anyway, I'm posting it now!

Also, don't forget about they book sale this month. There are also a few sets on sale that offer further savings. ^_^

Before we get to the main event, is anyone a fan of Haikyuu!? An awesome reader recommended it to me last spring, and I'm in love. The new season is airing now, but I can't watch it week to week or I'd drive myself insane. So I'm waiting until it's done. Pure torture!

To combat that, I look at fanart and read fanfic. One of my favorite pairings is Nishinoya and Asahi because (in case you haven't noticed) I like major height differences, and when the tall guy is a big old softy. Which kind of reminds me of why I wrote Omega Untamed.

Some sweetness. . . 

And some sexiness. ^_^

And now it's time for the book snippet. Abel and Dagz have a lovely conversation after they first meet. And they don't try to kill each other. That might be a first! Also, this isn't the final version and may change. It probably has typos too. Enjoy!

The alpha held a knife gripped in each fist, one blade dripping with fresh blood. A line of it covered his cheek and the bridge of his nose.

The omega stared. Even the beast needed a moment to take it all in—the sensation of deep seeded recognition that settled across his skin and into his bones.

The first thing Dagz noticed was that this alpha was alarmingly handsome. His face was gently chiseled with sharp cheekbones and a stubborn chin. His mouth looked ready to smile or sneer, and either one would’ve suited him equally well. His hair was the exact color of pale honey in the sunlight, warm and gentle as a summer breeze. His violet eyes glowed eager and bright.

The second thing Dagz noticed was that the alpha was shorter—a lot shorter than him, but that wasn’t unusual. The top of the alpha’s head came to Dagz’s shoulder. Still, he held himself like an alpha, a strong stance despite his lithe build and a tilt of his chin that commanded attention.

The last thing Dagz noticed was that the alpha didn’t run at the sight of him.

And he should have.

Dagz wanted to tell him to go.

Get away.

The beast didn’t care who you were—it tore through everyone, human and shifter, with equal fury. And Dagz had no control over the rage that fueled him or what happened when it was set loose.

It wasn’t the omega that did these things. It was something darker—something primal buried deep within him. The curse that kept his parents from loving him or his pack from accepting him as their own.

Of course, with the battle fury clouding his mind, that came out more as an angry growl than actual words.

“Are you rabid or just stupid? I saved your life,” the alpha said, narrowing his eyes. Though he didn’t look perturbed. More mildly put out. His gaze flitted briefly to Dagz’s wounded side, and he flinched. “And you’re hurt. Stand down unless you want me to kill you.”

Something snagged in his chest at those words. A brush of warmth in the coldest place, followed by a pinch of pain at his side.

His heart pounded harder, and a second one beat beside it—steady and strong.

It felt like a thin thread wrapped around it and squeezed.

Dagz felt himself bend forward and the thump of his knee as they hit the ground.

Above him, the alpha chuckled.

His breath caught in his throat, clogged with the musk of the alpha.

He’d heard of this. Wolves who felt each others heartbeats.

It meant. . . .

His vision clouded red, and the fury took control.

* * *

It happened again.

Dagz knew it as the mist in his mind cleared and the overwhelming scent of blood clouded his senses. A distinct weariness hung over him like it always did. As if he’d stayed up for a week straight without eating. His fingers were sticky with it, curled into fists that crackled when he moved them.

He slowly blinked.

It took him a moment to realize someone was talking to him.

Or at him.

“Shower. Go into the shower and clean off that blood,” the voice said, commanding and tinged with a note of humor Marcel never had. Plus, it couldn’t be Marcel because he was dead.

Thankfully.

The second heart throbbed in his chest, and Dagz looked down at himself. He was standing in a room with a dim yellow light in the center of the ceiling. His chest was caked in blood and bits of flesh, which made the bile rise in his stomach.

He swallowed it down. Bitterness flooded the back of his throat.

“Do you want to bleed all over the floor?” the voice asked, and Dagz spotted it.

The alpha.

Alive.

Not dead and in pieces with the those hunters.

He made some sort of motions with his hands. Complex and completely baffling.

Sign language?

Oh. He thought Dagz was deaf. It was better than him thinking Dagz was stupid.

“You’re alive,” Dagz said. His voice sounded like gravel being dragged over more gravel. When was the last time he’d talked? He couldn’t remember. Almost a month now.

The alpha blinked his keen eyes. “I’m harder to kill than that. You could talk this entire time while I’ve been trying to remember sign language? Asshole.”

Dagz was too tired to explain why he hadn’t said anything before. How he couldn’t have said anything because the words were trapped inside while the beast raged.

“Sorry,” Dagz said and dropped his eyes. He wasn’t going to ask how they got here. It looked like a hotel room by the peeling wallpaper and the double bed tucked into the corner. The quilt was mustard brown. It looked scratchy.

His feet were bare, but at least he still wore pants. That means he hadn’t shifted this time. 

Thank Yue.

“Do you want me to wash you?” the alpha asked, and Dagz heard the smirk in his voice.

An alpha would never do something like that. Lower themselves to wash an omega. It had to be a joke.

Dagz shook his head and padded into the bathroom.

The pants hit the floor with a wet thud, and the silver stung his side now that the fury had retreated. He’d look at the wound once he got out of the shower.

After twenty-seven days in captivity, he needed it.

He stayed under the water until it ran cold, scrubbing the dirt and blood and sweat from his body and hair. It was longer than it’d been in ages, and a full beard crowded his lips and nose. Thankfully, the alpha left a razor in the bathroom, set out neatly on a towel. That probably meant Dagz could use it.

“Can I shave?” he asked through the door. He hadn’t closed it, so the alpha must’ve done that.

“Please do!” the alpha responded and chuckled again.

Dagz didn’t know what was so funny. Unless the blade was poisoned and using it would burn off his skin or something else terrible.

He tried it anyway.

It didn’t.

When he finished shaving, Dagz looked at the mark on his side. The bullet had merely scraped the skin, leaving a cut and the black lines that sprawled around it—the sign of silver poisoning. There were two things that could weaken a shifter—silver and wolf’s bane. In his life, Dagz had been exposed to enough of both. The scars on his flesh spoke of that history.

Those hadn’t killed him and this scratch wouldn’t either.

Even the pain and weariness that came with the wound was a secondary thing compared to the warmth that spread through his belly and the scent of food—fresh food—outside of the bathroom.

He hadn’t eaten in at least twelve hours. Maybe longer.

“I’m going to eat everything if you don’t get your oversized ass out here,” the alpha called.

Dagz stepped out, nude, and stared at the wolf who’d saved him.

He was sprawled on the bed with a pile of grilled meat and sausages in greasy Styrofoam containers. A few sandwiches were set out as well. He licked his fingers when he noticed Dagz and raised an eyebrow. They were curved and well shaped, like Jacqueline’s had been. Maybe he plucked them. Or they were just naturally like that.   

The alpha’s eyes scraped over Dagz’s body, feet to face, and settled on his bare cock. A hungry grin spread over his lips, and he pushed a box of food across the bed. “Well. Aren’t you something?”

Dagz hunched his shoulders, as if that would hide his scars. He wasn’t sure what the alpha meant by that, but it probably wasn’t good. In his experience, it never was. “I had to shave.”

“I noticed. I thought you just meant your face. You didn’t have to do your head too. Eat. You look like you’re going to pass out, and I don’t want to have to lift you. I’d probably kill myself trying.”

That wasn’t true.

That alpha might be smaller than most, but like all shifters, he had to be strong. He could, no doubt, lift Dagz without trying.

However, Dagz took the offered food and sat at the small table next to the bed. The chair was even more scratchy than the bed looked, but it was easier to sit and eat. After he finished all the meat (that melted in his mouth and was much better than bland chicken), the alpha tossed all four sandwiches at him. They hit Dagz in the chest and landed on his thighs.

“What’s your name?” the alpha asked. He was done with his meal, and he took a swig off a bottle of lager. A whole pack of them sat on the nightstand, but the alpha didn’t offer any and Dagz wasn’t going to ask.

Unconsciously, he rubbed the back of his neck where the runes were. His name. “Dagz Thorn.”

The alpha snorted. His lips paused on the mouth of the bottle, practically kissing it. “Really? Is that your performance name or something your parents gave you?”

Dagz tore into one of the sandwiches, full of grilled pork, and chewed. He hadn’t thought about his parents in a long time. The tundra couldn’t support an extra wolf. Especially a weak omega—an unwanted omega with a curse on his head. “I didn’t have a name back then. My first master gave it to me.”

The alpha lowered the bottle and his mouth hung open for a brief moment. “That’s. . . kinky. Did your master teach you how to have a normal conversation?”

Dagz felt his cheeks burn. He shoved the rest of that sandwich into his mouth and chewed. Before he finished, the alpha rose and stalked toward him, holding a new bottle of lager. He was probably going to break it over Dagz’s head for angering him. That might bring out the battle fury again and—

Pop.

Clink.

The alpha set the bottle on the table and pressed another sandwich into Dagz’s hands. “Drink that you giant bastard. And ask me my name. A conversation is when two or more people speak with each other, and I have plenty of things to ask you before I let you fall asleep.”

“I know what a conversation is,” Dagz grumbled and took a long swallow. The fuzz danced across his tongue and tasted much better than any of the cheap alcohol he’d ever been offered. “What’s your name?”

The alpha leaned on the table and showed his fangs. “The Jester.”