Untouched Omega (Alpha Elite Series Book 4), V.T. Bonds [best books to read for success .txt] 📗

study each child, soaking in her misery and pain. Memorizing every feature, noting each sign of suffering, I refuse to back down from her anguish.

I will be here for her.

Whether she spends minutes, hours, or days locked in this darkness, I’ll be here, ready to offer my everything.

Physical discomfort pulls my attention to our bodies. The water pelting us has turned cold. She shivers in my arms, so far gone she doesn’t even notice her surroundings. I tilt her chin up and search her face.

Pale cheeks and blue lips send alarm pulsing through me. I slam my fist into the control panel, not caring when it cracks since the cold water stops raining on us.

Her glassy, unfocused eyes tell me she’s still trapped in horrible memories. With smooth movements, I pick her up and cradle her against my chest. Exiting the stall, I grit my teeth as the warm air of the room wafts over us.

We stood in the shower so long the water turned ice cold and dropped the temperature in the enclosure too much.

I hurry to the bed, grateful I already put on clean sheets and dropped a new pile of nesting material in the center.

Refusing to let go of her for even a second, I kick the blankets out of the way and lay us both down in the center of the bed. I align our fronts, tucking her knee over my hip and threading my arm under her head. Pressing against her, I lean forward and grab a handful of blankets, piling them on top of us until we’re covered.

It still isn’t a nest, but she needs warmth and I need her in my arms.

Pulling her closer until her plush breasts pillow against me, I purr and stroke her hair, gathering my own courage.

Reining in my training, I split my focus. I allow my body to relay information to my brain while I push my subconscious into her nightmare.

This time, I come prepared.

I step behind her, looking over her head at the objects of her attention. Winding my arms around her, I realize she isn’t just standing there drowning in grief.

She’s apologizing to them.

Her arms hang heavy at her sides, but her love reaches out through the glass and liquid, stroking each feature with such care and tenderness my eyes fill with tears.

My real eyes, the ones attached to a huge Alpha male body, drip with sorrow and awe as she finds beauty in the worst place on the planet.

After a while, my emotions leak into her most hidden memory. She refuses to turn her eyes from her babies, but welcomes my suggestions.

She allows me to bring life into the depths of hell.

I frame her arms with my own, positioning them as though a child lays cradled in them.

The largest glass on the shelf shimmers.

A gray-skinned, frozen little girl rests in the crook of her arm. My purr vibrates through my lifemate’s chest and into the lifeless body her tears drip onto. Perfect little features fill out, her skin turning pink as new blood flows within her newborn veins.

A match for the first scar marring Anastasia’s heart, the adorable little angel blows a spit bubble before settling into sleep.

Anastasia’s thin fingers trace the bridge of the child’s nose before we squat down in tandem.

No longer in the dark room, we lay her babe where she belongs.

In Anastasia’s heart nest.

As we rise, eyes locked on the content little bundle of cuteness, darkness descends again.

My Omega trembles, both in my corporeal arms and in my soul.

As steady as I can, I lift my arms, supporting hers in preparation for the next child.

One empty vial sits among sixteen full jars on the creepy backlit shelves.

The second vase shimmers.

Another lifeless body weighs down our arms.

As he morphs into the adorable mite with a red face and strong lungs, Anastasia pets his perfect little features.

We place him beside his sister, snuggling him into his mother’s nest.

The ambiance in the nightmare refuses to fade, yet we return for another.

And another.

There’s no rush.

These matters can’t be shortened or made easier.

By the time the seventeenth bundle rests comfortably in Anastasia’s nest, we’re both shaking with the strain of such a monumental task.

Intending to pull away and focus on our neglected bodies, her tug on our link stops me.

Pleading pale orange irises pull me back to the darkened room.

Eerie, haunting emotions hide within the walls, despite the vases on the shelves being empty.

Without a word, she takes my hand and leads me to the rows of glass.

Facing away from me, she takes a moment to collect herself.

When she turns to me, her angry expression tells me everything.

Her empty arm shoots out and swipes a glass off the shelf. It falls and shatters on the floor, her fury rising as she unleashes her control.

While she rampages, flinging liquid-filled glass across the room and smashing the bottom shelf with her fist, she keeps a hand locked in mine.

I plant my feet and ground her, allowing her the freedom to release her pent-up emotions without the fear of falling too far and not being able to find her way out.

She destroys the second shelf after decimating each container individually, her soul screaming in savage rage, hating every moment she spent deceived.

Another shelf empties, the end of her fury nowhere in sight. The height of this glass surface requires her to rise on tiptoes to reach the empty urns.

Even in her memories, she keeps the exact dimensions, her world so bleak this room’s measurements have been etched into her psyche.

When she punches upward, raining shards of glass everywhere, a smirk steals onto my features.

She’s vicious.

Unrelenting.

Fierce.

And her fighting stance is in perfect form too.

Despite the gravity of the situation, I can’t help but feel possessive satisfaction course through me.

Mine.

My terrifying, strong, and resilient Omega.

Fiery eyes meet mine.

A demanding finger points at the leftmost vase.

She can’t reach the top shelf.

I snatch it with ease and hand it to her.

She slams it to the ground before pointing at the second.

Another gratifying splintering