Page 136 of Unhinged Alphas

The door opens and a group of doctors and scientists file in, their white coats pristine and their faces masks of professional curiosity. They're all women this time, and they all look vaguely alike. Allthe same type of beautiful. High cheekbones, sharp angles, full lips, arched eyebrows.

Actually, just about everyone here is beautiful, but in an uncanny way. Like they've all been to the same plastic surgeon. But I can feel their eyes on me, studying me as ifI'mthe one who's strange. As if I'm some rare specimen.

And as an omega, I guess I am.

"Good morning, omega," one of the doctors says, her voice falsely cheerful. "How are you feeling today?"

I resist the urge to growl at her. Instead, I plaster on a neutral expression. "Fine," I reply, my voice flat.

The doctor nods, making a note on her tablet. "Excellent. We're going to run a few more tests today, if that's alright with you."

It's not a question, not really. We both know I don't have a choice in the matter. But I appreciate the pretense of civility, I guess. It's more than I ever got at the Refinement Center.

"Whatever you need," I say, forcing a smile that doesn't reach my eyes.

The scientists buzz around me like bees, their movements precise and practiced. A tall, blonde woman with sharp features approaches with aneedle. "I'm going to take a blood sample now," she says, her tone clinical. "You may feel a slight pinch."

I grit my teeth as the needle slides into my vein. It's more than a slight pinch, but I've endured far worse. I watch as my blood fills the vial, wondering what secrets they hope to glean from it.

"When was your last heat cycle?" a younger scientist asks, her pen poised over a clipboard.

I consider lying, but decide against it. They probably have ways to verify this information. "I don't remember exactly when," I mutter, keeping it vague.

She scribbles something down, her eyes lighting up with interest. "And do you remember how long it lasted?"

"A few days," I say, not wanting to give them too much detail about my time with the Ghosts.

Another scientist, an older woman with graying hair, steps forward with a stethoscope. "Deep breath, please," she instructs, pressing the cold metal to my chest. I comply, trying to ignore the discomfort of her invasion into my personal space.

"Your heart rate is elevated," she notes, frowning slightly. "Are you feeling anxious?"

I almost laugh at the absurdity of the question. "Wouldn't you be?" I retort, unable to keep the edge out of my voice.

The scientist merely hums in response, making another note on her tablet.

Despite the clinical nature of their examinations, I can't help but notice that the staff here treats me with a measure of... kindness isn't quite the right word. Respect, maybe? It's unsettling, especially compared to the brutal treatment I endured in the Refinement Center. I find myself constantly on edge, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

In a sense, it's worse.

When there's a lapse in the tests, one of the younger scientists leans in close, her eyes wide with barely contained excitement. "I've never seen an omega up close before," she whispers. "Is it true that you burned off your own mark?"

I tense, my hand instinctively moving to cover the scarred skin on my shoulder. "Yes," I say curtly, not wanting to elaborate.

The scientist's eyes widen even further. "Incredible," she breathes. "Didn't it hurt?"

I laugh, the sound harsh and bitter. "Of course it hurt."

The girl flinches back, looking chastened. Good. I'm not here to satisfy her morbid curiosity.

As the day wears on, I start to piece together a mental map of the facility. The scientists, in their eagerness to study me, let slip more details than they probably should. I learn we're in a research complex not that deep in Vrissian territory. The facility is massive, with multiple levels dedicated to various experiments and "asset containment."

That last bit makes my skin crawl. I wonder if Wraith and Valek are somewhere in this labyrinth of sterile corridors and locked doors. Are they even alive? The thought sends a chill through me.

"Omega," one of the doctors says, her voice gentle. I still haven't given them a name. They don't seem to have figured out who I am yet. Or if they have, they haven't told me. "We'd like to run some more specialized tests now."

I tense, my guard immediately up. "What kind of tests?"

The doctor exchanges a glance with her colleagues. "Nothing invasive, I assure you. We're just interested in studying your unique physiology."