a gentle tongue breaketh the bone | 4: bound
pairing: fem hybrid fox omega!reader/hybrid Alpha!nct 127
tags: reverse harem, non-traditional omegaverse hybrid! cyberpunk au, pack dynamics, polyamory, slowburn/slowbuild, angst & hurt/comfort, heavy content warnings inc. torture, graphic violence, suicidal ideation, explicit sexual content
summary: the year is 2127. decades of eugenics and warfare have led to the rise of designated populations: the ruler Alphas and their rare, prized omegas sequestered from the Beta population. in the aftermath of the War of the Two Tigers, New Goryeo ushers in an Imperial dynasty determined not by birthright but by the alliance of the Syndicate's clancorps to choose the best pack of your generation. you are destined to take your place within the Imperial harem as a queen, and–perhaps–Imperatrix herself
but you have a secret, written into your skin and bones–one that could easily kill you, depending on who finds it out
ten years ago you chose your Alpha and their pack in a fateful meeting
now, you must make them choose you
[masterlist & glossary] [read on AO3] [0: prologue] [1: escape, again] [2: lost and found] [3: returned]
wc: 5.2k
chapter warnings: none, unless you count gratuitous use of wattpad tropes
recommended listening: city lights - tvxq! u-know ft. taeyong, blueblood - ive
Crown Prince Lee Taeyong [vulpin vulpes α] - (formerly) 4th in line for the throne
Winter is dry enough they go close to land for safety, windows open as Doyoung follows old streets, deeper into Zone One towards the waterline and the tallest and brightest of the megaliths, its base spanning blocks.
Outside the buildings grow taller, choked in bare mangrove trunks and vines. Dead leaves are torn down to layer cracked concrete and flooded pits, slowly burying the old grid. Outside the Dome and walled Old Seoul nature has returned with a vengeance–plantlife genetically altered to grow with violence.
If Neo Seoul isn't eroded by the sea, it will be retaken by the Wild in less than a century. Only the seasons keep it in check.
The barricaded walls of each skyscraper are flanked by pop-ups and clubs boosting sound and smell into the crisp night air. News drones flit back and forth like dragonflies on a swamp of those swarming in from the less wealthy Zones for resupply and entertainment.
There's the occasional gunshot and the sound of a throttled engine from someone showing off their fuel-run monstrosity but the real spectacle is in the sky, advertisements painted in video-graffiti on every surface, cells charged by the faintest of UV to project cold colors across the broken cityscape.
Drugs, sex, cheap food delivered at a whim, without discrimination. It's only the Syndicate keeping the sheen of civility on it, their hired armies and the NSMR indulging more than they enforce any kind of protection for the masses.
The rendezvous point is one of many clancorp enclaves, a Kim puppet company takeover of an old amusement park repurposed for gladiator spectacle. He knows this place all too well–his packmates even more.
For a small price one can rent any number of ancient costumes and join the stands to watch unmodded designated draw blood–sometimes to the death. If they don't have enough bodies they crush old vehicles together like chariots, engineered for theater in the flame from their exhausts and PA systems blasting martial music.
"Is she alright?" Doyoung asks once they've purred to a stop outside the service gate of the Lottery.
"Fine," Taeil says. He hasn't looked up once from the digital feed deck in his hand, the other still holding an IV bag to the headrest behind the small, sleeping form beside him.
Taeyong can recognize that posture for how often his own body has been in it, the awkwardness of a human spine adopting the fox's curl. Even more, the shivering from losing a fighting battle with the drugs dripping into your system.
You're chasing an endpoint that won't be pretty. And whatever actions or deliberation he wields tonight will decide how soon and how painfully that will manifest.
The job had been simple: retrieve the Kim clan's prized daughter. According to the dossier she'd flitted away in one of her usual fanciful adventures with a rogue pack.
All believable lies, but he knew Garam, knew what channels to go down to confirm that it wasn't her. No aspiring heiress with eyes on the Imperatrix title would have been so careless.
He'd still agreed to the job, more out of curiosity than strategy. At first he'd thought it was one of the other Syndicate omegas—perhaps a daughter from a less-wealthy branch with a reputation for roaming outside the Dome.
He'd sent out the ops team with that instinctual tingle on the edge of his mind, more worried about involving Nyctos in a clancorps powerplay. A risk, as Doyoung had reiterated time and time again.
But he hadn't expected you. Regrettably, neither had his enforcer.
The perfume in the air is returning with the car stopped and he coughs weakly at it, the sandalwood overwhelming his senses.
"Spray her down and change her clothes," he instructs Taeil. "And give her something to wake her up. She needs to be walking when we bring her in."
The doctor gives him a withering look, holding up his bag. "You want to do the honors? She's already taken more drugs in the past hour than our entire pack takes in a year."
"Just keep her alive. And conscious," Taeyong adds, extricating himself from your flopping tail. "There's green rooms on the first floor you can post up in. Jungwoo will lead, I'll send you the signal once it's time."
Moon doesn't answer, pulling out the port carefully from your arm, stopping the bleeding. Taeyong's ears flick unconsciously as he scents a particular strain of feline, now emitting from you with the recombinant effect of heat.
Once out of the car he breathes deeply, for the first time grateful for the awful miasma of uncollected waste and burning plastic that permeates the metropolis's exposed floor.
"What?" he asks, seeing Jungwoo's eye turned to him in profile. The younger man stretches out from his long stint in the passenger seat, his beatific face lit by the glow of the night carnival.
"I didn't say a word," Jungwoo laughs, playing with a telescopic, dark cylinder before shoving it into his suit jacket.
"You were thinking it," Taeyong sighs. "Stick with Taeil. I trust you still have back access here?"
"Yes, captain," he says, smiling. "You sure you don't need protection?"
"I need you to run interference," Taeyong says sharply. "We don't need an enforcer."
Doyoung finally exits the vehicle, still wearing the pinched expression Taeyong knows means he's holding back criticism. His dark eyes rove between the two men before returning back to the holographic readout of his tablet, so many rectangles on display that the text is barely legible.
"Too much security would be considered a sign of disrespect and weakness," Doyoung says, wrinkling his nose with obvious distaste for the smells coming from nearby dumpsters. "You get her cleaned up, we'll take care of the mess upstairs."
"Yes, cousin," Jungwoo says with a small bow, needling the elder on the point of shared relations. Taeyong watches the Canid approach the tense Lottery security and a bank of laser turrets with a self-assurance he can only dream of.
"Reconsidering the plan?" Doyoung asks, looking over his yellow-tinged glasses with their faint lines of readout from his watch dogs.
"No," Taeyong says firmly. He smooths his shirt and jacket before running a hand over his erratic hair, finding his ears flattened. "We'll perform the handoff. But only if and when I call it."
"Yes, captain." Doyoung sighs. Taeyong gets a faceful of menthol and green fields in his wake as his strategist immediately starts walking towards the heavily guarded entrance, chin raised and shoulders back.
He knows this will be a long night. Best to get it over as soon as possible, for your sake.
[two hours later]
The doors of the vacuum capsule release with a hiss–revealing a much-anticipated party of people rather than the ever-cycling sea of Beta waitstaff that had come in to change out ancient teapots and rekindle charcoal.
There's a perceptible air of surprise from the entourage, finding Doyoung and Taeyong alone. Doyoung trails through news feeds with a gentle movement of his fingertips.
"Our apologies, your highness." The family spokesman speaks but Taeyong's eyes remain fixed on the eldest Kim prince, a Duke in his own right. He lets the man bow until he feels the depth is suitable enough to offer a nod in return.
"We expect that the delay was necessary?" he drawls, contemplating his cold clay cup of tea and the untouched spread.
"We regret to have kept you–"
"Please spare me excuses," Taeyong says. "I assume you've already checked the report we sent you."
The executive nods, swallowing, while the Duke bores holes into his forehead with his stare.
"We are grateful to you for returning our daughter to us." Duke Kim nods once he's seated, testing one of the many untouched dishes on the table with his pinky.
"You can keep your guard and attendant but I want this room cleared," Taeyong says. "Your second wife can stay, too."
He watches the older woman bristle at being caught out even as she was headed for the door with the rest, pulled back to seat herself on the edge of the long booths leading to a magnificent view of the stadium below. She smooths her evening gown over her lap, eyes immediately focused on the screen over Taeyong's head.
"You'll see we prepared the contract agreement for this closure as well as some additional details. In light of changes we had to make some additions we think you will agree with, easily," Doyoung says, not looking up.
"The first amendment is a change in target. Attached to the register is our full documentation of your daughter's activities for the last three weeks, including her private social accounts and offline engagements."
The elder Kim seems to wither, colored a sickly yellow-pink from the exterior lighting. His spouse sits straighter, looking Taeyong in the eye.
"We did not say she was our–"
"A convenient loophole, yes, Duchess Kim. Or should I call you Aunt?" Taeyong asks, dripping sarcasm. She doesn't bother to scold him, clearly outranked.
"We recognize the possibility that our organization was confused on which asset was involved and the need for discretion, but the Princess Consort's involvement makes this a state issue, not a clan one."
Doyoung brushes through screens to settle on a few images, letting the room marinate in the data.
"We will assume you operated under Syndicate discretion in hiring us to retrieve the Princess. We generally wouldn't care which one. Our real concern is why you involved us when your daughter was the one to orchestrate her escape in the first place."
The silence in the room is punctuated by Doyoung pouring fresh tea from the nearest iron kettle, the tenth brought into the room by Taeyong's reckoning. He hands him a cup with the barest brush of fingers and a nod.
Taeyong drinks, finally, grimacing at the flavor–obviously some experimental hybrid cooked up for the mass market at an inflated price.
"Yes, we were asked to return the Princess Consort, quietly," the Duke admits. "We'll double your commission. For discretion. Consider it an apology for our adopted daughter's indiscretion."
Taeyong lowers his cup, uncrossing his legs.
"What is the plan for the Princess Consort when she's returned?" Taeyong asks, keeping his voice steady.
The Duke sputters, his wife sitting up straighter. "I don't believe that's your concern–"
"Unfortunately, it is, now." Taeyong slouches back, projecting disinterest. "What's the current ranking for Garam's succession?"
"Well, let's check, shall we." Doyoung pushes a readout to the main screens. "Fifth. Bordering on seventh."
"Seems that even the backalley averages have shifted without this news being leaked to scream sheets. Can't imagine the stock futures for our cousin will move less quickly," Taeyong says, his lips curling.
"I have a small investment in Garam per the family share agreement," Doyoung says, sagely. "Although she lacks finesse she appears to have the motivation to succeed for Imperatrix once she's chosen for the harem. Perhaps she wished to be assured in her status. Nothing new in the palace. But it would be a shame if this incident came to light."
"Triple," the Duke blurts out, earning a look and a head toss from his spouse. "She's just a child. It was a game to her."
"I'll ask you again," Taeyong says. "And I only want the truth, without pretense. What will you do with the Princess Consort once she's returned?"
The matriarch is the one to answer, standing up.
"My sister raised that child to be feral. Uncontrollable. She's a liability." She ignores her husband's weak response, emboldened by Taeyong's glare.
"We offered her mercy and you dump her back at our door. In heat, no less. Will you explain that to a Syndicate tribunal?"
A few moments of silence is all it takes for the mistake to settle in, regret instantly apparent on the woman's contorted face, so modded the muscles no longer respond in a human way. Duke Kim crumbles, elbows on his knees and head in his hands.
"In heat?" Doyoung looks up from his tablet, pretending to finally pay attention. "This is new information."
"Indeed," Taeyong says, steepling his hands. "Are you privy to something we are not?"
"The stench on her, she has the marks–"
"Our physician did note significant scar tissue, possibly a match to a failed bond mark made many years ago. But I fail to see how we could be accused of that. And her current condition is stable."
"We have biological scans—" This time the Duke grabs his wife's wrist, dragging her to sit down.
"You did this," the woman snarls. "You could have let those thieves have her. You want to know the truth? She's ruined. She'll be culled or sold to a third-rate pack. Or off herself like her mother. What's it to you, Your Highness?"
The last words are spoken as a threat. Taeyong lifts his head, calm despite the storm inside him.
"Bring her up, please," he says, waving his hand. "We can do a physical examination with witnesses. And then we'll discuss the handover."
He nods to the Imperial attache, well aware of his folded posture and the spike of anxiety coming off him in waves. The old eunuch fingers his short-trimmed beard, thinking as his spectacles flash with messages, his other hand writhing over the tabletop to respond.
"The Syndicate has already logged a majority vote to your transmitted request," he announces. "You have approval for the examination, and the negotiation proceedings to take place between the Kim and Lee clans, with eldest patriarchs present and accounted for. Choi, Park, and Jeong have called for an emergency meeting for oversight and in-person approval."
"Any in-person meetings will need to be scheduled with advance notice for full clan representation." Doyoung responds, a little late. "She's on her way up."
The hiss of the door halts everything, but it's not your entourage. The waiter takes one look at the room and the tension and bows, stumbling out backwards.
"What do you want?" The Duchess asks in defeat. "Money? Backing?"
Taeyong turns slightly to his partner, meeting his questioning look. Doyoung is usually steps ahead, but not in this. He'd transmitted the message to the Syndicate directly for a reason.
"I propose something mutually beneficial," Taeyong says, spilling discount lapsang souchong on the ancient wood table as he sets his cup down. He waits a beat, specifically making eye contact with the Duke and ignoring his wife.
"You sell her to me."
You sit like you've been taught for court, held head high and back straight, but with the slightest sway of relaxed confidence. Your eyes don't leave the scene in the caged arena directly below the conference room, two heavily-modded designated fighters facing off in a blur of flesh and chrome.
The negotiation has been going on an hour since your arrival, after you'd been escorted to a private room to be poked and prodded by two staff physicians still in their company uniforms. The Imperial attache, Soong, records the examination with a drawling narration that makes shivers run over your exposed skin.
You realize just how gentle Taeil has been with you by the way you are groped and handled, your borrowed white gown discarded to expose your bare flesh, instruments inserted in every orifice with little warning.
Once assured that your temperature is within range and your hormones are stable they leave, letting you adjust your clothing behind a tall lacquer screen that seems an afterthought after the assault.
You're used to such disrespect. Your body had never truly belonged to you, after all.
You emerge once your heartbeat’s stabilized, calming yourself with the aid of a relaxant that’s done nothing to ease the pain of the ice bath you'd been subjected to in a grimy locker room. The medicinal balms and powders you'd doused in to obscure your scent are just as much an indignity, reduced to smelling like a pit fighter.
"She's clear, Your Highness." The eunuch coughs. "Unmarked as well, so still eligible for contract. The scar tissue is almost a decade old as evidenced by multiple layers of resurfaced tissue."
"As I said, we would not have brought a heat-gone omega to this spectacle," Doyoung says. "Perhaps we will take it to mean that Princess Lee–apologies–Duchess Kim was concerned for the welfare of her niece outside of a controlled environment."
"Thank you for your concern, Aunt," you finally speak, half-bowing in the older woman's direction. She'd embraced you when you entered but you could feel the steel in her frame, see the twitch of her lip as she forced her smile.
Before you might have felt a sense of betrayal. But you were prepared, somewhat, by the secret feed from the room played live over Jungwoo's field display. You'd heard her insults finally after years of cold politeness, unable to spare you even a kind word in the wake of her older sister's death.
Her only omega daughter, Garam, had been closer, feeding you tidbits of gossip and sticking up for you to the other court ladies at their endless functions. The fact that she'd sent you out with placebo suppressants was cruel, but not unexpected. You'd at least had your own stash to rely on.
They must have thought you'd give yourself away quickly, that they could ruin your reputation and Halatus with a single blow.
You hadn’t found out what happened to the rogue pack, yet, but looking at Taeyong's elegant profile you can't imagine he's treated them with cruelty. Even before meeting him in the flesh his reputation had preceded him in his preference for logic over violence.
It's the others in his company you were worried about.
"There's no way we'll be able to do this openly as a deal with the Syndicate. You'll need to convince them that it's in their best interest," Doyoung says.
"And how exactly is that?" The Imperial attache asks. "She was scheduled to be married into Tekhne with her cousin and three other high potentials. We've spent years brokering this deal."
He keeps looking at you with sharp eyes, as if unconvinced of your state. You let your ears and tail curl back, feigning piety.
"In exchange for our discretion on this whole matter, which is necessary to assure Garam's promotion, we'll join the bloc supporting Tekhne for ascension." Taeyong says. "The Kim family will be able to include an exclusive contract for Nyctos security as a part of her dowry."
Doyoung looks at him, whites showing around his dark eyes. You know he's a prey Alpha by how sweet his scent is–lilac and lavender with a hint of cream. It's a strange contrast to the anger bubbling right below the surface of his elegant face, carefully smoothed down.
"Wouldn't that be against your clan's vow of non-interference?" Soong barks a laugh, clearly enjoying himself.
"We can't–" Doyoung begins.
"I'm not putting anyone's reputation on the line for this but my own, this is purely business." Taeyong lays his ringed hand on the table beside the digital readout. "We've included a clause to default the contract to Syndicate control should the Kims renege on any of our terms."
You know all too well what that means, squirming in your seat.
"The rest of your clan will take this as an act of betrayal," Doyoung says quietly.
"They have no bearing on my decisions," Taeyong says. "Every Lee in Nyctos has divorced themselves from court politics with their expulsion from the Dome. And in accordance with the 2115 Peace Treaty no male heirs of our clan will be eligible for succession."
"Then what is the point of breeding her?" The Duke asks, confused.
"As soon as she entered the register we were identified as a potential pairbond and a vector for omega offspring," Taeyong says. "Projections at 89.9%."
You glance over, a little surprised.
"Now, do you agree to the match?" he asks for what feels like the final time.
"There's just a small matter of the investment options . . .”
You tune out the endless back-and-forth at the table, feeling numbness as they discuss your body and your life in the language of a financial transaction. The genetic probability of future heirs, tenth generation royal breeding (with the exception of your father, of course), phenotype expression–all just noise you've only ever heard indirectly.
You may as well be a prized broodmare sold at auction.
At least the terms don't include a future trapped in the palace with its schemes and clancorps oversight. No, you'd just hope you weren't eaten alive by a feral Alpha.
"Are you alright?" Jungwoo slides beside you, careful to not touch your bare arm but coming dangerously close when he looks over your shoulder at the fight below. It's over already, the aftermath reduced to an automated cleaner bot trailing blood as limbs are carted away.
You nod, not wanting to speak for fear of your voice trembling.
"Do you want to get some air?"
You shake your head.
Taeil intervenes by stepping up to you both, checking your pupils surreptitiously.
"We're going to have to let them return you to the Dome until the contract can be finalized. Are you going to be alright?" he asks.
You nod absently, looking up into the doctor's cool gaze. In better light you can see the faded tracks of scars across his forehead and cheek, eyebrow nicked permanently. Cat claw, and a large one.
Recognition makes your head spin. Of course, he was there. Along with another whose name you couldn't remember–you knew their scents better than some of your closer relations.
You bristle internally, anger flaring in your breast. The architects of your current situation are now complicating it again.
At least, you think, Taeyong had taken responsibility. The rest of his pack would have to, in time.
"Would you be able to escort me?" You request, dipping your chin. "I can hire you directly."
"That won't be necessary," Doyoung says, concentrating half on you and half on the discussion at the table.
"If the terms are accepted by the Syndicate," he pauses to make it clear they will be, "we will set a date to come retrieve the Princess Consort. There will have to be a ceremony, of course. As fitting the last of the immediate Lee family Imperial heirs."
You look past him at your savior himself, Taeyong's large eyes meeting yours with a twinge of sadness. You smile at him assuringly, managing politeness even though you feel drained of every emotion possible.
For a pairbond match, you could do worse. There's a bubbly kind of anxiety in your stomach at the idea of being chained to anyone. No attractiveness or familiarity or convenience can divorce you from the changes made to the very marrow of your bones when you'd been marked before.
Taeyong knows this, surely. You must just be a chess piece in a gambit, the weakest of pawns disguised as a Queen.
Perhaps if you do your part they'll be able to let you go once you've been liberated. But there isn't a guarantee.
"Since we're to be wed, can I make one request of my husband-to-be?" You ask, carefully.
Taeyong nods, swallowing visibly as you lean towards him.
"In private, please, Your Highness," you say demurely. You stand up and beckon him out of the room, thankful he waves off the others.
"Anything you say here is either being broadcast or recorded," he warns you once you're alone in the dim hallway, out of range of an unconcerned guard.
"I know." You indicate you wish to speak in his ear, forcing him to lean down to allow the soft red fur with its black tip to brush against your human nose. The sweet, herbal tones of his natural scent pull you closer, body brushing against his jacket.
"Thank you," you whisper–
–along with "I'm sorry"
–right before you sink your teeth into the warm skin, savage enough to fill your mouth with blood and fur.
"What exactly were you thinking?" Doyoung repeats for the thousandth time, voice shrill.
You lean against the autocar's open window, your face in the air, scenting a million flavors of human and designated but mostly yourself.
The perfume roiling off your body permeates the car, along with the iron tang of Taeyong's blood as he sways in the seat across from you, watching your innocent face like he intends to bury a dagger in it.
Occasionally you see a head turn on the street or hear a catcall but Doyoung is driving hazardously through the lower street level, swerving to avoid pedestrians and hoverbikes.
"I can't go back there." You state in a neutral tone, shaking your head. "They'll kill me before they let me leave."
Taeyong glares at you, lips in a pout as he holds a towel full of ice to his head. A whiskey bottle from the vehicle's stash dangles between his knees, already half-empty.
"We had a plan," he says. "Contingencies. You just leveled them all."
"The mark was to seal the agreement. I couldn't trust you to keep your word," you explain meekly, still tasting copper and spice on your tongue. It's good, a little satiation for the hunger that continues to ramp inside you as the medication wears off.
Taeil had said you had a few hours until your next dose, but within the brief chaos of getting you out of the Lottery your condition had reverted to what you’d suffered before being hit with a freezing shower, an ice bath that turned your lips blue, drowned in neutralizers and injected with three different brands of inhibitors.
"I have a much more potent treatment for you back at headquarters," Taeil says, hand on your forehead. He turns to Taeyong, repeating the gesture. "You'll need one too."
"How is that possible?" Jungwoo asks, surprise flickering over his long features.
"Not impossible." Taeyong says through gritted teeth. You thought he'd been flushed from the alcohol but clearly something is happening to his body as well.
A rut? You feel a distant horror at having triggered his during your first heat. You'd only meant to pretend to mark him, but maybe the proximity of your Alpha had caused some unintended effect.
"I'm sorry," you say, reaching forward.
Taeyong looks at your hand like it's a live snake, until he realizes you're beckoning for the bottle.
He sighs after a second, offering it to you. You sniff at it, bracing yourself.
"We'll get through it. We can delay it for a few days, probably. Long enough to establish some boundaries and rethink our approach." Taeyong groans, legs spreading. He pulls his tie loose, and immediately you scent cedarwood and blackberries.
Your mouth waters slightly.
"She looks like she's going to eat you. I thought she was bound to Johnny?" Jungwoo says, amused as he watches you across the car, tapping his nightstick against his knee in anticipation of you threatening his boss again.
There's an awkward silence, and you drink from the bottle directly, choking when the hot liquid coats your tongue and throat.
Taeil thumps your back beside you, taking his own drag before passing the bottle to Jungwoo.
"Figured it out, eh?" Taeil grunts at the younger man.
Jungwoo cocks his head, teeth barely visible behind his grim smile. "Well. She does smell like him."
Taeyong groans, leaning against the window.
"Maybe you should tell them before we get back and have to break it to the kids." The doctor directs the words at you, surprisingly.
"Tell them what?" Doyoung parrots, glancing up in the rearview mirror as he waits in line for a green light to the upper level, well above the tidemark now.
"It's a long story." Taeil caps the bottle. "Back when we were a unit in the NSMR together. Yuta and Johnny were on our team. Transfers from an overseas base doing post-war recovery to pad out their service."
"It was a standard rescue operation. Or so we thought," Taeyong laughs wryly. He looks up at you, licking his lips. "Do you remember?"
"Some," you say. "I was thirteen."
You wring your hands in your lap, thighs pulled tight together under the flimsy, blood-stained dress. You feel ridiculous. "You don't forget a bondmark."
Jungwoo's look of amusement fades immediately. "Why would he mark you?"
"It was an accident," you say. You'd never said it aloud, or even written it out, but your tone is rehearsed and cold. "He was in jimseung when he saved me. I was trapped underwater, drowning. He didn’t mean to hurt me."
"He frenzied." Taeil sighs. "Rare but not unprecedented. What doesn't usually happen is the victim of an accidental mark accepting the bond."
Doyoung responds first, smashing the dashboard with a string of expletives you hadn’t heard before. You cringe back, a familiar lump growing in your throat.
"I apologize for the burden I have placed on you," you say automatically.
Taeyong shakes his head, wincing when he feels his injury. "It was no one's fault. Truthfully we all hoped it would go away on its own."
"Syndicate science is advanced enough, they should have been able to rewrite it," Taeil says. You can tell he's questioning it himself, watching your face for a reaction.
"They tried," you say, automatically holding yourself. "Multiple bone marrow transplants. Genetic therapy. And then they kept me locked away so no one would find out. The doctors said once I had another Alpha's mark I'd be fine."
Taeil scoffs at that.
"So you rejected the treatment?" Jungwoo asks, warm gaze alight with something sinister. "Did you arrange this little reunion yourself, too?"
"Of course not," you say, startled. "I never wanted to see him again. I hate him."
"Didn't look like hate from what I saw," he says, eyebrows raising.
"I'm not in control–" Your anger bristles more quickly when you see he's mocking you. You snap at him with your teeth, pitching forward.
"Hey, stay put–"
"Stop it," Taeyong growls, ears aggressive. Both of you stop yelling at each other for a moment before you round on the leader, hackles fully raised.
"Don't you dare command me before . . . " You begin, voice trailing off as realization jolts through you.
His scent, the way he crouches into his seat rather than confront you back with your display of aggression, tail curling in. Disobedience was not tolerated in a pack by a prime Alpha, certainly not at the edge of a rut.
"Oh," you breathe.
Jungwoo breaks into laughter at that, bending over as Taeyong's face flushes scarlet. The Vulpine collapses back in the seat, looking miserable beneath his poultice.
"Well. She'd find out soon enough," Taeil assures him.
"You're a . . . You can't be . . ."
"Omega," Doyoung finishes from the front. The word hangs between you, car suddenly silent.
You'd been so distracted you hadn’t realized you'd entered a dark service elevator, lifted up dozens of stories. The silence is overwhelming as the four men avoid speaking, Jungwoo still watching you with amused distrust.
When the doors open you find yourself in a large hangar, so high that only the tops of lesser megapolis towers can be seen in the night sky. The familiar bulk of the AV sits on a narrow landing strip outside.
Taeil checks that the massive room is empty before his hand finds the latch.
"You're both omegas going into heat at the same time, with the same competing genealogy and bonded Alpha," he says, opening the door. Immediately you're hit with a familiar scent–something that your vixen knows only as home.
"Try not to kill each other."
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