A Sneak Peek to the Sequel: Part 3

A Slave for the Week

Everything about Alpha Cain is worse.

I don’t know if I should be happier or angrier but me and my fellow Omegas aren’t the ones who prepared breakfast the next day. Rather it was this pack’s own Omegas.

We were given our own food in our own prison-rooms and told that we only have five minutes to devour the whole stale bread and cold soup and some cloudy water that I suspect was from the rain yesterday. Maybe the soup was made from that rain too.

I finished my bread while I thought of the soup to be the water as I chunk it down my throat from its bowl in one go. As for the cloudy water, I used it on my face instead, washing my face lightly, dampening my hair so I can tightly tie it with a strip of cloth from my torn dress.

“Five minutes up, Omega!”

I didn’t bother replying so I silently strode from my prison-room, the tray of plates on hand.

“Leave it there,” the Omega in the washing sink grumbled.

I was dra