Poison Ivy Ch. 01

She finished pulling on the dress and then paused. It fit her perfectly, like it had been made for her, hugging her curves in all the right places and falling to exactly mid-thigh. Strange coincidence, but not anything she had time to worry about now. Her hands itched for her gun, or at the very least a knife. Hell, she'd take a fucking salad fork right now, as long as it was solid and pointy. Quickly looking around the obnoxiously overstuffed closet, she spotted a pair of black lace-up stilettos and ran to grab one. In a pinch, the heel might do some damage. Maybe.

Eager to continue her search for an exit, she spun around and bolted out, and for the second goddamn time that day, ran straight into his fucking brick wall of a chest. Staggering back, Ivy held the heel of the shoe out at him like it was the barrel of a gun. "Stay back," she warned, eyes narrowed in what she hoped was a terrifying expression.

He raised an eyebrow at her and smiled. Okay, not so terrifying, then. "Or... you'll shoot me with a shoe?" He wasn't laughing, but she could hear it bubbling up right behind his words. She straightened and bristled, glaring at him. "If I fucking have to," she deadpanned, choosing to ignore the ridiculousness of her claim.

"You're bleeding," he told her, stepping forward and easily blocking her deadly jab of the stiletto. He gripped her arm gently, inspecting the dressings that were now soaked with blood. She tried to yank her arm away, but as she was rapidly learning, trying to make him do anything he didn't want to do was about as easy as nailing mud to a wall.

"Fuck you," she snarled, opting for a verbal attack as she watched his fingers move across the bandage. A firm press on a particularly sensitive spot elicited a wince and a hissed inhale. She avoided looking at him as she pushed half-heartedly at the hand holding pressure to the bleeding wound. "Stop it, I'm fine." She could barely hold back the whine in her voice as she felt the burn of his grip on her upper arm.

"Aren't you supposed to be a medic?" he growled, and she didn't have to look up to know that he was scowling at her. "Ivy. Look at me." His deep, commanding voice boomed in the relatively small space, and she felt her eyes move up involuntarily to meet his. That was definitely a mistake. Tornado-grey clouds swirled behind his irises as he glared down at her, his lips pressed together in clear exasperation. All hint of amusement had disappeared. She shrank back a little. Also involuntarily, of course.

He could write a book about how to make a person shit themselves with just a look.

"I'll allow that you had no knowledge of your dynamic or that you were blocking your heat cycles. Even if you were just a small Beta female, you should never have been on that base, in the middle of so much danger. Then, when I find you there, a Team Leader responsible for leaving the gates during defensive operations, after I specifically instructed your idiot Sergeant to replace you immediately, you fly into combat at the first sign of trouble with NO regard for your personal safety.

"Imagine my surprise, little Omega, to expect you to be waiting for me with your bags packed, only to find you in the middle of a fucking ambush, running back and forth to save disposable Betas with no cover, no weapon, and a fucking bullet lodged in your shoulder, all because you have absolutely no fucking sense of self-preservation!" By the time he was finished, his eyes were burning literal holes into her soul and he was practically shouting. The dressing room shook with his anger, and she was biting her lip to stop herself from crying out.

Reading the pained look on her face, his grip on her arm loosened as he let out a slow breath. The fresh anger and healthy dose of fear had cleared her head, and she was rapidly catching up to her current predicament. She waited until his breathing was even and the hand wrapped around her arm simply held her still instead of threatening to snap her humorous like a dry twig.

"First of all," she said through gritted teeth, "I have no fucking idea what you're talking about. You have me confused with someone else. My mother and father were both Beta, and I've never done or taken anything that could possibly block any heat cycles. I am a Beta female, albeit a very short one, and thankyou very much for pointing that out. The fact is, I had just as much right to be on that base as any other Beta male in that Battalion, maybe even more. I outperform 80% of my peers in physical fitness assessments, and those are by male standards, so don't give me that shit about the army taking it easy on me because I'm female. I never asked to be a fucking Team Leader, but our asshole boss did some kinky shit with his girlfriend and broke his ankle, Serg put me up for the position, and I got it. So I made the fucking best of it, okay? And I was doing a pretty good fucking job until your bossy ass came sniffing around.

"And another thing," she continued, on a roll now. "Sergeant Prescott is not an idiot. If any of you asshole officers spent any more than a few seconds a year actually out and leading the enlisted ranks like you're fucking supposed to, you would know that he's the best Sergeant in Rico Battalion. And yes, you're right, I would lay down my life every goddamn day to save someone else because no Beta is fucking disposable!" Shaking, she took a deep breath and closed her eyes, bracing for the blow that would inevitably come. When none did, she peeked up at him cautiously. Anger still clouded his features, but he was looking at her in a very peculiar way that made her uneasy for reasons she couldn't quite fathom.

The room decided just then that it would be a great time to tilt and spin out of focus, because why not? And for a sickening second, she thought she might pass out. She lifted a hand to her forehead and it came away damp with cold sweat. "I think I need to sit down," she told him, her voice considerably softer than a moment ago when she'd been yelling (yelling!) at the larger-than-life Alpha crouching in front of her. He cursed under his breath as she took a shaky step forward, meaning to push him out of the way, and nearly slammed her head into his chin as she doubled over. As if she weighed nothing, he scooped her up and took several long strides across the room to the imposing bed the approximate size of her entire room back home. Gently placing her down, he shook a case off one of the feather soft pillows surrounding her head with one hand and continued to put pressure on her shoulder with the other. When he was done, he balled up the satiny fabric and pushed it into the wound on top of the drenched dressings. "Hold this," he said gruffly, pressing the fingers of her opposite hand over the crumpled, makeshift bandage.

He reached into the side pocket of his fatigues and pulled out a sleek silver cellphone, far more expensive than anything she had ever been able to afford. Typical, she grumbled to herself. She half-listened to him speaking quietly into the phone as she tried to peak under the dressings to see how bad the bullet had torn her up. He slipped the phone back into his pocket and looked down at her, sighing in frustration at her attempts to thwart his pillowcase plan, and pressed his hand over her own fingers to trap them to her shoulder.

She narrowed her eyes at him when he went to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "Where's your mate?" she spat out, heat rising to her cheeks as she remembered the humiliating noises she'd made while his fingers had twisted and curled inside of her. And that stuff, the slick, he had called it. She wanted to squeeze her eyes shut tight and never open them again, but she met his gaze evenly, defiantly.

Storm cloud eyes moved down her body, taking in the simple white dress she had pulled on in her haste, the elegant, expensive fabric now stained red near her shoulder. She'd probably have to replace the stupid thing. It must cost as much as she made in three months, if not more. Amused comprehension lightened the severity of his expression as he looked back up. "The clothes are yours, clever girl. I have taken no mate. Yet."

She blinked. "Mine?" she squeaked, only belatedly processing the ominous yet at the end of his sentence.

He canted his head, as if she were the one saying ridiculous things! "Yes. This is your room, your closet, and yes, those are your clothes."

Her mouth gaped. If she saved every penny she earned until the end of her military career... No, wait. Scratch that. Until the end of her life, she may have been able to afford a small corner of the garments and accessories she had spotted in that closet, all very high end, all designer brand. She picked her jaw up off her chest and huffed. "Okay, listen. Sir Alpha. There really has been a terrible mistake here. I'm not blaming you, but things are gonna get hairy when people realize I'm not Omega and you've put me up like I am one and wasted all this money on a mid-level corporal. So, for your own sake, I suggest you go double check your facts and get me back to Chid base before anyone's the wiser, and we can both get on with our lives."

He chuckled. The bastard. "Listen to the little Omega trying to order Sir Alpha around," he drawled. She felt the urge to scratch his eyes out. She should have hung onto that stiletto.

Before she could come up with a response that would get her point across without resorting to (too much) violence, a door she most certainly would not have seen, almost hidden beside a towering armoire on the far side of the room, opened to reveal a short Beta soldier carrying a similar med pack to the ones she and her boys used. She relaxed a little, finding comfort in that small bit of familiarity amidst all this confusion. The Beta approached and stood before the Alpha at attention, ignoring her entirely. That was kinda rude, but whatever.

"Her shoulder," the Alpha grunted, and motioned to where the obviously bleeding wound was. The Beta glanced down at her and then back up to the Alpha, cocking his head in an unspoken question. "Just put her out," he said, looking at her in a calculating way. "She could use the sleep anyways."

"No, I couldn't," she retorted. "And if you come any closer to me with that fucking needle, I'll stick it in your eye," she snapped to the Beta who was drawing up a sedative she recognized from a thin vial. The Beta glanced up again, not at her, of course, and waited until he was given a curt nod.

Quicker than she could react, the two men worked together, her tormentor capturing her arm and holding it still while the Beta swabbed her forearm with alcohol and sank the needle into a vein. Ivy screamed, more out of anger than actual pain, and as soon as it was released, her arm lashed out, clipping the medic's jaw with her closed fist. She smiled in satisfaction as he stumbled back, rubbing his face. Thick fingers gripped her chin and drew her gaze back into irritated and darkened eyes.

"He's just following orders," he chastised her quietly. She paused at that. She knew that, but... To be fair, she had warned him, and it was her the Beta was sedating, and she had definitely not given her consent. She opened her mouth, then closed it, forgetting what she had been about to say. Her eyelids drooped, and she looked around the spinning room for something, anything that could help her.

"Please," she murmured tiredly. Blurry eyes tried to focus on the huge, dark figure looming over her. "I just want to go home."

Her eyes fluttered closed as she felt him lean forward to kiss her forehead. "You are home, precious girl," she heard him whisper against her brow just before the world went dark.