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there was no other choice.

She might've started to doubt some of the information in Fulmer's dossier, but one thing no one had to convince her of was that she wouldn't survive being forcefully taken by an alpha.

But there was an even more compelling reason Stacy had to take her own life, and her last prayer might well be in gratitude that the shameful secret would die with her.

Despite having injected herself with at least three partial doses of Fulmer's suppressant, her body had reacted to Vonn's touch. The evidence was in the slick soaking through her jeans.

And worse, he'd known it even before she did. You like to fight back, don't you?

But she didn't!

Oh, she'd heard the accusation plenty, that tired old notion that she needed a real man to bring her to heel. The more soundly Stacy trounced a trainee, the more hateful the curses.

But Stacy had never fantasized about anything of the sort. She had ordinary sex, not very often, it was true…but definitely plain vanilla.

And yet, she couldn't deny what had happened. She had felt the heat building inside her as she and Vonn were locked in combat, an electric arousal stronger than any desire she'd ever felt before. She couldn't even stop herself from desperately, mortifyingly humping Vonn's massive body.

Stacy wished she could blame it on her dormant nature, but the horrible truth was that the accusations had been true all along. She was turned on by fighting Vonn, by the intimacy of one-on-one combat with a foe worthy of her. Even now, in her dying moment, she was burning for more.

That was the true horror, the one that needed to be ended by any means necessary.

The capsule cracked between her teeth, and a bitter taste washed over her tongue. Fulmer had told her that the darkness would come in just a few heartbeats. She gazed up at Vonn's face constricted in horror—the last sight she'd ever see—and drew her last breath.

She didn't die.

It was taking too long. Stacy panicked that the powerful narcotic in the pill meant to render her unconscious as the cyanide did its work had failed. If that was the case, her death would be agonizing. In seconds convulsions would fill her mouth with a mixture of saliva, blood, and vomit.

But more time passed, and nothing happened. Stacy's heart kept on beating, and the expression on Vonn's face went from horror to relief to smug amusement.

Stacy ground the shards of the pill's coating despite knowing it wouldn't work. Had she ingested even the slightest trace of cyanide, she wouldn't be breathing.

Vonn released his hold and rolled off her, settling himself into a relaxed pose as though the two of them had been lolling about on a spring picnic.

"Holy shit, woman," he said, his voice a little shaky, "you scared the crap out of me. Anybody ever tell you that you're fucking intense?"

When Stacy didn't answer, he added in a softer tone, "You were really going to do it, weren't you?"

As Stacy finally accepted that she wasn't going to die, she was surprised that relief was among the emotions that washed over her. She pushed the shame of her failure down deep to deal with later. Living left her with a hell of a lot more problems than dying.

"I don't understand," she muttered as she, too, sat up. The bitter taste in her mouth was fading, and she was suddenly aware of the bright scent of young grass and earth, the warmth of the sun on her face. "How am I still alive? Was it my dormant nature? Are omegas immune to cyanide?"

Vonn laughed. "Omega is a nature, Sergeant, not a superpower."

"Then why am I still breathing?" Stacy demanded, not bothering to point out that many people would consider his unnatural strength, speed, and perception on par with a superhero's.

"Let me guess." Vonn watched her closely, his unnerving blue eyes locked on hers. "Did that suicide pill come from the Alpha Control Division?"

How did he know about the ACD?

"Yes, but…"

"There's your answer," he said with finality. "That bastard gave you a dummy pill. A fake. Makes sense if you think about it—that son of a bitch would never waste one of his precious guinea pigs just because the mission went south."

Wait—what? "How do you know about Agent Fulmer?"

"Fulmer?" Vonn echoed. "So he does have a name. Guess we'll have to stop calling him Dickwad."

Stacy's mind reeled, not so much from the fact that she'd stupidly just given up information but from the rest. If what Vonn had just said was true, not only had she been lied to, but she wasn't the first dormant omega Fulmer had sent to the Boundarylands.

Which begged the question of what happened to the others.

It was all too much to absorb, especially since Stacy had expected to be well on her way to heaven by now. But that didn't mean she was powerless.

She might be having a distressingly difficult time keeping her emotions at bay, but she wouldn't let that stop her from fighting back. Stacy forced herself to rapidly assess her situation. The first thing she needed to change was the balance of power. For that, she needed a weapon.

Rising unsteadily onto her knees, she tested her legs. Unsurprisingly, they were bruised all to hell, but strong enough for her to lunge for the iron poker lying a few feet away.

Once it was in her hand, she tucked and rolled, coming up in a fighting stance with the weapon held out in front of her like the fencing foil she'd spent so many hours practicing with.

"Tell me how you know about Fulmer."

"How do you think?" Not only did Vonn look completely uncowed, he didn't bother to stand up. "That bastard has been fucking around up here for months now. He's too much of a coward to show his face, so he sends in unsuspecting omegas to run his little experiments."

"How many?"

"Two, that I know personally. But that's only here in the uplands. No doubt there's been more

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