Blog of L.V. Lane
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Updated: Nov 8
Chapter One
There were rumors of a Singular who had defected to our enemy, seeking to bring about peace. That was several years ago. Some said she was dead. Some said it was our own government that held her in isolation, deeming her views too heretical to be allowed a voice.
And some said she’d never wanted peace and now lived among the Uncorrupted, where she plotted to bring about our downfall.
After my time in the hands of the Uncorrupted, I couldn’t believe they would ever accept peace. Nor did I believe an omega could plot anyone’s demise.
~ Doctor Lillian Brach
*
Larissa
A hulking alpha is strapped down to a gurney, roaring like a beast and thrashing so hard the bars holding the restraints threaten to buckle. A tangle of cables and electrodes are delivering his stats to a nearby console. There is a drip inserted into his arm, hooked up to a drug dispenser.
They haven’t sedated him yet.
I really wish someone would.
His name is Jord, and he’s diverging, which is the Uncorrupted official term for when their alphas lose their minds.
Among the troops, they call it glitching. Different words, same thing. Just another side effect of the modified version of the Copper Virus that the Uncorrupted began experimenting with ten years ago.
His skin glistens with sweat as his body pumps out pheromones that saturate the small room, making my stomach churn.
Alpha pheromones should be appealing to an omega. Only, the Uncorrupted’s virus doesn’t work in the usual way. Diverging aside, their alphas smell and act wrong.
Two guards stand by the head of the gurney, ready in case the straps snap—which is a possibility, given how the gurney rattles under Jord’s rage.
This is not Jord’s first divergence.
A bleak sense of inevitability tells me it won’t be the last. I’m convinced he only lives because it provides a learning opportunity for Jenda, the alpha doctor in charge of the Uncorrupted’s experimental program, and one of the first of their own to be turned.
She stands to my left, eyes on the data display, everything about her totally clinical, detached, and military, from her cropped hair to her stark gray uniform. Her fellow alpha’s suffering doesn’t move her in the slightest.
They call this rehabilitation. It’s more like scraping out a mind. And I would know more about minds than most, being the only known mind-reading omega.
“Monitor his thoughts as I administer the dose,” Jenda instructs me, fingers already tapping the console’s controls.
I open myself. His mind is still locked on the incident that brought him here: the omega he broke, lying on the floor of a nesting chamber, a jumble of bloody limbs, twitching in the throes of a seizure. Medical personnel are working on her as a dozen soldiers swarm Jord with immobilizer rods.
The omega is currently in a regen tank with enough broken bones and soft tissue damage that she’s likely to be there for another week.
He did that to her… I feel polluted having to touch his mind.
The chaos of violence suddenly fades as orange and purple colors wash the scene away.
“He’s stabilizing,” I say.
“Good. Good,” Jenda says coolly, still busy at her console.
The two guards at the gurney both relax their rigid posture as Jord’s thrashing slows and stops.
He looks at peace. Different images fill his mind now, of his younger years before a twisted version of the virus turned him into this unhinged beast.
I want to hate him, but when I look at him, I feel only sadness for what might have been but for circumstances beyond his control. If he’d gotten the original version of the virus—the one used in the Empire—I believe he would be just an ordinary alpha. One whose scent wouldn’t make my skin crawl. One who wouldn’t leave an omega bloody and broken.
The quiet is profound.
It won’t last.
It never does.
In the silence, my thoughts return, as they often do, to how I ended up here, a prisoner of the Uncorrupted, my omega gift—if one can call it that—turned into a tool.
Did an insider betray me? Or was the attack on the transport ship ferrying me from Chimera to Tolis merely the luck of the draw?
I have asked myself those questions too many times. I wasn’t the only omega taken that day, and many more omegas have been taken since then.
Ten years is a long time to live with your enemy. But this is my life now. There is no escaping the Uncorrupted. There is no exit plan that does not involve death. And—as I’ve learned along the way, from those times when I have rebelled, and punishments have ensued—I still want to live, even here, even in this dreadful half-life filled with pain and misery.
The monitors bleep intermittently.
Jenda remains hunched over her stats. Jord is just a data set to her. His thoughts, feelings, and emotional welfare are reduced to numbers on a screen, fed into algorithms that care only about his remaining usefulness in the war.
Am I assimilated? I don’t believe I am. But I also accept that not everyone here is bad, just as not everyone in the Empire is good. Many ordinary people came over to the Uncorrupted, non-dynamics who left the Empire seeking a better life, hoping to escape the bottom of the caste system.
Life is not better here for them, that much I can tell. There is merely a different kind of prejudice, except here it exists within a culture rife with corruption.
Living so close to the Uncorrupted’s military leadership as I do, I’ve touched minds engaged in the study of warcraft, strategy and subterfuge across the ages. The endless flood of information that churns through my mind every day provides me with a unique perspective on humanity; a thousand snapshots into our nature—the centuries of battle between the Empire and the Uncorrupted, dynamics, and non-dynamics.
The rise and fall of civilizations.
Stability. Anarchy.
Power. Ruin.
Change is coming, the balance is poised to tip, though which way is anybody’s guess. Both sides deploy propaganda, spinning tales to keep their populations complacent, and obedient to the games played by their leaders. For a long time, the Uncorrupted were the underdogs.
But are they still?
Jenda rises from her console and heads over to check the alpha’s vitals. Satisfied, she nods to me. “Come with me.”
***
I fall into step beside her as we exit the lab and enter the corridor beyond.
“I’ve been given leave to begin testing you again,” she says.
I fight to school my features, to hide the panic that slams into me. Testing. Such an innocuous word and woefully inadequate to encapsulate the torture delivered under this woman’s direction. Not only have I personally experienced her experiments, but I’ve also had to sit through many more tests performed on others, reading their minds as they suffered.
Jenda’s feeling especially cruel at the moment, and lashing out due to her own recent failure. She is not well-liked, but she was respected… until a high-profile omega escaped under her watch.
As we come to a stop before the door to General Cohen’s office, her soulless eyes rest on me, assessing me.
Cohen is my master, the one from whom Jenda borrows me. Though only when he allows it, when it fits with his own agenda.
I wonder if he has even agreed to the testing. Did she say it just to frighten me? Is she bluffing? Or maybe it’s not so much bluffing as an unwavering belief that she will get what she wants. Unfortunately for her, her recent failure has left a mark against her, and Cohen is a powerful man.
Jenda smirks at me. I know that look, and my heart skips a beat, rattling the mental vigilance I use to keep out of her mind. She enjoys pain, meting it out both in her intimate life and in the name of research. Images slam into me, bringing bile to my throat.
For the most part, I can choose to read someone’s thoughts. But intense emotions, or proximity—especially if it involves touch—can allow thoughts and feelings to bleed through without my consent. Jenda makes a game out of it. She loves nothing more than to see terror on my face as her hideous intentions spill over to me.
And she’s making it clear that her planned tests will deliver me into a fresh round of suffering.
“How did such an uninspiring wrapper give birth to such a mind?” Her eyes trail down my body.
No need to read her mind to see how very little she thinks of my ‘wrapper’.
Plain.
Unremarkable.
Not exactly ugly, but not pretty, either. Not like the other omegas who pass through her tender care.
“Remind Cohen he needs to make time for me to test you in his schedule.”
She walks off. Leaving me outside my master’s office.
***
General Hammond Cohen is sitting at his desk on a video call when I enter. He doesn’t pause to acknowledge me, just motions me over to stand at his side.
He’s speaking to his assistant about the next in-person alpha briefing Cohen has coming up. The Uncorrupted move around a lot. Their ships and space stations are numerous, but in a few days, we will be arriving at Pilgrim Point, one of a few rare planet-side bases that has sprung up in recent years. At every base we visit, Cohen tries to have time scheduled to meet with the alphas stationed there so that he can update them personally.
“…that theta prick has been wasting my time. Tell him I’ll be in contact. Let him sweat it out…”
My ears prick up at the mention of the theta. I’ve only come across such a dynamic once before, during a similar call where Cohen had me stand as I am now: he likes to display me—his little war prize—because it elevates his profile.
The theta wanted to borrow my mind-reading skills. Cohen had been open to that… at a price. One that, from the sounds of it, will not be delivered any time soon.
He finishes up his call and turns his attention to me. “What did she have you doing?”
“A diverging alpha.”
“Her little pets,” he muses, with a dark smile as his gaze returns to his desk.
An ironic statement given he wants to be an alpha. Desperately. However, despite many attempts, he remains unaltered.
I hate Cohen and everything about him, but I know he is not the worst monster to be found within the ranks of the Uncorrupted. I despise them all. At the same time I am aware of my hypocrisy in seeing others as evil. I myself am a monstrous tool wielded by both Jenda and Cohen to facilitate the Uncorrupted’s recent rise in power. Their manipulation of my singularity has been the catalyst for their own viral program; without me, they would never have been able to torture the necessary information out of the Empire’s soldiers.
Helping him and his people has only ever caused me shame and sickness. Early on in my incarceration, in an attempt to avoid being used for their purposes, I tried to deceive him. I was young and naïve, then. He must have suspected that I was lying, because he planted some tests and caught me out. The resulting punishments were swift and severe.
I shy away from those memories by coming back to the here and now, only to remember what my imminent future holds. Jenda is going to experiment on me. Part of me acknowledges that I deserve the pain when my very existence has brought suffering to so many.
Melancholy wraps around me. Better if I’d died ten years ago… or, better yet, if I had never been born.
These thoughts are not new. But for some reason beyond my comprehension, as terrible as this life is, —and as much as I loathe myself and what I’ve been forced to do—the bottom line is… I still don’t want to die.
***
Rhett
The room is dark; the only light source is the bank of monitors directly opposite me. Information. Systems. I’m hacking in through the backdoor of a local hotel chain’s network so I can dig up some dirt. A nobody politician is campaigning to get Lucian’s fight club shut down. On some noble crusade to remove what he calls the scourge from our great city.
Lucian fucking loves that fight club. It was one of his first acquisitions when he quit the military and returned to civilian life. A special sentimental attachment and all that.
No one fucks with my brother. Not on my watch.
I already have suspicions that Councilman Stevens is going to be dirty. When they preach family values and talk about cleaning up things that no one is actually wanting to clean up, you just know they are overcompensating for their own failings. Councilman Stevens is a man with aspirations above his mental paygrade. And delusional if he thinks he can play hardball with Lucian.
All I need is some leverage to shut the fuckwit down.
Ah, this looks promising. A hotel booking. Business, but in a location that he could easily commute home to his pretty beta wife and family. Mrs. Stevens is not with him…
I dive deeper, searching for security footage. It’s basic hacking, and not even a challenge.
When I’m inside this room, I’m a god with a keyboard. Outside it, I’m a mess of broken instincts. Two entities in one body. One is the cocky hacker who knows he’s fucking good, the other’s a loser who can’t even step outdoors.
Jackpot.
I’m distracted from my pity party as the security footage from the hotel pops up on the nearest screen. Well, well, looks like Councilman Stevens has been a naughty boy.
“Your constituents will not be impressed with that, will they?”
I chuckle as I download the files. Photos. Time-stamps. Him at the door with a woman draped over him, her hand on his chest… another with her hand over his crotch. Cozy. Mrs. Stevens will get a kick out of that and, if she has any sense, a generous divorce settlement.
The media outlets will lap that shit up.
His voters will be all over this juicy gossip.
The printer hums, spitting out the last page. I slip them into a manila folder and drop it into the chute that delivers it straight to Lucian’s office. My brother will probably ask Jordan and Kade, his delta enforcers, to deliver it personally during Councilman Stevens’ charity function later this week.
Maximum drama. Maximum impact.
I send Lucian a quick message to say it’s on its way.
Ping. An alert sounds.
My head snaps back toward the monitors. My brows pull together. I have alerts on all kinds of things. Another alert pings. This one is on the empire comm division.
I drop back into my seat and drag the keyboard closer.
Black market shipments under fake clearance codes… Just a cover… Military, codename: Reaper. That raises a brow. Special operative Ethan Black. I wonder what he’s up to. I make a mental note to let my brother know. Ethan and Lucian go way back and went through military training together.
Black was born on Lyus like Lucian and me and, like us, turned to an alpha when the forced conscriptions came through. His current location gets a second raised brow. Deep in Uncorrupted territory.
I scrub the record. That shit is classified at the highest level… Also, isn’t his mate pregnant? Must be something important for him to leave her long enough to get all the way over there.
Something to keep an eye on.
It’s the early hours of the morning. I rub my eyes and push back from the desk. I’m not tied to any schedule, so this is not unusual.
My communicator dings and I turn it over to find a short video from two underwear models I know. It shows them living it up in Lucian’s club, with the caption: ‘Do you want to party?’
Do I?
Without responding, I stand and shove the communicator into my pocket. Then, after a few seconds, I take it out again, and shoot them a text before slipping it back and heading for my private elevator.
I spend a lot of time watching humanity and very little interacting. But sometimes I make exceptions. Sometimes I need to forget what I lost and just be in the moment.
Sex: gratuitous, no strings; an opportunity to escape my dark thoughts, and to feel good.
Release.
It’s better than some of the alternatives.
The elevator arrives and I step inside.
Coming 14th November!
PREORDER HERE > Amazon: https://tinyurl.com/ForbiddenBonds
Who is ready for a sneak peek at the prologue of Bitter Poetry?
I was craving darkness when I wrote this, and I did not hold back. High stakes, high emotion, and a plot to sink your teeth into! I have fallen deeply in love with our heroine, Carmela, and our two flawed heroes, Christian and Dante.
Enjoy the prologue. A little teaser of what is to come ...
Le Petit Café. The name is French; it serves Colombian coffee, and the owners are third-generation Italians. It sounds messy, but the coffee is excellent, and the bistro-style decor has charm. Also, it’s considered part of the family, and I’m allowed to come here for my coffee and normality fix.
Normality? What does that even mean? I don’t think I’ve experienced a normal day in my whole life. But as I stare out the broad, slightly foggy window at the rain-slicked sidewalk, I see it passing in the form of everyday citizens going about their lives.
“Is this seat taken?”
I turn from my people watching, confused that someone is speaking to me, and make eye contact with a handsome man in a business suit. Probably an actual businessman and not—well, he looks regular, for want of a better word.
“I was waiting for someone,” I politely lie.
He smiles. “Well, he or she are not here yet, are they?”
Maybe his playful persistence usually wins him some points. It just leaves me faintly irritated. As I spot Christian sliding off his high stool beside the counter, my irritation shifts to unease. “You really should leave.”
“But we haven’t even exchanged names.”
His megawatt smile finally falters as he turns to see a man wearing a suit—this one not of the business variety—bearing down on us.
“Which part of fuck off did you not understand, asshole?” His deceptively soft voice bears a faint hint of amusement.
“Christian—” I start.
“I was just speaking to the lady.” The businessman turned asshole fronts up to Christian, giving him an up-down look of distaste. “I don’t believe that’s a crime… or any of your goddamn business.”
I grimace.
“Start praying.” Christian smiles cheerfully.
Mr. Persistent finally picks up on the vibe and takes a hasty step back—too slow. Christian fists the lapels of his suit and jerks him toward the small counter.
Tony, the proprietor, doesn’t utter a word as Christian manhandles the former customer around the counter and out the back of the tiny shop.
My chest heaves. My hands are shaking. I close my eyes briefly, wishing this were not real.
When I open them again, my coffee still awaits me, going cold. The few other patrons pointedly go back to their business.
My chair makes a sharp screech across the wooden floor as I stand.
“Mrs. Gallo—” Tony steps forward like he might block my path. When I keep going, he quickly steps aside, lifting his hands. He, at least, knows better than to touch me.
That doing so is signing his death warrant.
Speaking to me without my husband’s permission is apparently not much better.
I slam through the door just as Christian slams his fist into the man’s stomach. The rough grunt as the blow takes the wind out of him is followed by a crack as Christian yanks the man’s head down to meet his rising knee.
Blood splatters.
“Chris!” My voice is high and anxiety steeped, and his head whips around.
Meanwhile, the former customer’s eyes turn vacant. He wobbles in slow motion before he slides to the tiled floor. Another louder crack follows as his head makes contact.
I blink down at him, made stupid by the horror. I’m trying to process what happened, but I rarely see the ugly side of my world, and it still comes as a shock.
Christian’s dark eyes slide to the door I just passed through and back to me. His face softens into a smirk at odds with the violent scene. “What are you doing back here, babe?”
The man on the floor gurgles, redirecting Christian’s attention. He casually lifts a booted foot. His intention belatedly registers as his heel comes down toward the man’s vulnerable head.
“Don’t!” The scream feels like it’s torn from me—I’m surprised when he actually stops.
He lowers his foot to the floor beside the victim’s head and quirks one brow at me. Too pretty, too young, and yet his face tells a story in the faint scars: the evidence of his brutality and lifestyle.
The door creaks behind me, and Tony edges inside.
“Get one of the boys to dump him at the hospital,” Christian says, his voice soft and completely calm. “And get a takeout coffee for Mrs. Gallo.”
Tony nods, turns, and leaves.
Suddenly I can’t breathe. It’s like my throat has been sewn shut, and a terrible hoarse sound is all that I can manage.
Delayed shock?
A panic attack? Even surmising what it is, doesn’t help me get air into my lungs.
Christian palms my throat and yanks me over the body so abruptly that I crash into him. His other arm anchors me when my legs cut out. “Look at me, babe,” he says. “You’re okay. Just look at me.”
Touching him might be making it worse.
Behind me, I hear the door leading to the coffee shop open again, followed by footsteps and low voices.
“Breathe for me, Carmela. Slow and easy.” His body is solid and represents a confused source of safety. His hand is warm against my skin, the same hand that just administered violence to an innocent man.
Someone curses.
I suck in some much-needed air and try to break free. “Take your hands off me.”
“You’re as white as a sheet,” he says, glancing at whatever is happening behind me.
I hear scuffling and muttering as they drag the man out.
I can’t tear my gaze away from Christian’s.
Cold.
A monster.
A killer.
Completely unhinged.
My bodyguard.
And my jailer.
The man that my husband pays to ensure my life and the lives of anyone who stupidly stumbles into it play by his rules.
We’re alone. The silence is broken only by the rough saw of my breathing.
He still has not released me.
“Can’t have you fainting on my watch.” He winks. “Mr. Gallo would not be pleased.”
The faint lines forming at the corner of his eyes catches my attention. He smiles easily and often.
“You were going to kill him,” I hiss. Death—near death—triggers emotions I fight to push down.
He finally releases my throat and steps back. Where his fingers touched feels like a brand.
Strangely, the ghost of his fingers locked around my throat centers me and keeps the demons of the past at bay.
He shrugs.
No apology.
“You smell aroused. Clean yourself up in the washroom.” He adjusts the cuffs of his suit and smirks. It transforms his looks from handsome to devastating for the female population. His smile should be illegal or, at the very least, come with a health warning. “If word gets out you get off on violence, who knows where that might lead?”
It’s not the violence.
Not only, I correct.
Possessive alphas x 2
Arranged marriage💍
Second chance 💔
Escaping a bad relationship ⛓️💥
Forbidden love 🖤
Dark secrets 🤫
Slow burn🔥
Spice🌶️
Antagonists you will love to hate ☠️
Coming 1st August 2025!
