Untouched Omega (Alpha Elite Series Book 4) by V.T. Bonds (books you have to read .TXT) 📕

as a pre-pubescent Jumoke snatched her up and tossed her into the air.

Life. Love. Happiness.

His memories replay so clearly the sensations flow into my body: soft newborn skin surrounds my own finger while precious weight settles between my breasts and a cuddly bundle warms the crook of my arm.

All things I longed to do for my own offspring but couldn’t.

Sensations I never thought I’d experience.

Overwhelming perfection.

Words I do not understand pierce my ears, an invisible external force prying my teeth apart again. As he pulls away from my mouth, my tongue laps at his flesh, unwilling to part from such amazing deliciousness.

His strict hold on my head prevents me from chasing after him. He twists his wrists so my chin tilts up, giving him better access to my throat.

Apprehension locks me in place. He holds me enraptured, my every cell focused on his next move.

Shock courses through me as his gravelly voice speaks against my neck.

“Seventeen.”

A narrow path of understanding shines between us, my fresh sobs making our joined bodies slip along the wet floor. His engorged knot stays lodged within me, my internal contractions forcing more from his body.

“Mourn with me, Anastasia. We’ll never forget them, never stop missing them. Never stop wishing they could grow to become more. Never stop loving them. Together.”

A flash of darkness steals my eyesight as his elongated incisors pierce the side of my throat, sorrow drowned by joy as our hearts meld.

Pain means nothing.

He steals it all, if only for a moment.

My Jumoke.

My lifemate.

No matter the consequences.

Chapter Eighteen

Jumoke

The need to take it all away from her grows with every drop of her blood I consume.

She’s caked in misery, even within her veins. If I could drain it all from her and replace it with my own life-force, I would.

Without hesitation.

I may act like a fool, but I’m not stupid. I understand her burden has been too great for too long. Mating with me won’t heal everything.

In fact, I doubt it will heal even a small portion of her trauma. All I can do is give her my everything and hope she accepts my offering.

Hope she isn’t immune to the charm I’ve used my entire life.

Hope she continues to be as strong as she’s had to be.

One. A chubby little angel, every part of her perfection. Alone, ripping her mother’s world in two, crying despite receiving everything a child requires except touch. The slow arrival of death, turning pink skin to grey, each moment overflowing with agony as all hope of survival fades away.

Two. A red-faced little boy, his lungs strong despite needing to be taken from his mother’s womb early. The joy of new life being cut short, his will to live waning quicker than his sister, a terrible relief when his cries no longer sang his miseries.

Three and four. Twins too little, their transparent skin displaying their tiny veins while tubes kept their lungs functioning. Hoping they’d prevail despite understanding their fate. In separate cradles, they’d drifted away minutes apart.

Five. An adorable little girl.

Six. A pudgy boy.

Seven. Too young to decipher their gender.

Eight and nine. Two boys, robust and promising. Dying before her eyes.

Ten. A bundle of cuteness, even with warped features and missing digits. Living as short a life as the others.

Eleven. A fully formed little girl. Stillborn.

Twelve. Thirty-seven weeks gestation. Boy. Breathed for two hours before his branch withered, her heart gaining another scar.

Thirteen. Twenty-seven weeks gestation. Boy.

Fourteen. Twenty-six weeks gestation. Girl.

Fifteen and sixteen. Twenty-two weeks gestation. Two girls.

Seventeen. Too young to decipher their gender. Their loss hit as hard as the others, another link crumbling within her heart.

Through it all, she gave them everything she could. Encouragement, love, the nutrition in her body while they grew in her womb.

Never enough.

She longed to hold them and feel their flesh against hers, the yearning in her soul excruciating.

The sense of failure crippling.

She found solace in giving their hearts the comfort her hands could not. She dedicated her every breath to their remembrance.

I sneak under her theoretical nest, sensing the cage of love surrounding her most prized moments, even if the chaotic jumble of fabric doesn’t adhere to the laws of physics.

A tear drops from my face and lands on her neck. More follow, my cascade joining hers as my teeth and my knot join our bodies.

While tendrils of her love caress the dried husks protruding from her heart, I weave mine into the fray, being careful not to come between her and her lost loves. I support her and love them as my own, her agony filling every cell in my body.

She sobs harder.

Together we gather them close, my memories doing nothing to lessen the grief she carries, but still I insist she use them.

As she lovingly caresses a broken stem, I pull up her memory of a red-faced little boy, sensing her distress at how easily I can manipulate her history.

Refusing to leave the handsome little boy hidden in her blankets, I pull up my memory of calming an unhappy little mite. Pulling a thick sheet from her pile of protection, I wrap him snuggly in his mother’s love.

In my mind’s eye, I place the little boy in Anastasia’s arms before leaning my forehead to hers. Her soul trembles as I use my palm to guide hers over the little boy’s hair, my remembered awe at the softness of a newborn’s hair flowing between us.

This is how each one of her children should be remembered.

Tiny. Healthy. Loved.

Always.

Chapter Nineteen

Anastasia

He’s here. They all are.

In my arms. On my lap.

Jumoke has given me this.

Instead of a yearning to know what could have been and an invisible caress of my babies, they are here.

Alive.

Remembered.

Loved.

They are receiving the physical touch I dreaded would ruin them. Now I can give them all the snuggles I was never able to offer them.

It’s all due to Jumoke. His exuberance and joy have brought me this.

His mothers called him the baby whisperer.

I believe it, my theoretical hands loving every