Cursed Love (The Vallaverse)

6. Koa

Koa

The car idles in the drop-off loop, the low rumble of the engine vibrating under me as Damien's voice drills into my skull. He’s been at it since we left the house, spitting venom and commands like I’m some wayward child he has to drag into line rather than his almost 30-year-old sister. His hands grip the steering wheel too tightly, his knuckles pale against the leather as he glances at me again, scowling.

“You look ridiculous,” he snaps, his eyes darting to the dress I found buried in the back of my closet. It’s one of Mom’s, a simple, soft golden-orange that falls just right over my curves, comfortable but elegant. It’s not the glittering, suffocating thing Damien bought for me, but I don’t care. This is me.

“Fix yourself,” he barks again, his voice rising. “No Alpha wants to see this—this half-assed attempt. You were supposed to look perfect, Koa. Perfect.”

I don’t answer. I’m too busy staring out the window, ignoring the way my fingers twist nervously in the scarf around my shoulders and neck. The scarf does its job to hide the faint bruises left by Damien’s earlier tantrum. My throat aches under the pressure of the fabric and the memory, but I swallow it down, keeping my face blank. No makeup, no frills. That’s the point. The scarf is the only concession I’m making tonight.

He doesn’t know about the fight I had with myself upstairs, trying to be the obedient Omega he wants me to be. I’d pulled my curls back, twisted them into something neat and contained, pinned with barrettes and clips, trying to fit into his goddamn mold. But the longer I looked at myself in the mirror, the more I felt like I was suffocating.

So, I ripped it all out. Every last pin and clip, my curls falling wild around my shoulders, untamed and unapologetically mine. I don’t want to be neat and polished. I don’t want to be perfect. I just want to be me. I’ll be the perfect Omega tomorrow.

Damien’s scowl deepens as his voice cuts through my thoughts. “You’re going to behave in there,” he growls, leaning closer. “You’ll take the roses you’re given and at the end of the night, you’ll make a choice. No more of this defiance, Koa. You’ve embarrassed this family enough.”

I nod silently, keeping my gaze fixed on the window. The back entrance to the gala looms ahead, all glittering lights and grandeur, a facade of elegance hiding the desperation inside. My stomach churns, the faint tendrils of heat curling through my veins making me feel exposed. What’s left of my current heat blocker isn’t working. Another dose would have fixed that but Carla made sure I wouldn’t be able to rely on previous safeguards.

I curse her silently, clenching my fists in my lap as I try to keep the heat at bay. It’s like fighting against the tide—impossible and exhausting. I can feel the edges of it bleeding through, sharpening my senses, making my skin feel too tight. Damien’s scent is even harsher against my senses than usual, my Omega biology pushing through against my will.

“I said, do you understand me?” Damien’s voice snaps me back.

“Yes,” I bite out. I understand exactly what he wants from me and I’m going to do everything in my power not to follow his demands. Sure, I’ll find a mate tonight but it’ll be someone I choose.

Omegas and Betas are laughing, their voices light and carefree as they spill through the entrance. Their heels click against the pavement, their perfume and cologne clouding the air as they talk about who they want to mate with or what they’re going to do once they’re claimed.

I hear the driver’s door slam shut and a shadow falls over me as Damien yanks my door open. He doesn’t bother waiting for me to move, his hand reaching out to tear away the scarf from around my neck. The one thing I had to cover his violence, the one barrier between me and the rest of the world.

“Give it back,” I mumble, my voice shaky but defiant as I hold my hand out for it.

“No,” Damien says sharply, his eyes narrowing as he glances at my exposed skin. “The Alphas in there need to see what you are. An Omega who can submit. Those marks are proof.”

Shame flushes my face as I turn away from him. I want to scream, to shove him back, to wrap that scarf so tightly around my neck that the bruises and his words can’t get to me. Instead, I straighten my shoulders, swallowing down the lump in my throat, and step out of the car. The night air is harsh against my flushed cheeks but at least it hides the redness in my face from the shame.

Damien doesn’t even watch me go. He just gets back in the car, the engine revving as he pulls away without another word, leaving me standing there, exposed and humiliated under the heavy lights of the gala entrance. No one is paying me much attention, though. I’m just one of many Omegas here tonight to find a mate. I’ll be lost in the crowd of hopeful individuals, swarmed by scents and gleeful laughter as The Night of Scarlet takes hold.

I scramble up the steps, instantly looking for a place to stand out of the way. A distraction would be preferable, anything to take my mind off of what is currently unfolding. My gaze darts around the room, the harsh lights making my head spin. I forgot how fragile Omegas can be, how sensitive they are to the world around them. I should be fawning over all the glitter and gold, the gala like a scene pulled straight out of a fairytale but I don’t feel like Cinderella. This isn’t a chance of a lifetime. It’s a prison sentence that I’ll have the pleasure of picking myself.

There’s no good place to hide in this vast, open space but the savory, rich aromas of the hors d’oeuvres steal my attention. My stomach growls, overpowering the heat trying to take over my body and I give in. There won’t be another chance to indulge in foods like this. I make a beeline for the table and start piling up a little plate with everything I can grab. Crab-stuffed mushrooms, bacon-wrapped dates, miniature quiches. A small corner behind the table calls my name, just out of sight from the rest of the party.

I sink into the shadows, stuffing my cheeks like some wild animal hiding its food, the flavors bursting on my tongue. It’s ridiculous, really, but it helps. The food is so good, so rich and over-the-top, that for a moment I can pretend I’m somewhere else.

Maybe I’m not in this gilded prison. Maybe I’m in a different city, somewhere loud and chaotic, partying with Amelia. She’d love this food, pick it apart piece by piece and give me her unfiltered commentary about how she could cook it better. A faint smile plays on my lips at the thought as I close my eyes and let the fantasy take over. The music fades, the chatter disappears, and for a moment, just a moment, I’m not here.