Once Upon A Pack (Royalverse #1)

Chapter 53

fifty-three

The cool air makes it clear—summer is over. And, so far, autumn is a dreary, colorless thing.

I feel the chill unlike ever before, my bones rattling as I stand at the stoop of Aunt Matilda’s building, staring up.

Bracing myself.

Knowing, with every step up the stairs, what awaits the second my family sees my face.

We told you so .

They’ll be delighted, thinking I failed. I’m not sure why I never saw that before—how they seemed to take some sort of pleasure from my pain. And always looked for ways to heap more misery on my head.

Did Matilda do the same thing to Mama?

I know I’m too emotional for all of this today. After last night, my Omega wants nothing more than to spend the entire day in our nest, perfecting every square inch.

I thought I might struggle to recognize the signs, but I can actually feel my heat barreling toward me. Which is why I felt like I had to come back here now.

I’m out of time to make decisions.

It’s time to live with them.

I try knocking, but no one answers. With reluctance, I pull the key out of my tote bag, fitting it into the scratched-up deadbolt on the peeling front door.

Behind it, the apartment is in shambles. Dirty dishes overflowing from the sink, a stain on the entry rug. Trash piled around the overfull can.

I stand on the threshold, taking in the silence. It’s after ten—are they still asleep? Did they do this every day while I toiled at the manor to pay our bills?

Why didn’t I ever notice or care? Didn’t it ever occur to me that I might deserve more?

I swallow the angry lump blocking my throat, forcing myself forward. I know what I came to do—and as soon as I finish, I never have to return.

I’m not sure what naive part of my brain thought my family would leave my bedroom the way it was. The moment I open the door, I see that Caitlin’s commandeered it. She must have slept at a guy’s place last night, but her stuff is everywhere —including the closet that used to hold the last of my meager belongings. Blinking, I stand in front of it, reality sinking in.

They got rid of everything else I had . Mama’s sewing table… and the urn that used to be on the dresser.

Frantic fear claws at my gut. Whirling, I nearly run back to the main living area, turning in half circles, eyes climbing over every piece of furniture in the apartment.

It’s no use, though. The sewing table is gone. And so is my mother.

I know it—I understand it—but I can’t accept it. My brain stumbles over the information while my body flies into motion, staggering to the cabinets and flinging them open. As if my aunt would put an urn in the pantry next to a bag of flour or a bottle of dish soap.

It isn’t there, of course. But my hands scramble through everything they can, anyway, knocking bottles and boxes out of their way. Shoving things aside without concern for mess or noise.

Until—

Until—

Oh my God .

Pill bottles. Dozens of them. Half-full, empty, and brand new. All labeled with my name. Or Mama’s.

My head spins, the edges of my vision blurring. I barely feel the stab of pain between my hips or the nausea that follows. I’m too busy trying to stay upright. Trying to read the names of unfamiliar medications… things I’ve never been prescribed.

Except… I have. They’re here, and pills are missing, and?—

“You didn’t really think you were a late bloomer, did you?”

Aunt Matilda’s voice is cool and even, floating over my shoulder from the threshold of the apartment’s single hallway. I jump, my hand flying to cover my heart as I twirl toward her with a shriek.

She regards me with a sneer, her skin as pallid as her gray eyes and the streaks of silver shot through her dirty-blonde bob. Her cold gaze flickers over my outfit, snagging on the hoodie enveloping my upper half.

It’s the one Dair gave me the night he took me for our ride. I’ve been keeping it in my nest, but I wanted something that smelled like all of us to wear here today. Plus, I thought it was casual enough to help me blend in, the way it did for him on the streets of Lyledon.

Matilda clearly knows it belongs to one of my alphas—and that detail is enough to draw a scrape of humorless laughter from her thin lips. “Have they given up on you already? Is that why you came back?”

The insults I dreaded bounce right off me. I ignore her questions, clutching the bottles in my hands tighter. “What are these?”

A cruel gleam flickers in her eyes. “Just some of your mother’s old prescriptions.”

That’s a lie, though. And for the first time ever, I won’t let her get away with it. My head shakes slowly. “N-no. These have my name on them. What—what are they?”

Austin Matilda’s mouth twists into a gruesome mockery of a smile. “Hormones, mostly.”

I think back to what the royal family’s doctor said when he examined me. About my Omega being abused . It made sense, with how weak the voice inside me felt the first days I could hear her, but I never imagined...

“You… drugged me? To make me think I was a beta?”

Matilda scoffs. “So dramatic. Your designation bloodwork was borderline, and your mother was too pitiful to even shuttle you in for the follow-up exam. I went to get your paperwork instead. And when I saw that you were barely registering as a potential omega, I realized how easy it would be to let you both believe you weren’t one.”

The room tilts and swirls, the colors at the edges of my vision blotting into an ugly, brackish watercolor. “But why ?” I burst, scraping in shallow breaths. “ Why would anyone do something like that?”

All traces of amusement drop from her face, leaving the angles sharp and unforgiving as she suddenly stalks closer. “Because your stupid mother told me about the prince . How you had met and become friends . How he was an alpha and seemed so very ‘taken with you.’ Idiot. Did she honestly think I would be happy for you? After what she put us through when she lost your useless father?”

I cringe backward, trying to get away from the horrible rage contorting her features. She reaches out and snatches my arm, twisting it with bruising force. A cry tumbles up my throat when an answering pain rips through my lower abdomen. I stagger, my knees wobbling until they give out.

Our alphas , my Omega pleads. We need our alphas now. Where are they?

I thought I could slip away and take care of fetching my mother’s things—that by the time they noticed I’d left, I’d already be back. Moved into the palace permanently. I pictured Dair’s proud half-smile when he realized I’d devised a way to sneak off. And Bast’s shining grin when he heard me confirm what they all hoped for.

I knew Asher would be mad, but only because he loves me. My desperate, hormone-crazed Omega sort of liked the idea of him fussing over us, actually. She was looking forward to a stern lecture while he tucked us into his arms and rubbed his scent all over?—

Ah!

Another stab burrows and twists, the visceral pain stealing my breath. When she hears my gasp, Matilda snorts.

“See? So weak. I did you a favor all these years. Letting you go to school. Letting you work .”

More like making me work. To support the whole household while she “took care” of my mother. But, really, what was she doing? Siphoning my mother’s omega-suppressing medications over to me? Trying to gaslight me into believing I had health anxiety?

“H-how did you?—”

Matilda twists my arm tighter, cutting me off. “Stupid girl. The smoothies. The soups. You ate anything I made for you, and you never even asked what was in it. Same thing with those anxiety meds you were on all those years.”

She switched the pills . That must be how she kept me on her regimen while I was away at school. Only a few semesters passed before she called me home to help manage Mama—was it possible she felt she was losing control and needed me back here to stop me from designating?

All so she wouldn’t have to support herself or her girls?

Or was it all really just to keep me from my mate ?

New horror washes through me as one final question floats to the top of my bleary brain: why on earth is she telling me all this? Doesn’t she know I’ll tell the princes the second I see them?

She must understand that.

Unless… she doesn’t intend to let me leave?

My mind stumbles, trying to understand—the way she’s exposing my wrist, why her eyes keep flitting to the knife block on the counter beside us.

She could slash me open. Make it look like an act of desperation or delusion.

“It’s a shame,” she goes on, confirming the fear flooding my body, “that the pressures of becoming a potential princess finally shattered your fragile mental state.”

Because that’s what everyone would think. What my alphas would think.

That it was their fault. That I left them on purpose.

The thought is enough to finally break through my haze, shooting molten steel into my veins. My limp body comes alive with adrenaline, pulsing with the strength to throw my weight into my aunt’s body and topple her to the floor.

Her gray eyes widen with shock when she finds me standing over her and hears me snarl, “Haven’t you heard? I’m not a princess. I’m their queen .”