Chapter 22 #3
The Doctor stills. Her pen hovers in the air, suspended over the paperwork attached to her chart. Her hard eyes flare with disbelief.
“Never? How old are you?”
I hesitate. Is there a right answer here? I don’t know. I don’t know anything. My mother died before I could ask her many questions, and it’s not like Father was forthcoming about my designation. I don’t know what’s normal and what’s not.
“I’m twenty-two.”
Her brows raise to her hairline.
“That’s highly unusual.”
The cell door swings open, and I tense. I don’t want someone else to come in here. I don’t want to be judged and accused and shamed any more than I already have been. The Beta keeps talking, but I don’t hear a word she says.
A male I’ve never seen before glide into the cell on silent feet, leaning his large, muscular body against the wall. There’s something about him that has my Omega alert. He doesn’t look at me, but his presence presses in on me, like he’s stealing all the available oxygen in the room.
“You’re rather underweight.” The words register, forcing my eyes away from the male and back on the Beta, who’s tapping her pen furiously against her chin. “Still, that shouldn’t have kept you from having a heat in the last eight years.”
The Alpha speaks, his tone lazy with indifference. “She’s been on heavy suppressants, Lenora.”
I frown. The Beta Doctor—Lenora—turns to the Alpha and frowns.
“How would you possibly know that, Daxen?”
Something feels wrong. This male has me instantly wary. The way he looks at me. His knowledge of intimate details about my health…
Who is he?
My gaze bounces between Lenora and the Alpha. I thought Lenora was cold, but she has nothing on this male. I could swear the temperature in the room has dropped since he walked in.
I study him under my lashes, trying to understand who he is and why he’s here.
He’s tall. So tall, it’s a wonder he didn’t have to bend to get through the door.
He’s trim, but muscular. There’s something refined in the way he holds himself.
Like he’s wearing a designer suit and not the same tactical clothing as Caelan.
His dark, messy hair has a slight curl and is in desperate need of a cut.
His eyes, though…
The moment those grey eyes meet mine, I flinch.
Fates, he’s looking at me like he hates me.
It’s intense—the kind of hate you can feel in your bones. It’s a loathing so extreme it’s a wonder my soul doesn’t wither and die.
His eyes are cold. Clinical. Detached.
Familiar.
Only one other person has looked at me with eyes full of the certainty that it would’ve been better if I’d never been born.
My father.
He drops my gaze, turning toward Lenora.
“Caelan said he smelled them on her during his first mission at the estate. Military grade.” He tilts his head to the side, expression cruelty.
“Tell me, little liar, what was the point of that? Wait until you’ve banked years of suppressant usage so the moment you come off them, Daddy can use you like a godsdamned Omega beacon for every Alpha in a twenty-mile radius? ”
My head snaps back like he hit me.
He can’t be serious. Is that even possible? Is that something someone could do?
He smiles.
It’s terrifying.
This male is a predator, and he’s looking at me like I’m prey. Injured, exhausted, starved prey who would hardly put up a fight if he ended my life right now, the way he obviously wants to. I bare my neck in submission, my eyes trained on the floor, the way I’ve been taught.
All those movements are instinct. I think I do it without even making a conscious decision to move. The primal part of my brain takes over, and everything goes fuzzy. Everything except the aching, hollow hole in my chest.
It appears out of nowhere. A wave of pain like I’ve been punched in the stomach. It makes no sense, but I’m overcome with an overwhelming sense of loss knowing this male despises me.
Worse. He hungers for my death. Would snap my neck here and now if he could get away with it. I know it as surely as I know my own name.
And Fates, knowing it hurts. It aches in a way not even my father’s hatred made me ache. The sense of being untethered returns, making my lips tingle and go numb, some physical reaction to the death of something that never got a chance to exist.
Why? Why does this hurt so much?
Tears pool on my lashes. I blink them back, unwilling to give this Alpha more of me than he’s already stolen. It’s like something inside of me is tearing apart the longer I’m forced to face his fury.
I’m being stabbed over and over in a soft spot I didn’t know I needed to protect.
“She’ll need to stay on them,” he says. “I want her dosed every night before bed. I don’t want to give her a chance to influence anyone with her biology”
A whine slips out, my Omega heartbroken and confused as much as I am. His look of disgust deepens. I flinch, my cheeks heating in shame.
“No whining or whimpering your way out of this one, Omega.” He takes a single, threatening step in my direction. His grey eyes hold mine, and I’d do anything to look away, but I can’t.
My chest aches.
Gods, why does it ache?
“Your father wanted obedience,” he says, voice smooth and deep. “I want silence. If I have to rip your instincts out one by one to get it, then that’s what I’ll do.”
I sink my teeth into my lower lip to stop the trembling. His words are more than a threat. He wants a reason to follow through. Desires it. It’s terrifying in its brutality.
I’ve never felt so hollow.
A tremor starts in my fingers, so small I barely feel it. It works its way up my arms and into my chest, and before I know what’s happening, my whole body is shaking with terror.
This male… he doesn’t just want suppression. No. He’s describing a systematic breaking apart of who I am.
This is an absolute rejection of me. As a person. A female.
An Omega.
What he wants isn’t one of my father’s punishments. There will be no lashings, scars, or chains. There probably won’t even be any bruises.
This is a slow, methodical execution. Cold, clinical, and complete. Just like him.
I feel it—the first crack in something that can never be repaired. My breath hitches, his words burrowing deeper. It’s not the words or even the threat itself that hurts the worst.
It’s strangely—inconceivably—the fact that it’s coming from him.
He eyes me like I’m an unwanted body, taking up space in his perfect world. I want to beg him to stop.
Once again, I find myself reaching, fumbling, searching for something soft and safe. There’s nothing but empty air. The absence of anything to nest with squeezes my already tight chest.
My Omega doesn’t care that this Alpha wants me dead. The only thing my instincts understand is that he’s rejecting me.
It’s agonizing.
I want to laugh at the irony, but I’m too busy fighting back tears. Of course this Alpha would reject me. Why wouldn’t he? My whole life, I’ve known only hated. I’ve been rejected and crushed down to nothing by the one male supposed to love me unconditionally.
Why did I ever hope life away from my father might be different?
No. You’re wrong. It IS different. You have Caelan. This Alpha doesn’t matter. He’s nothing to you. He’s not even your Mate.
“Caelan!”
His name steals my attention and forces me to focus. If this male is Caelan’s friend, then this is my chance to ask if he’s alright.
As the thought solidifies a terrible possibility dawns on me. The whole time Lenora listed each of his wounds, she never mentioned a gunshot. Why not? They couldn’t have missed it, surely.
The possibility is almost non-existent but…
What if they did?
My spine straightens, fear making me bold despite everything falling apart around me. Facing Lenora I stammer, “Is he—he was shot.”
She stares back blankly. The lack of emotion fuels my anxiety.
The silence of the cell is heavy. Suddenly the possibility they never saw his wound doesn’t seem so far-fetched and urgency takes over, causing my next words to tumble out clumsily, each thought tripping over the next in my haste to warn them.
“Did— it’s— the gun was— Did you see? Or maybe— on his thigh. The wound— it was— all that blood. Did you see? The gunshot?”
As I struggle to speak, my anxiety attacks, supplying endless loop of worry. Surely someone saw it . They couldn’t have missed it, right? They’re doctors for Fates sake, of course they saw it. But if so, why won’t someone say something? Are they even listening?
“Daxen!” Lenora shouts. My mouth snaps shut and my attention flies to Daxen.
One moment, he’s still. Calm. Controlled. The epitome of Alpha confidence.
Then something snaps and he lunges. He moves with unnatural speed, flying across the room, straight toward his target.
Me.
I blink and he’s there. Looming over me with fangs bared and eyes so dark they’re black with the promise of death. Horrified, I watch as his canines elongate and sharpen into lethal points.
Something shoots between us. An awareness that lasts less than a second but cracks through the air like electricity. I can feel it on my skin—an echo of recognition. The certainty that my bones know this male.
Daxen.
I have no idea if he felt it too but it’s too late. It’s already gone, smothered by the weight of his rage.
My fight or flight instincts finally kick in and I scramble back until I slam into the wall. A terror-filled keening cry explodes between us. I try to move further away, but I can’t. There’s nowhere to go. Nowhere to escape.
There’s no safe place to hide. There will never, ever be a safe place to hide.
I gag on his rage. His scentless pheromones fill the room like smoke, making it impossible to breathe. My hands fly to my chest, my lungs. My vision blurs, black spots dancing around the edges.
Daxen gives up contending his fury. It explodes from him in a thunderous roar. The feral, primal sound might as well be a death-blow.