Chapter 28
JUDGE
The bed is wrong.
It’s not that it’s cold. I’ve slept in places colder than this, places where the ground leeches heat straight from your bones and you wake up wondering if your fingers will ever move again.
It’s because she’s not here with me.
The bed is missing her warmth. That faintly sweet musk of my omega that has no right existing in a world like this. I even spot a hair of hers on my coat, and I pinch it between my fingers.
She should be breathing slowly and even beside me, her back slowly rising and falling. The bond should be quiet, not stretched thin and aching like a pulled muscle. An omega should feel the safety of her mate being near her. Not whatever hollow absence this is.
But Titan is a threat not only to my omega but to all of Dominion.
My only regret is that Diana has been fated to the one man who can kill Titan, if any of us can.
It’s not even a fucking heroic act, because we’re all murderers who are involved in this.
I just personally believe mine is excusable, whereas his are not.
I dress without ceremony, putting on my bomber jacket and boots after resting for the evening. I can smell roasted meats outside in the fire, the night sky speckled with stars through the window of this bus.
Might as well be awake with company.
The cold hits harder when I step outside, like it finds every fucking gap in my clothes. My boots crunch on frozen ground as I make my way toward the fire.
The roaring flames are larger than I expected—probably one of the pyros. A dozen of my people are scattered around it, some talking low, some just staring into the flames.
Drake sits on a fallen log, long legs stretched toward the flames, her posture deceptively relaxed. She's tall enough that even seated, she's nearly eye-level with the men standing nearby. Her long black hair is braided down the back, pretty in the way a well-made blade is pretty.
She's not alone.
Tucked against her side is a male omega, young, with a face pale as moonlight and dark hair that falls straight past his shoulders. He's dressed in black from throat to boots, his expression utterly blank as he stares into the fire.
Wherever she goes, so does he. I don’t mind, since he’s mated to her, and it keeps Drake calm. She’s one of the best marksmen that we have, and as violent as all fuck when she’s in a frenzy.
My eyes drift across the fire to a particular surgeon who owes me.
Maggie’s sitting apart from the others, wrapped in a blanket.
Her face is thinner than I remember, her hair pulled back in a severe knot that makes her look older.
She's very carefully not looking at me, in fact, her attention is fixed on something in her hands—a suture kit.
I realize her fingers are checking each tool with mechanical precision, her medical bag at her feet.
Her presence, her participation, her skills as a surgeon put to use where they're needed most. When I first wrote to her, I mentioned that if she came, I’d support the Enclave as a place to harbor unmated omegas that don’t ever want to be mated.
Because when this is done, that kind of world can finally exist.
I knew she’d accept the offer.
I turn back to the fire and let the silence settle. Around me, my people breathe and shift and wait.
I think of Diana, her hands wrapped around her mug, her voice when she begged me not to go. I think of the letter I left for her, the one Beast will deliver if I don't come home. I think of all the things I wanted to say and didn’t.
The fire crackles and spits. Sparks rise toward the black sky and disappear.
Diana.
The bus rattles over broken asphalt, its engine groaning with every pothole.
I'm in the back with my men, a dozen of Dominion's best, all armed to the teeth, all silent as the grave. We passed mile marker fifty-seven, and we’re getting off at fifty-eight.
The tension is thick enough to choke on.
Everyone knows what's at stake. Everyone knows what happens if this goes wrong. The threat that daughters of Dominion could be taken over and forced into Bayou’s Maw is too great.
If Titan is removed, the Maw will fracture. And if all goes well, I plan to send the alliance in the Rockies Titan’s head myself as an offering.
Fuck him.
I remove the clothing from the day so I can put on reinforced leather that's stopped more blades than I can count.
Some chainmail on my chest and groin. Then the coat, heavy across my shoulders, familiar as my own skin, with metal plating inside.
Gloves last, working each finger into place with mechanical precision.
Each piece goes on the same way it always has, muscle memory taking over where my head won't cooperate.
It’s been close to two weeks of travel and frequent stops to avoid exhaustion.. My body is alive with a certain kind of adrenaline that shifts my entire being into another state, as if everything I’ve ever done has never existed. We’re a bunch of cattle heading for the slaughter.
I’m a man with a mission right now.
It’s a vestigial trait of being a Steelborn.
The Scarlet Offering site is exactly as planned on neutral ground, an old factory complex, somewhere in old eastern Missouri. Titan's people are already there when we arrive, their vehicles forming a loose perimeter, their soldiers watching us with weapons half-raised.
And there, standing in the center of it all, is Titan himself.
The years haven't been kind to him—his face is leaner, harder, the cruelty more visible in the lines around his eyes, but he still carries himself like a king. Like the world owes him something and he's here to collect.
At least the cold doesn’t bite nearly as deep here.
Old asphalt is split by frost and roots, the cracks filled with weeds—the bond tightens in my chest as if she’s not happy. What are you doing, Diana? I hope she can’t feel any of this, or any of the dread that I carry. I hope she's too far away to feel what's coming.
To feel what might happen to me.
I take in Titan even more as my people dismount their bikes or get out of their vehicles. His wiry blond hair is even paler, coming down to his chin. I don’t need to be close to imagine what his eyes look like—nearly black in color, probably more bloodstained than before.
It’s dead fucking quiet as everyone turns off their engines.
He steps forward, some dust kicking up underneath his boots. His hands rise up on either side. “Judge!” he shouts.
I don’t reply.
“As talkative as always.” His arms lower, and he points at my people. “You remove your weapons, and we’ll do the same! Red rodeo fashion!”
A single nod from me gets my people moving, immediately starting to disarm themselves before heading forward on foot to greet three of Titan’s own. They check each other for weapons, each holding up a metal detector, leading to many inspections of the smallest trinkets.
But we wait.
This part always takes a while.
We each send more men forward to search and disarm.
Weapons are collected, cataloged, set aside—the visible ones, anyway.
I know some of my people have bone blades tucked into boot seams, acrylic knives strapped to inner thighs.
I’m certain his do too. But the bulk of the arsenal is removed, and those without weapons head toward what is almost like an old courtyard.
Titan watches the process with the patience of a man who's done this a hundred times, just like I do. When it's finished, when his second steps back with a nod, he turns his attention fully to me.
When it’s our turn to let each other be inspected, we stare at each other without saying a word until we’re both cleared, Drake at my side.
Titan opens his arms wide again, the gesture magnanimous and mocking all at once. "So, you suddenly want to make a deal with me?" he asks with a voice that sounds aged from tobacco use, the lines in his face deeper than the last time I saw him. “Didn’t know if you’d honestly show up.”
"It's what my people want," I reply.
"Dominion going domestic?" His smile is sharp, all teeth and no warmth. “Did you all have your balls ripped off?”
“Our balls freeze for a third of the year. They already have enough shit to worry about during those months, let alone anything you’re doing,” I quip, Drake hardly blinking as she glares at him. “Let’s get this shit over with."
“Yeah, actually, I’m dying to know what you’re offering me,” he says, like this is all for him, a wildness in his eyes that I’ve never liked. It connects to a terrifying edge that he gets before he does horrible things to people, like this is some kind of fucked up foreplay to him.
Probably fucking is.
"Five omegas,” I say.
There's a ripple of interest through his eyes.
Titan's smile sharpens, revealing yellowing teeth, his eyes gleaming with something ugly and eager.
"Five," he repeats, drawing the word out like he's tasting it, rubbing his fingers along the salt and pepper gruff of his face.
"You don't ever give even one omega. Fuck the virgin mother, have you been castrated, too?”
“I’m tired of wasting resources during the winter months prepping our borders just because you come sniffing like you smell a bitch in heat.” It is true, and a strain that I know Jack overheard before his head parted ways with his body.
That wildness tempers as Titan’s gaze narrows. “Since when do you bow down? Seriously?”
"Since I'm fucking tired of watching my back." I motion to one of the trucks, and my men move to comply.
The omega scraps come forward.
Heavy links around wrists and throats, metal biting into skin that’s raw and red in places. The chains rattle with every step, a sound that echoes across the dead landscape like bones shaking in a box. They keep their gaze lowered to their feet.
Submission.
I don't look at their faces for more than a second.
The scraps. Every single one of them.
Titan's eyes light up like a starving child who’s just been given a cake.
"Well, I'll be damned," he says softly, going near them like he's at a market stall examining livestock. His boots crunch against the broken asphalt, each step deliberate, theatrical. He reaches out and grips Scorch’s chin, forcing her to look up at him.
His fingers dig into her jaw, hard enough to bruise, and she doesn't fight.
Doesn't flinch. Just stares at him with dead eyes that have seen too much already.
“You even got one from the Black Mirage. Don’t get them often with their scent glands still intact…
You always did know how to make an offer worth considering," Titan murmurs, his thumb stroking along her cheekbone in a grotesque parody of tenderness.
"We haven't shaken any hands," I warn, my voice hardening. “You’re done touching.”
He laughs—a low, satisfied sound—and lets her go. Her nostrils flare as she lowers her gaze again, and she doesn't look at me. None of them do.
"Relax." Titan straightens, wiping his hand on his coat like he's touched something dirty. "I'm appreciating the potential.” His eyes flick back to me, sharp and assessing. "And in return?"
“You stop crossing into Kentucky. Leave it as it is, before we both go into turf warfare.”
I don’t mention the deals with the gangs in the Rockies because that’s not what this initial deal was about. No, I’m saving that.
"And you think I'd do that," he says mildly, tilting his head, "for five omegas?"
“That’s where we start, yes.” I meet his gaze without flinching. “And we can negotiate more omegas from there, or else we escalate this shit into making each gang extinct."
Titan studies me for a long moment. The amusement fades from his expression, replaced by something colder. He knows me well enough to hear what I'm not saying. He knows what it costs me to stand here and offer this instead of war.
He tilts his head, a predator considering its prey. "You've changed."
I don't answer.
He steps back toward his men, murmuring something low that I can't hear.
There's movement behind him, his second steps forward, whispering urgently, gesturing toward me with sharp, agitated motions.
Titan waves him off without looking, his attention still fixed on me like I'm a puzzle he can't quite solve.
"You know," he says conversationally, turning back, "people have been telling me you've got yourself an omega. "
The words hit like a blade between the ribs.
"It's expected of me," I reply, keeping my voice steady through sheer force of will. My heart is racing, the bond screaming. "Take this offer or don't. This is the deal."
Titan exhales slowly. The wind moves through the wreckage around us, rattling loose metal, carrying the sound like distant applause. His men stand motionless, waiting for his verdict. My men do the same.
Finally, he nods once.
“Fine, fine,” he says. "Five omegas. A temporary ceasefire." His smile returns. "You always did know how to make things interesting, Judge." He claps his hands together, the sound sharp as a gunshot. "Let's say this buys us one year—next winter, to be exact. How about that?"
“Three,” I bargain, knowing none of this means a fucking thing.
“Two.”
I roll my eyes, playing the part. "Then two.”
His eyes narrow so much that it’s as if the sun is in his black eyes. “You seriously are doing this because we’ve been encroaching on you?”
“I’m the leader of a gang now, Titan. I don’t get to do the things I want to do without it impacting others,” I reply, not blinking as I bore my gaze into him.
I know he needs to believe I'm weakened, compromised, making concessions I wouldn't make if I had any other choice. So I give him that performance. Let him see the alpha struggling against his leash.
There’s a greedy, victorious gleam in his eyes that tells me he believes that… at least, he believes it enough to nod even more, motioning to the omegas. I hold a hand up. “We eat first before you take them. We have a lot to discuss.”
He grins again, looking me over like he recognizes me finally. “You remember how much I love a good feast. Fuck it. Let’s do it. It’ll put the omegas on a nice display,” he replies, looking over them once more.
I don't look at the women as the deal is sealed. I don't watch them lead the omegas toward a wall as they’re shown off, including Mira, who, if Beast were here, he’d be pulverizing anyone that so much as looked at her.
I just stand there, hands loose at my sides, and let Titan think he's won.
He has no fucking idea what we have planned.