Chapter 13
Fenrir was feverish. His tongue felt swollen, his mouth dry, and his whole body ached when he peeled himself off the bed. His mind was frazzled, unable to string events together, so he was left in a state of suspension that had hysterics quickly upon him.
This feeling wasn’t unfamiliar, though there were odd pains, a soreness in his backside he’d never experienced before.
When he stood, he teetered and almost fell over, his thighs burning just from holding himself up.
It was too hard to focus his vision, so he stumbled through the room, blurry-eyed, grasping at the walls and any solid surface he could get his hands on.
The moment he found a door a sound escaped him, much like relief, that feeling only emboldened when he tried the knob and it opened.
They always locked him in after a round of experimentation.
The influx must have been bad this time, because he could still feel it pressing against the recesses of his consciousness, trying to worm its way back in.
The tight feeling in his chest, the way his skin prickled with electric shocks that had no outlet, were both familiar horrors of a past he’d hoped would never repeat.
What had they done to him?
Or, better yet, what had he done to deserve it this time?
He must have pissed Michelle off for her to leave him lingering in this between state. It wasn’t safe for anyone, not him, her, or her pack.
He stumbled into a hallway, his brow furrowing as he processed the color palette of the walls: creams and beiges with pale wood fixtures, a sharp juxtaposition from the deep woods and forest wallpaper of the estate.
“Trick,” he tried to call for Michelle’s assistant, a hulking alpha who rarely spoke but was constantly lurking in the shadows, waiting for Fenrir to make a mistake, but the sound was off, catching in his throat.
He needed water.
He needed…
Fenrir paused halfway down the hall, realizing with another start that he was completely naked.
Why?
No one was allowed to touch him.
He was being groomed to one day become pack. To sit at Michelle’s side as the figurehead of the Wardrobe, one meant to distract her enemies. She’d said they were gearing up for a war with powerful individuals, that she needed someone trustworthy next to her.
Someone who could just as easily be discarded if it came down to it.
Fenrir knew, had always known, that even with her favoritism toward him, he was still little more than product in her mind. But did it matter when what she offered was the only chance at freedom he’d ever have?
There was no escape from the Wardrobe. If he wanted to earn his right to agency, he needed to prove his loyalty first. Had to show her that he could be trusted and would remain on her side.
Needed to—
He was at the top of a set of stairs now, coming to a halt all over again when reality managed to sneak past his feverish state.
The auction.
The Heated Hearts party.
Oberon King.
His stomach lurched and he slid to the ground, settling on the top step as he waited for the nausea to pass. At least he’d come to his senses enough to realize these weren’t symptoms of another experiment. He wasn’t eighteen and locked up.
“You’re twenty-five,” he reminded himself quietly. “You just shared your heat with an alpha for the first time.” Though shared was a stretch. “And now…” He pursed his lips and glanced around. “Now…”
Now what?
The heat was over, the contract had been completed, and Fenrir had successfully installed spyware on the King of Fairies’ multi-slate.
He was done here.
He had to go.
Michelle would be waiting for him, and the mistress hated to be left waiting.
If Fenrir didn’t want to deal with Trick locking him on level one for the next three days, he needed to get back to the estate.
The Wardrobe knew where he was. They’d sent Jose, another trusted pack member, to monitor him as soon as he’d left the auction.
That was how the waitress had found him at the party, how they’d managed to slip him the heat inducer.
His sense of time was messed up, but sunlight poured through the windows below, so at least he knew it was day and not night.
A car would be waiting; he just had to find it.
There was a door at the foot of the stairs, and before logic could worm its way through the disorientation, Fenrir sprang for it.
He pounded down the steps, not even trying to be quiet with his exit. The second his hand wrapped around the handle and he discovered this one, unlike the one in the bedroom, was in fact locked, he was too desperate not to anger his mistress to properly consider his options.
This close to influx, his power was already chaotic. He only meant to summon a bit, to break his way out, but instead a wave of it burst from him. Ice encased the brass knob in a flash, the metal freezing at a low enough temperature that it shattered and crumbled, pieces pinging to the ground.
He felt woozy and swayed, realizing too late that unlocking that energy was the worst possible move he could have made. Internally, it cut at his insides, shredding him like he’d swallowed millions of tiny needles. Seemingly on fire, his gaze landed on the inviting snowbanks outside.
If he could cool off, he’d be able to focus enough to figure out what was happening.
The world tilted as soon as he took a step over the threshold, but before he could reach out to catch himself, a strong arm banded around his waist, hauling him back.
Fenrir was tossed onto the floor, rolling until his back came against the side of a cream-colored velvet couch. His shoulders snapped against one of the wooden legs and he hissed, ice bursting from his hands to coat the floorboards in a frosty layer that surrounded him.
“What the hell is this?” A harsh tone drew Fenrir’s head up, and his eyes connected with Oberon’s.
He’d never heard the alpha angry or uncertain before, but it was clear the man before him currently felt both of those things.
There was no reason for it, but Fenrir felt the urge to cave in on himself, to explain and soothe the alpha’s wrath.
To correct it, as though this were all some big misunderstanding.
Ridiculous.
Did all omegas turn into clingy morons with the first alpha they shared a heat with? Michelle had failed to warn him about that as well.
In hindsight, there was a lot she hadn’t explained.
Maybe she’d never meant for him to make it out of this alive after all.
Fear of death had him shifting onto his ass, but he couldn’t muster the strength to stand. Instead, he lashed out with his ability, dropping the temperature within the room low enough the alpha shivered.
Fen wouldn’t be able to keep it up.
He needed to escape.
“Move away from the door,” he demanded, determined to crawl to it if he had to.
Oberon took a moment to weigh his options and then surprisingly stepped aside. With a flourish, he waved an arm toward the exit, where frigid air from the winter day blew in to mingle with the cold inside.
With the help of the couch arm, Fenrir somehow managed to make it to his feet, keeping close to the wall as he stumbled toward the doorway. His gaze remained locked on Oberon, suspicion only growing when it didn’t appear as though the alpha was going to attempt to stop him a second time.
The White Frost must never have encountered a Shout before. That made sense, considering they were a rare breed, typically found in another galaxy far from this one. Oberon was merely playing it safe, avoiding Fenrir’s touch so as not to be turned into an alpha popsicle.
“Fenrir,” his voice stopped him just as he made it out onto the porch, “shouldn’t you put some clothes on first? Or is there no need?”
“I won’t freeze.” Thanks to his ability, hypothermia wasn’t a thing he needed to fret over. Of course, knowing that, the Wardrobe had been able to manipulate their training tactics to cater to his particular genetic makeup.
Suddenly, flashbacks assaulted him, memories of being locked up with the furnace set to blazing, his skin itchy and his mind muddled. Much like it was now.
“I can’t…think straight.” He didn’t know why he said it out loud, but he felt his grip on his abilities waver, didn’t have to look to see that the ice that had been appearing with each of his steps was melting away.
A cold gust blasted against his bare skin and he shuddered, not from the chill, but because it felt good against his heated flesh.
“I have…to….” Fenrir’s foot slid against the ground, but he didn’t manage more than an inch or so before a pain in his thigh had him howling and dropping to his knees.
A dart protruded from the side of his right leg, emptying the purple contents of the attached vial into his system. By the time he pried it out, there was less than a drop left, his muscles already growing weaker by the second.
His body collapsed, sending a swirl of light snow into the air around him. Through the flakes, his gaze met Oberon’s as the alpha stepped from the house and walked to him.
“Don’t try to speak,” the alpha instructed. “I gave you a strong paralytic. Can’t have you trying to freeze my balls off, now can I? But while I have you all ears, so to speak, let me remind you that you’re going to need my bits and bobs in full working order just as much as I will.”
Fenrir wanted to shake his head, but the alpha was correct about the potency of whatever he’d just injected him with. He was helpless as the alpha bent down and scooped him up, ambling back into the house somewhat awkwardly due to Fen’s overall size.
Back in the living room, he was momentarily placed on the couch, just long enough for the alpha to disappear from view and return with a metal chair and a few other items.