Episode 12 Faith, Trust and Pixie （Dust）
“This challenge,” Cleo Hartwell purrs into her microphone the next day, “tests communication, cooperation, and trust. Omegas will start blindfolded at the edges of the maze. Their alpha will guide them in with only verbal directions. The fastest team wins.”
My stomach tightens with every word out of Cleo’s mouth. The setup for this, the rules, they all but invite an alpha bark, a command. I’m not sure that anyone else would have a problem with it in this context, but I sure as fuck do.
My heart is thundering and I feel a little woozy, like my brain isn’t getting enough oxygen. I make myself breathe. Focus on the rise and fall of my chest, and not on the rise of panic.
Five things I can see: The green palm trees. The bright blue of Forsythe’s swim trunks. The black t-shirt spread over Piers’ chest. The purple flower in Petal’s hair. The white sneakers Courtland is wearing.
Four things I can feel: The sand between my toes. The sun on my skin. The wind ruffling my hair. The warm burn of Thayer’s attention.
Three things I can hear: Grieves calling out another omega’s name. The waves lapping at the shore. A seagull calling overhead.
Two things I can smell: The salt of the ocean. The faintest twinge of cut grass.
One thing I can taste: The lingering mint of my toothpaste.
“Florence.” I blink, focus back on my surroundings, feeling more grounded, and find everyone staring at me. Petal squeezes my hand and then pushes me forward, and I realize someone has picked me.
Who?
Forsythe has two omegas next to him—Catherine and Odette. Thayer also has two—Lila and Julian—and he’s watching me with a ticking jaw that tells me he’s displeased about something. But I have no clue what. Courtland and Grieves each have one omega beside them. Rosamund and Anneliese, respectively.
I take another hesitant step forward glancing over my shoulder at Petal who just gives me a grin of encouragement. Appreciated, but not particularly helpful.
“Come on, pixie,” Courtland says, holding out a hand to me. I blow out a relieved breath and hurry forward, sliding my fingers into his warm grip, letting him pull me into his side. Of all of them Courtland seems the least likely to bark at unsuspecting omegas.
But still just to be sure, as Grieves picks his next teammate I use my grip on his hand to tug him down until I can whisper in his ear. “Please, don’t use a bark on me.”
He draws back as if startled by my request. His green eyes are wide and a little shocked, his jaw clenches, and I think I’ve really messed up. His country must view it as entirely normal for an alpha to assert control.
I take one small step back, dropping my eyes like a good submissive omega should. “Sorry,” I whisper. “I shouldn’t have…”
His knuckle hooks under my chin, lifting my eyes back to his, making sure I’m paying attention. “I would never use my bark on an omega, not unless their safety required it, I promise, Ren.”
I want to believe him. And hadn’t I just thought he’s not the type of alpha to force his will on those weaker than him? But no one would suspect that family man Senator Frederick Bell would have buried his beloved daughter under a mountain of alpha commands.
What if it's just something powerful alphas do in secret.
If it's in secret then he won’t do it on television, Florence.
Right.
His hand has shifted. He’s now cupping the side of my neck, his thumb stroking over the pulse point there, as though he’s trying to soothe me. His emerald eyes are sharp and piercing, like he’s trying to read into my soul. “Who hurt you, pix?”
Reaching up to curl my fingers around his wrist, I frown.
“No one.” I’m certainly not going to get into the whole nasty business of what happened almost two years ago, not here.
Probably not ever with this alpha who I already know won’t be mine.
And definitely not in front of cameras while mic’d up and my trauma could end up on national television.
His brow wrinkles. “Liar.”
I blink, surprised he can read me that well. I glance away pointedly at all of the people around us, then back to the alpha still staring at me like I’m a beautiful, intriguing piece of art. One corner of his mouth tips up. “Not the time, I get it.”
My chin gives the barest nod, only halfway realizing it's all but an admission that someone did hurt me. His eyes darken dangerously, his alpha pushing forward. “Want me to kill them for you?”
“Courtland?” Cleo says his name, drawing our attention to our surroundings again.
I blink around, realizing once again everyone is staring at me.
At us. At the way Courtland is cupping my cheek and I’m holding his wrist. And I wonder if anyone heard what he just asked me.
They must have, right? The mics clipped on our clothes would have picked it up.
Fuck.
I hate being here. Hate feeling this… vulnerable.
“Courtland,” Cleo says, sounding amused. “We need your next pick.”
Without taking those green eyes off of me, he lazily calls out, “Petal.”
Petal squeals, bouncing over on her toes. “You won’t regret it,” she chirps, throwing him a salute before sliding into place beside me, tossing an arm around my waist, uncaring that the two of us are still standing so close.
“Doubt I will, love,” Courtland murmurs, though his thumb gives one last soft sweep along my throat before he lets go.
My skin tingles where his fingers were. God, I hate that it feels good. I hate even more how quickly it flips into dread when the host holds up… the blindfolds.
Gold fabric to match the shirts we’ll put on, with green laurels emblazoned on the chest. Thick. Secure.
A symbol of trust.
Weird that they make us do this as the second challenge, before we’ve had the chance to actually get to know them, to trust them.
Court’s fingers curl around mine, at the same time Petal leans her head on my shoulder. “We’ve got this, Pix,” he murmurs to me. “I promise I won’t bark. But you’ll have to promise to listen to every one of my commands. No questions.”
It’s a bad deal to make.
“I’m not making that promise, pretty boy.”
The maze looks worse up close.
A lattice of thick ropes is staked into the sand, creating walls, dead ends, and snaking corridors. From the ground, it’s a tangle. From the center platform—where the alphas will stand—it’s a neat series of paths leading to them like spokes on a wheel.
The alphas really are the “prize” at the center of the maze.
Courtland stands on his assigned dais in the middle of our wedge of the maze, hands on his hips, wind ruffling the hem of his gold t-shirt.
Black hair a mess around his chiseled cheekbones.
He looks delighted. Exhilarated. Wild with competitive glee.
The other alphas—Thayer, Grieves, and Forsythe—are all studying the maze, already finding the path to the center.
Courtland appears to be… studying me? Us?
“Tell me if it’s too tight,” Lulu urges me as she ties the fabric at the back of my head.
“It’s fine,” I lie. God, everything about being on this show is a challenge. What had Jude said? Think of it as a vacation? Sure if blindfolds and corporate trust exercises are your idea of a vacation.
For the record, it's not mine. I’d be much happier if I could just lay out in a lounger by the pool and sip bubbly drinks the entire time.
Petal squeezes my hand. “We’re gonna crush this,” she whispers, sounding adorably determined.
Rosamund makes a bored little noise. “Just don’t get lost,” she says unhelpfully.
“Obviously,” Petal hisses back, and if I could see her face I’m sure she’d be rolling her eyes at the other omega right about now.
My heart’s thundering too loud in my chest for me to respond. Anxiety clawing up my spine.
Five things I can hear. The crew muttering to themselves. Courtland’s cheerful encouragement. A seagull. The waves on the sand. A distant car horn.
Four things I can feel: Petal’s hand on mine. The end of my ponytail brushing between my shoulder blades. The sun warming my skin, and the ocean breeze sweeping in to cool it.
“Okay,” Someone calls. “Ready!”
My grounding sequence stutters but holds. A horn blows heralding the start of the challenge.
“Alright, ladies!” Courtland yells from above, his voice blending in with his pack mates. “We’re doing this all together!”
All together?
Petal whispers, “Oh no.” And clutches at me tighter.
Rosamund groans. “Can’t we go one at a—”
“Nope!” Courtland shouts happily. “Ren, take a big step forward! Petal, small step left! Rosamund, stop talking!”
Chaos. Of course its chaos with him in control.
I choke on air. “Courtland, I-I don’t know where forward is!”
“Right! Right, forgot. Uh, pixie, turn your whole body to the left. No, your other left!”
“So you mean right?” A sound halfway between a laugh and a sob catches in my throat as I turn to my right and step forward, hoping I’m doing the right thing. “Courtland!”
“Sorry! Sorry! Okay, okay. Pixie—you’re facing the maze now. Take a step forward, Ren. Petal, you’re good, too. Just… keep going straight. Trust me!”
Trust him. God, I want to. And I hate that wanting.
I lift my foot and-
“Stop!”
I freeze mid step. Petal whines somewhere behind me and I know his shouted order has all of us immobile. But he didn’t bark at us.
“You’re about to walk into a wall,” he explains.
“Who?” Rosamund shouts back, apparently already as over this as I am.
“Ren.”
“Me?” I squeak.
“Yes, pixie, you.” He sounds amused for some reason. Though I suppose it might be funny to see all of us scrambling around blind as bats and without the handy echo location they have.
“How close?” I call back.
“Um.” His hesitation is not reassuring. “Like, touching distance.”
I reach out, and yep, my fingers hit rope instantly. “Courtland!”
He laughs helplessly. “Hey, we’re learning! Okay, pixie, slide your hand along the rope and shuffle right. No, other right. God, I wish I could touch you—not like that, you perverts—just to point you in the right direction.”