Episode 24 Wish Upon a Star #2
I move, hesitating to take the spot next to her, but when she shifts to give me space, I sink down.
“I’m sorry that happened to you, killer.
” I want to ask what kind of accident stole her dreams from her.
Did it happen while she was dancing? I’m imagining twisted metal and gasoline.
Breaking glass and the screech of tires.
Ren casts me a considering look. “I am too.” And there’s something in her tone that tells me there’s more than just the surface of the story she gave me. But I can also tell she’s not going to tell me about it. Why would she?
“What are you doing here?” She asks, setting the ice pack down and tucking a blanket around her legs.
My stomach cramps with nerves immediately. I’d forgotten why I was here. Why I wanted to speak to her.
“I wanted to make sure that you were okay, after this morning… and this afternoon.”
“I told you I was.”
I pin her with a look and she pins me with one right back. Unbending, my omega. “Killer.”
“Professor.” She sighs and deflates. “I mean it, Thay. It was a good reminder. So even though you could have been a bit nicer about it, you actually did me a favor. I was… I was getting attached, and we all know that’s a bad idea.”
It’s not, I want to tell her. I’m attached too.
So fucking attached. I want to find a way through for us.
For all of us. Where we don’t have to give up Florence to fulfill our duty.
And really why should that be the case? It's true that the queen likes Isadora for us, but she hasn’t met Florence. Maybe if they can just meet-
I cut off the thought before it can fully hatch.
That might work if we’d fallen for a Bravonnian omega with blue blood, the Queen might be able to pass over Isadora for our choice.
But Florence is neither Bravonnian or nobility.
She is American, and the type of girl who doesn’t bow to societal pressure put on an omega to find a pack as quickly as possible.
Instead she chose herself, her dreams. Her wants and needs.
It's sexy as hell, but I know that would infuriate the queen.
I have a feeling Florence Karlin wouldn’t be so quick to bow to Bravonnian royalty either.
I mean she certainly doesn’t bow to us.
And I love that about her.
I reach out slowly, giving her plenty of time to pull away, before curling my hand around her fingers, chilled from the ice pack.
“I know it's very little consolation, Ren. But if we could choose— if we weren’t bound by duty— we’d choose you.
I know it in my bones we would. In a heartbeat.
We would have picked you that first day. ”
“That would have made for a very short show.”
“It would have.”
My omega stares at me, plush pink lips parted, those multicolored eyes of hers wide. And then she slowly, so slowly shakes her head. “You should go back to insulting me.”
“Ren-”
“No, I mean it. That was… You can’t say things like that to me, Thayer. Not if you aren’t going to follow through. And we both know you won’t. Duty over love, right?”
Duty over love. That one innocuous question seems to haunt us. Haunt her.
“I wanted to say love,” I tell her hoarsely. “I wanted to. It's… it's what I truly believe.”
“It's what you believe in for everyone but you.” Another shake of her head. Sadly this time, as her eyes squeeze shut. “I’m sorry. I’m sure you don’t want my pity, but that sucks, Thayer.
It really does. You deserve love too. You deserve to be more than just your duty to the crown.
You deserve to be able to kiss your beta in public and let the world know he belongs to you.
And you deserve more than to be forced into a bond with someone you won’t ever be able to love.
You deserve more than what the queen allows you to have. ”
Florence’s words are still ringing in my ears the next day, as we meet the omegas for breakfast. They’re all a flutter over the talent show this afternoon, chattering happily about what they plan to do. Florence, as usual, is at the far end of the table from us.
I think it started as a way to keep her distance at the beginning of the show. A way to protect herself, and now it's just a habit.
I wish her habit was to sit on my lap, so I could feed her from my plate. Watch as she eats her fill, feel her warm weight against my body, her scent in my nostrils.
You deserve love.
The words echo through my brain as she pushes to her feet, casting a quick look in our direction before sauntering off with Petal. I watch her go, eyes latched onto her ass hugged in her yoga pants.
Knowing what I know, about her knee, about how she can’t dance anymore, not like she used to, has me watching her eagle eyed as she and Petal go through their daily yoga routine, watching for any sign of discomfort or pain.
But she’s just as fluid as always.
“Why are you staring at Pixie like that?” Court asks, dropping onto the lounge next to me. “Like you’re expecting her to crumble or something.”
I glance at him. “I’m not.”
“You are,” Grieves adds. “You’re wound so tight, I’m a little worried you might snap.”
Forsythe sinks onto the bottom of my lounger. “Where did you go last night?” he asks, but I know he already knows the answer.
I glance around. Visiting the omegas in their cabanas is strictly verboten. But what are they gonna do? Kick us off the show? Not likely. “I went to see Ren. To check on her.”
My pack nods slowly, as Piers inches just that bit closer to us. On the fringe. Close, but not too close. You deserve to be able to kiss your beta in public. Fuck, that makes my heart ache.
“And what did she say?” Grieves asks, dark grey eyes latching onto the bending body of the omega in question.
Maybe I shouldn’t tell them. Florence wears leggings and long skirts for a reason. But at the same time, this is what a pack does, finds out what they need to know about their pack members, their weaknesses, and then protects them at all costs.
I make eye contact with Piers and motion him closer, until he’s standing in the shade of the cabana, brows arched in question. And that look on his face hits me in my chest. He deserves more than to be surprised that I want him to be a part of a public conversation.
Of course, this isn’t going to be all that public.
Wordlessly, I unplug my microphone. The others take my lead and do the same. I can see the producers glaring at us and know I only have so much time before they force the issue. “Ren’s knee… she had some kind of an accident. It's all scarred and… I think it was broken somehow.”
All of my pack mates' heads jerk up, gazes focusing on Florence, who is blissfully unaware of our worried regard.
“She didn’t fail at being a dancer,” Forsythe mutters. “She simply couldn’t do it anymore.”
Forsythe’s eyes sweep over all the other omegas wearing the skimpiest bikinis they can squeeze into, then looks back at Florence. “That’s why she always wears pants. She doesn't want anyone to see it.”
I nod.
Court’s hands are fisted on his knees. “She… She told me she had a bad experience with an alpha. Didn’t go into specifics, but I wonder if he had something to do with what happened to her knee.”
The thought has all of us growling. As soon as we get out of here, I’m running a full background check on Florence and figuring out who the fuck hurt her. Then I’m going to plot ways to wipe them off the planet.
“Isadora went after her in capture the flag,” Grieves snarls, drawing me back to the present. “Tried to take her out at the knees.”
“What?” Forsythe’s voice has never sounded like this. Low and dangerous, pulsing with violence. It feeds my own.
Grieves shakes his head. “I thought at the time it was just her being a bitch, but what if she… what if she knew Florence had an existing injury? What if she was really trying to hurt her?”
Oh, no. My alpha doesn’t like that at all. And it appears that none of my packmates do either if the low rumbling growls emitting from them again are any indication.
“Your Highness.”
Forsythe whips his head around to snarl at a pale, trembling beta. “What?”
“If you… the microphones?” he questions hesitantly.
Our prime doesn’t often use his dominance. He’s been taught to be polished and smooth, a delicate instrument rather than a blunt object, a scalpel as opposed to a hammer. But right now? He’s all alpha instinct, and he’s struggling to keep it under control.
His head tilts as he cracks his neck, his eyes closing in a bid for control. It doesn’t help. “Leave,” he commands every inch the royal alpha.
Forsythe’s command snaps through the air like a whip, and the beta flees, nearly tripping over a cable as he goes.
The moment he’s out of earshot, the five of us just…
breathe, trying to calm the inferno raging in our chests.
Even Piers looks on the verge of ripping something apart with his bare hands.
My own pulse is still pounding.
Florence’s knee.
The scars.
The pain she never told us about, never even hinted at.
And fucking Isadora, aiming straight for that weakness like she knew.
How could she know though? Unless someone told her.
We don’t have access to our normal network here. If we were out in the real world, Grieves would have done a background check on her, on all the omegas, more thorough than the one done by the show, and we would have known about her injury.
It would be just as easy for someone in the real world to find out, to feed the information to Isadora and for Isadora to decide to take out the competition in the most brutal way possible.
“We should’ve seen it,” Court spits, dragging a hand through his hair. “We should’ve- Fuck! We should’ve protected her.”
“We didn’t know,” Piers says quietly. He’s close enough now that his arm brushes the side of my lounger, but not close enough to look like he belongs here. That little distance makes my teeth grind. “She didn’t want anyone to know. Not even the crew. That says… something.”