9. Hidden Truths And Purring Opportunity
9
HIDDEN TRUTHS AND PURRING OPPORTUNITY
~KAMARI~
T he realization hits me suddenly – I've just spilled intimate details of my life to two strangers.
Yet somehow, sitting here in Cardinal's exclusive VIP section, I feel more relaxed than I ever did in my own home.
There's something about Damon and Kieran's presence that puts me at ease, despite everything I've been taught about being wary of Alphas.
Especially powerful ones.
The comfort I feel around them stands in stark contrast to my memories of family functions. Those elaborate parties where my father would parade me around like a prized show pony, dressed in outfits that made me want to disappear into myself.
The dresses were always too short, too revealing for a child. I remember how he'd encourage me to sit on relatives' laps, to be "friendly" with important business associates. The way he'd leave me alone with them, knowing exactly what he was doing.
Training me.
Preparing me.
A shiver runs through me at the memories. I was too young to understand then, but somehow I knew too much. My mind matured faster than it should have, forced to comprehend adult complexities long before I was ready.
Maybe that's why losing my virginity felt so powerful, so validating. It wasn't just an act of rebellion – it was reclaiming something that had been slowly stripped away from me since childhood. I've never admitted this to anyone before, never put these feelings into words.
My father and that pack of his choosing – they all assumed I was pure, untouched. I had every intention of letting them face the consequences of that assumption, though I doubt they would have noticed or cared. Not with how they treated women right in front of me, all with my father's explicit approval.
"To prove they'll be 'good' candidates for his daughter's hand in marriage."
The excuse was paper-thin, transparent as the silk scarves they'd use to blindfold their victims. It was never about proving their worth as potential husbands.
It was about power, about showing me exactly what awaited me in their possession.
They wanted me to watch them practice their "techniques" on other women. To understand that my role would be to use my mouth for their pleasure, not for expressing my own desires or needs.
All those nights I spent hiding in my room, trying to drown out the sounds with my pillows...
I've never told anyone these things. Not even my best friend, Astraea, knows the full truth of my upbringing. She knows I ran from an arranged marriage, but not the dark details that led to my escape.
Why burden her with such horror stories? She's worked so hard to build her success, to maintain her secret identity as Blair Vesper. Her life might not be perfect – I know she struggles with her own mother's high maintenance demands – but at least her father and his pack showed compassion when they could.
Unlike mine, who saw compassion as weakness.
So I've walked this path alone, finding solace in the only place that felt safe – between the pages of books, in the glow of my Kindle's screen. Literature became my escape, my window into a world where Omegas could break free from their chains.
Romance novels, especially the darker ones, showed me that even in the most frightening environments, love could flourish. That there were Alphas who could be both powerful and gentle, dominant but respectful.
I devoured these stories, letting them feed the hope that grew like a fragile flower in the cracks of my damaged soul. For a few precious hours, I could lose myself in worlds where happy endings weren't just fairy tales.
Where Omegas like me could find packs that cherished rather than owned them.
Fiction became my refuge, my survival guide. Every story about an Omega finding her strength, escaping her cage, building a new life – they were breadcrumbs leading me toward my own liberation.
Even if that liberation meant running away in my wedding saree.
The irony doesn't escape me that I'm sitting here now, wearing another saree, sharing secrets I've never spoken aloud with two Alphas who should terrify me. Everything about them screams power and danger – from Damon's obvious criminal connections to Kieran's quiet intensity.
Yet instead of feeling threatened, I feel...safe.
It's an alien sensation, this comfort in the presence of Alphas. My body usually tenses at their proximity, my instincts screaming for flight. But here, in this secluded booth with its ambient lighting and expensive wine, something feels different.
They feel different.
The way they listen without judgment, how they respect my space while still maintaining a protective presence. Even their scents, which should be overwhelming in such close quarters, blend together in a way that soothes rather than alarms.
I think about all the dark romance novels I've read, especially Xavier Knight's works. How his Alphas always seem to walk that perfect line between dangerous and protective, dominant but never cruel. I used to think characters like that were pure fantasy – too perfect to exist in our harsh reality.
Yet here I sit, experiencing something that feels remarkably similar to those fictional encounters.
The realization makes me want to laugh and cry simultaneously. All those hours spent escaping into stories, dreaming of a different life, and now...
Now I'm living something that feels like it could have been pulled from those very pages. Two powerful Alphas, a chance encounter, a night of unexpected revelations.
If this were one of my books, this would be the moment where everything spirals down a direction that can’t be tamed.
But this isn't fiction.
This is my life, with all its complicated layers and unspoken truths. These men aren't characters crafted to fulfill romantic fantasies – they're real, with their own agendas and secrets.
And yet...
There's something about them that makes me want to believe in possibility again. That all those stories weren't just escapist fantasies.
Maybe they were preparing me for this moment, teaching me to recognize something genuine when I finally encountered it.
Even if I'm not entirely sure what "it" is yet.
"I've talked far too much," I blurt out suddenly, horrified at how much I've revealed. "I'm so sorry, I don't usually?—"
My eyes land on the ice cream bowls, where three perfect scoops have transformed into elegant pools of vanilla cream.
A gasp escapes me at the sight.
"Oh no, the ice cream! I made you waste such nice vanilla ice cream. Please, let me cover the bill for?—"
"It's not necessarily a waste when melted," Damon interrupts, his voice carrying that dangerous smoothness that makes my skin tingle. "Just because it's in liquid form doesn't mean it's no longer valuable."
He’s…right.
It’s as if he needs to remind me that I won’t get in trouble or scolded for being the reason such delicacy of sweetness was “wasted”.
A smile tugs at my lips before I can stop it.
"We could use it like they do in the books I read..." The words slip out before my brain can catch up with my mouth. "But I guess this isn't the right place to be playing with melted anything." I pause, then add without thinking, "Whipped cream is sweeter anyway."
Oh goddess.
The moment my brain registers what I've just said, heat floods my cheeks. My eyes dart to Kieran first, then Damon, finding matching sinister grins that confirm they've caught my meaning exactly.
"I-I didn't mean it like that!" I stammer, then backtrack. "Well, maybe I did...but not to be weird or horny or anything!"
A whine of embarrassment escapes me as I cover my face.
"This is so embarrassing..."
Damon's chuckle is rich and dark, like melted chocolate.
"And what if we were fine with you meaning exactly what you meant?" His voice drops lower, more intimate. "Would you be down to enjoying a sweet taste of what could be offered?"
My jaw drops as I stare at him, suddenly hyperaware of the tension crackling between us. It's odd how natural this feels, how right, despite how different we are.
Damon Castellano.
His name alone carries weight, speaks of power and danger and things I probably shouldn't want.
The rational part of my brain catalogs all the reasons this is a terrible idea – he's clearly involved in criminal enterprises, moves in circles far above my status, could probably ruin my life with a single phone call.
But what if it just remains like this?
"A quick fling of pleasure and lust," I muse aloud, "and then we go our separate ways?"
Even with all I've shared about my past, it's not like these men have the time or inclination to use it against me. They probably don't even care about the secrets of one runaway Omega.
"And what would be beneficial in such a frisky one-night connection like this?" I whisper, the question emerging soft and uncertain.
Damon's smile spreads wider, but it's his eyes that capture me. They've darkened to the color of aged whiskey, yet remain locked solely on mine with an intensity that makes my Omega instincts purr. This isn't the objectifying stare I'm used to from Alphas. This is different – focused, appreciative, filled with desire but not degradation.
He answers by reaching for a spoon, managing to capture some still-solid ice cream. The way he brings it to his mouth first is deliberate, calculated to build anticipation.
Then he's closing the distance between us, and everything else fades away.
The first touch of his lips against mine is electric – cold from the ice cream but somehow burning hot. The vanilla melts between us, sweet and cold and perfect as it mingles with the natural heat of our mouths.
A moan escapes me before I can stop it, soft and needy against his lips. The sound draws a responding groan from him, and suddenly the kiss transforms from teasing to desperate.
I expect to feel overwhelmed, to want to submit to his obvious dominance. Instead, something stubborn and defiant rises in me. I find myself pushing back against his authority, matching his intensity with my own.
This isn't submission – it's a dance.
The realization is both frightening and empowering.
Every romance novel I've devoured spoke of this kind of connection, this perfect balance of give and take. But reading about it could never prepare me for the reality.
The way his tongue traces my lower lip, seeking entrance. How his hand cradles the back of my neck, firm but not constraining. The lingering sweetness of vanilla mixing with his natural taste – whiskey and power and something darker that makes my head spin.
I'm acutely aware of Kieran watching us, his mismatched eyes probably cataloging every detail of this moment. But instead of making me self-conscious, his presence adds another layer of heat to the encounter.
This should feel wrong.
Dangerous.
Reckless.
I'm nineteen, barely escaped an arranged marriage, sitting in an elite club's VIP section kissing a man who probably has more blood on his hands than I want to contemplate. Kissing him a second time at that…after already kissing a random stranger earlier before all of this. Everything about this situation should scream danger.
Yet somehow it feels right.
Like Fate’s intervention.
Maybe it's because for the first time in my life, I'm choosing this. No one is forcing me, arranging me, trading me like property. This kiss, this moment, this connection – it's all my choice.
And when Damon's tongue finally meets mine, when the last of the ice cream has melted away leaving only the heat between us, I choose to deepen the kiss.
To match his passion with my own, to show him that being an Omega doesn't mean being passive.
His grip tightens slightly on my neck, approval rumbling in his chest at my boldness. The sound makes my core clench with need, slick gathering between my thighs as my body responds to his obvious appreciation of my defiance.
This is nothing like the books.
It's better. Real. More intense than any writer could capture.
Even Xavier Knight.
The kiss deepens, heat building between us as I match Damon's intensity. My hands find their way to his chest, feeling the solid muscle beneath expensive fabric.
His own grip remains firm on my neck, guiding but never forcing, while his other hand traces patterns on my lower back through my saree.
A small part of my mind registers that we're still in public. Anyone passing our booth could see us, despite Cardinal's strategic lighting designed for discretion. The thought should make me pull away, should remind me of all the cultural taboos I'm breaking.
What would people think, seeing an Omega in traditional dress being so wanton?
I wonder if Damon feels any shame, kissing a woman who's so blatantly going against her culture and values for a taste of pleasure. But then again, are they really my values?
I've never wholeheartedly aligned with the belief that passion should be confined to private spaces, that love and desire are somehow shameful things to be hidden away.
Maybe this is just another form of rebellion.
We break apart when breathing becomes a necessity, though the connection between us remains electric. Damon slowly licks his lips, which are slightly swollen from our heated exchange. The sight sends another wave of heat through my core.
"Sweeter than expected," he confesses with a taunting smirk that darkens his eyes further.
His lustful gaze drops to my lips once more, making it clear he appreciated what I delivered, despite my obvious defiance in matching his passion.
"What if we continue, hmm?" His voice carries a dangerous sort of promise. "Would you be against it?"
"My opinion shouldn't matter, right?" The words come automatically, years of conditioning making me default to Omega submission. "Since I'm an Omega..."
But Damon doesn't respond, doesn't fill the silence with assumptions or commands.
He just watches me, waiting, and something in his patience makes me reconsider.
"But with you..." I find myself saying, the realization dawning as I speak, "in your presence, my enjoyment is important?"
He nods slowly, approval radiating from him in waves that make my Omega instincts purr. The simple gesture carries more weight than any flowery declarations of equality I've heard before.
I swallow hard against the nervous lump forming in my throat. This is uncharted territory – an Alpha who seems to genuinely care about my pleasure, who waits for my real opinions instead of accepting conditioned responses.
"I wouldn't mind exploring this..." I gesture vaguely between us, not quite sure how to define what's happening. "Whatever this is. Though I don't want to bring trouble with me." The admission comes with a hint of bitterness. "My life is a mess, and I hide in the Safe Haven because Alphas don't have easy access there."
I pause, gathering my courage before adding.
"But maybe for tonight... I don't mind getting lost in actually enjoying an Alpha or two instead of feeling afraid of their existence."
The words hang between us, heavy with implication. I've spent so long running from Alphas, seeing them as threats to be avoided. Yet here I sit, contemplating something that goes against everything I've been taught about proper Omega behavior.
But isn't that what I've been doing all along? Running from my wedding, choosing my own path, reading books that show different possibilities for Omega life? Every step I've taken has been a small rebellion against the system that tried to cage me.
And this wouldn't be my first act of defiance.
I think back to that night when I chose to give my virginity to a stranger rather than save it for an arranged marriage. How liberating it felt to make that choice for myself, to experience pleasure on my own terms.
This feels similar – another choice, another moment where I get to decide what happens to my body, my pleasure, my future. The fact that it's happening in public, while I'm wearing traditional dress, only adds another layer of defiance to the act.
Damon's presence is intoxicating, his scent wrapping around me like the finest silk. But it's more than just physical attraction.
There's something about how he treated me tonight – the respect in his patience, the heat in his gaze, the way he waits for my real answers instead of accepting programmed responses.
How he stood up for me without a second thought, playing into a scenario that could have been very dangerous if the right moves weren’t played at the correct instance.
Even Kieran's quiet observation adds to the moment rather than detracting from it. His mismatched eyes hold no judgment, only careful consideration and something that might be approval.
They're so different from the Alphas I'm used to – those who see Omegas as property to be claimed, as vessels for their pleasure without regard for ours.
These men seem to understand something fundamental about desire: that it's sweetest when freely given, most powerful when it flows both ways.
The realization makes me bolder.
I might be young, might be running from a past that threatens to catch up with me at any moment, but right now, in this dimly lit booth with vanilla ice cream melting on our tongues and desire burning in our veins, none of that matters.
For once, I want to chase pleasure instead of running from pain.
The thought is liberating – dangerous, perhaps, but isn't that what makes it exciting?
To choose connection over fear, to explore desire with Alphas who seem to value my pleasure as much as their own.
I'm tired of being afraid.
Tired of letting my past dictate my future.
Tired of seeing every Alpha as a potential threat rather than a possible source of pleasure.
Maybe it's time to write my own story.
Damon’s gaze never wavers from mine, the smirk on his lips deepening as I lick mine again, chasing the ghost of vanilla that lingers there.
The anticipation in his expression makes my stomach clench, heat pooling low as he leans in, his lips barely brushing mine as he murmurs,
"Does our ribelle principessa want more ice cream?"
His voice is sin, rich and decadent, wrapping around me like silk. I can feel the presence of Kieran at my side, the weight of his attention pressing against my skin, but I don’t dare look away from Damon.
The darken hues of his eyes flicker with possessive hunger, and it makes my breath hitch.
"Yes," I whisper, my voice barely audible over the club's ambient hum. "More, please."
I’ve never heard my voice sound so needy…
The smirk turns devious, something wicked and knowing as he closes the space between us, and how hard it is to stay focused when all I want to do is fall into whatever devious plan these two Alphas have for me.
Do I dare allow it?
He kisses me first, slow and deliberate, his lips molding against mine with a confidence that leaves no room for hesitation.
It’s a claiming; a test, a promise all in one, and I answer it with a fervor that surprises even me.
I know this is temporary.
That this won’t be some permanent end to a wishful fairytale of randomly meeting a set of Alphas who compliment me in every day, but what if tonight I could simply think, ‘what if?’
What if this is real?
What if my Goddess has witnessed the endless struggles I’ve experienced throughout my shortly lived life and gives me this chance to feel what it’s like to be loved and adored by a set of Alphas?
What if…this is leading to an arrangement I’d be happy to accept with open arms…
The taste of vanilla and Damon mixed is intoxicating, as his tongue slides against mine in a teasing flick before he pulls back, his free hand reaching for the golden spoon resting in the half-melted ice cream.
With a lazy elegance, he scoops a small portion, his eyes gleaming as he lifts it towards me. Just before offering it, he pauses, bringing the spoon to his own lips first. He licks a bit off the edge, his tongue darting out in a way that makes my thighs press together involuntarily.
"I can’t possibly risk the chance of staining such a beautiful saree with such sweetness, can I?" he muses, his voice a low murmur that curls in my chest, making my breath stutter.
A quiet chuckle from my left makes my skin prickle, Kieran's presence intensifying as his fingers ghost along the side of my neck. The touch is barely there, a whisper of sensation that sends a shiver down my spine.
"We can work on that," Kieran comments smoothly, his voice deceptively mild. He tilts his head, watching me with those mismatched eyes, one a deep, knowing brown, the other a sharp, glacial contrast. The contrast should be unsettling, but instead, it hypnotizes me.
"If that’s what our Omega for the night wants?"
A simple question.
A dangerous one.
One I don’t want to pretend isn’t driving me crazy…
My heart pounds against my ribs, the implications slamming into me all at once. The weight of what they’re offering, and what I could take if I just reached for it.
My body thrums with the temptation, the sheer recklessness of it.
But then reality wants to crash my fantasy…
The thought of Prince Rajveer being somewhere in this complex, potentially remaining and gathering evidence to deliver to my ex and his pack ignites a sense of worry. Concern that would bring consequences to these innocent men who don’t need to deal with my complicated life of control and misconceptions.
I’m sure he’s just waiting for the right opportunity to shatter whatever fragile threads of freedom I’ve managed to clutch onto for this long.
To ruin me in a world where reputation does mean something.
Means everything when it comes to my culture.
For a moment, fear claws at my ribs, the weight of expectation, of consequence, of every lesson drilled into me pressing down like an iron brand.
Even after running, after fighting for every breath of independence, I am still tethered to them, to their rules and their judgment. Still a bird in a gilded cage, my wings clipped before I ever had the chance to fly.
Fuck that.
Fuck all of them.
All the bastards who sat back and was willing to watch me walk down that altar, knowing I’d be locked into a life that would be plagued with misery and an ending that would end with an early death.
I refuse to let them win.
Refuse to keep playing a game rigged against me.
I inhale sharply, tilting my chin up as I lock eyes with Damon first, then Kieran.
"I want it."
The words leave my lips, unshaken, unwavering.
Need it…
I’m tired of hiding and am now allowing myself a moment of pleasure and thrill. There will be consequences. I’m sure of it, but if I have to face them alone, I will.
I’ve faced all the previous challenges on my own, whether supported or not, so I can do it again.
Damon's smirk returns, sharper this time, edged with approval.
"Good girl."
How a man’s praise can drive your body absolutely wild.
It’s taking everything in me to not purr at the deep velvety words of praise.
Kieran’s fingers press slightly against my pulse, feeling the rapid beat beneath my skin. He leans in, his lips just brushing the shell of my ear.
"Then let’s make sure you get exactly what you want, princess."
And just like that, the choice is made.
For the first time, I am not running.
I am taking.