Chapter 20
Twenty
ANYA
My stomach churns with a strange, twisting pain as my mother leads me down the long hallway. The white wedding dress she forced me into feels like a straitjacket, the fabric heavy and restrictive against my skin. Each step in these ridiculously high heels makes my ankles wobble precariously.
My mother squeezes my hand, her palm slick with sweat.
“They’re expecting you,” she says, her voice barely audible over the pounding of my heart. “Remember what I told you. Be polite, but don’t make eye contact unless spoken to directly.”
I nod mechanically, too afraid to speak. The pain in my belly intensifies, a hot, cramping sensation that makes me want to double over.
We stop in front of a set of double doors, polished wood gleaming in the dim light of the hallway. My mother straightens my dress with quick, efficient movements and brushes a strand of hair from my face.
“You look beautiful,” she says softly. “Just like I always imagined you would on your wedding day.”
My throat tightens. “This isn’t a wedding.”
She doesn’t respond, just reaches for the door handle. My hand shoots out, grabbing her wrist before she can turn it.
“Am I really supposed to just walk in there?”
Her eyes meet mine, filled with a pain so raw it makes my chest ache. “They need to see you first so they can relax,” she says simply, then pushes the door open.
I stand frozen in the doorway, my feet refusing to move as I take in the scene before me.
The room is large and opulent, though it’s too dark to see much beyond the reflection of the chandelier on the glass.
Three men stand by the window, talking in low voices.
They turn as one when we enter, their conversation dying mid-sentence.
They’re all tall, broad-shouldered, with that same predatory stance I’ve come to associate with alphas.
The one in the middle is older, maybe in his forties, with silver at his temples and cold, assessing eyes.
The two flanking him are younger, one with a jagged scar running from his ear to the corner of his mouth, the other with a full beard and a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.
All three wear expensive suits, gold watches glinting at their wrists. Their scents hit me in a strong wave. Scents of musk, pine, and something sharper, more aggressive that makes my skin prickle with unease. My stomach twists again, harder this time, a cramp so sharp it makes me gasp.
The older man steps forward, his eyes raking over me from head to toe. “She’s perfect,” he says, his voice deep and satisfied. “Better than Keith described.”
The two younger men nod in agreement, their eyes never leaving me. I feel like a prize heifer at auction, being examined for flaws before purchase.
“She’s just beginning to scent,” the bearded one says, his nostrils flaring. “Can you smell it? Like ripe fruit, just starting to ferment.”
The older man inhales deeply, his eyes half-closing in pleasure. “Divine,” he murmurs. “Absolutely divine.”
My mother’s hand tightens on mine, a silent warning. I’m grateful for the anchor, for something to focus on besides the terror clawing at my throat.
“Gentlemen,” my mother says, her voice steady despite the fear I can smell rolling off her. “This is Anya.”
The three men move closer, circling us like wolves around wounded prey. The pain in my stomach sharpens, radiating outward until it’s everywhere—my back, my thighs, between my legs. I bite my lip to keep from crying out, afraid that any sound will only encourage them.
The older man, clearly the leader, reaches out, his fingers brushing my cheek in a gesture that’s almost tender.
“Such a pretty omega,” he says, his voice dropping to a purr. “And untouched, I presume?”
My mother nods. “Yes. She’s... intact.”
In my mind, I remember Ryker breaking my virginity in one go, and my stomach clenches tight at the memory, making my pain worse.
The bearded man chuckles, the sound sending ice down my spine. “Excellent to hear. We will be her very first.”
“Would you like some tea?” my mother offers.
“Yes, yes, that would be nice,” he says, shooing her away. As soon as she leaves, the leader’s hand slides from my cheek to the back of my neck, his fingers tangling in my hair. “I want to be the first to mark her. I want this dress stained with her blood when I claim her. A proper wedding night.”
“No,” I say, the word bursting from my lips before I can stop it. “Please don’t.”
The leader’s hand tightens in my hair, yanking my head back painfully. “You’ll do exactly as you’re told, little omega,” he growls, his face inches from mine. “Or you’ll learn exactly what happens to disobedient omegas.”
He leans in, pressing his nose against my throat, inhaling deeply. The pain in my stomach flares white-hot, and I jerk away with a cry of fear and pain.
A tense silence falls over the room. I can feel the men’s anger rising, can smell the sharp spike of aggression in their scent. I’ve just humiliated their leader, challenged his authority in front of his pack. The consequences won’t be pretty.
My mother walks back into the room smoothly, inserting herself between the men and me.
“Gentlemen, please excuse us,” she says, her voice bright with false cheer. “The tea is ready in the drawing room, and I’d like a moment alone with Anya to give her some... advice for her wedding night. Traditional omega guidance.”
The tension breaks immediately. The men exchange glances, then nod, smiles spreading across their faces.
“Of course,” the leader says, his voice once again smooth as oil.
My mother then takes my arm, steering me toward a door at the far end of the room. My legs are shaking so badly I can barely walk, each step sending fresh waves of pain through my abdomen. The men watch us go, their eyes heavy on my back.
The door closes behind us with a soft click, and I sag against the wall, my breath coming in short, panicked gasps.
“They’re going to kill me,” I whisper, tears streaming down my face. “They’re going to rape me and kill me and…”
“No,” my mother says firmly, grabbing my shoulders. “They’re not going to do anything because you’re not going to be here.”
I stare at her, not understanding.
“Come on,” she says, pulling me down a narrow hallway I hadn’t noticed before. “We don’t have much time.”
She leads me through a maze of corridors, moving with the confidence of someone who knows exactly where they’re going. We pass a kitchen where staff in white uniforms bustle about, then through a door that opens onto a wide stone patio.
The night air hits my face, cool and clean after the stifling heat of the house.
My mother doesn’t stop. She walks me across the patio and down a set of steps that lead to a gravel path. The path winds through what looks like formal gardens, neatly trimmed hedges, and flowering bushes, creating a maze of shadows and hidden corners.
“Where are we going?” I hiss, struggling to keep up in my ridiculous heels. The gravel bites into the thin soles, making each step agony.
“Away from here,” she says, not slowing her pace. “As far as you can get.”
We round a corner, and suddenly we’re at the edge of the forest that borders the property. My mother stops, scanning the trees with narrowed eyes.
“This way,” she says, pulling me off the path and into the underbrush. Branches scrape at my arms and face, catching in my hair and the delicate fabric of my dress. I stumble over roots and rocks, my ankles twisting painfully in the heels.
“Oh god, my shoes.”
“Take them off,” she orders, already kneeling to help me. “Hurry.”
I kick off the shoes, sighing with relief as my feet hit the cool earth. But the moment of comfort is short-lived. The pain in my stomach returns with a vengeance, worse than before, a burning, cramping sensation that makes me double over with a gasp.
“Mom,” I whisper, my voice tight with pain. “Something’s wrong. I don’t feel good.”
Her face softens with understanding. “It’s starting,” she says, her voice gentle. “Your first heat.”
“No,” I say, shaking my head as my heart sinks with horror. “It can’t be. Not now.”
“It’s the stress,” my mother explains, brushing my hair back from my face. “I think it might’ve set you off.”
The pain intensifies, spreading from my stomach to my lower back, then down my thighs. My skin feels too tight, too hot, like I’m burning up from the inside.
“Oh god,” I moan, pressing my hands to my abdomen. “It hurts.”
“I know,” my mother says, her voice thick with tears. “I know. But you have to be strong now. You have to run. Find your pack.”
I shake my head, fear and pain making my thoughts fuzzy. “I can’t leave you,” I say, grabbing her hands. “Come with me. Please.”
“I can’t,” she says. “If we both go, they’ll know it was planned.
They’ll come after us with everything they have.
But if it’s just you, if they think you ran because of the heat.
..” She smiles, though tears are streaming down her face.
“I’ve given up my life once to save you, Anya.
I’ll do it again if that’s what it takes. ”
“I’ll come back,” I promise, my voice choked with tears. “I’ll get the police, I’ll bring help.”
“No,” she says firmly. “You won’t. You’ll go far away from here, and you’ll stay away. You’ll forget about me, and you’ll live a long, happy life with that pack of yours.” She pushes me gently toward the trees. “Now go. Run. And don’t look back.”
I want to argue, to grab her hand and drag her with me, but the pain is getting worse, my thoughts growing more scattered by the second. My body feels like it‘s on fire, my skin hypersensitive, every brush of fabric against my flesh agony.
“Mom,” I whisper, one last plea. “Come with me. I don’t want you to go back with them.”
“Go,” she says, giving me a gentle shove with tears running down her face. “I love you, Anya. More than anything in this world. Now run.”
I run.
The wedding dress tangles around my legs, the fabric tearing as I crash through the underbrush.
I gather it up with shaking hands, lifting the hem to my knees so I can move faster.
Branches whip at my face and arms, leaving stinging scratches in their wake.
My bare feet slip on wet leaves, stumble over roots, but I don’t slow down, don’t dare look back.
Tears stream down my face, partly from the physical pain, partly from the wrenching agony of leaving my mother behind. After all these years, I found her only to lose her again. It’s not fair. It’s not right.
I’ll come back, I promise myself, pushing through a particularly dense thicket of brambles while crying. I’ll bring the police, the National Guard if I have to.
I’ll burn this place to the ground and everyone in it.
The pain in my abdomen spikes again, a cramp so intense it drives me to my knees. I retch, though nothing comes up, my empty stomach clenching painfully. The wetness between my legs has increased, my panties soaked through, the slick running down my inner thighs.
This is really the heat, I realize with horror. This is what Ryker warned me about. This crushing, overwhelming need, this burning pain that is taking over my entire body. All I can think about is him and his pack.
My skin feels like it’s on fire, every nerve ending hypersensitive. My nipples have hardened into painful peaks, rubbing against the fabric of my dress with each stumbling step. Between my legs, my pussy pulses with need, slick gushing with each contraction of my womb.
I need an alpha. I need a knot.
The thought forms without warning, shocking in its clarity and intensity. I need to be filled, to be claimed, to be taken. The emptiness inside me is unbearable, a yawning void that demands to be filled.
“Oh my god,” I gasp as my pussy clenches on nothing, desperate for the stretch and fullness of an alpha’s cock, for the relief of a knot locking us together as he pumps me full of cum.
The image of Ryker flashes through my mind—his massive body looming over mine, his dark eyes filled with hunger as he pushes into me, his cock stretching me open, filling me completely.
The memory sends a fresh rush of slick gushing from my core, my thighs growing slick with the evidence of my arousal.
I fall to my knees, then forward onto my hands, dry heaving as another wave of pain crashes through me.
My arms tremble with the effort of holding myself up, sweat pouring down my back, soaking the already ruined wedding dress.
My hair has come loose from its updo, hanging in sweat-dampened strands around my face.
I can’t go on. I can’t run any farther. The pain is too much, the need too overwhelming.
I need a knot. I need my pack.