Chapter 11
ELEVEN
KNOX
Waking with her in my arms was like inhaling the cool, fresh air of a field of moonflowers, a soul-soothing breath of a life I’d never thought I’d have.
The morning light filtered through the gaps in the heavy curtains, kissing her skin with a warm glow. She was still curled up close.
I’d woken in the night to use the washroom, and extracting her from me had been hard. Worse, though, when I returned, she was shivering, wound in a tight little ball, and it wasn’t until I’d drawn her back into my embrace that I realised silent tears were tumbling down her cheeks.
It was then that I’d realised the truth. I’d intended this—planned it—and yet even I hadn’t been expecting quite how shattered the tiny Omega clinging to me and a little bunny plushie would be.
That was good, I reminded myself. Really good. I’d bought her to taunt Rogue, and I think she’d bonded to me in one night flat.
She stirred in my arms, heavy, dark lashes fluttering for a moment. Her brows knit together, though, and her grip on her bunny tightened, as if she was trying to process the world before looking at it.
Her scent was still so potent, and I could sense each subtle change, the shock, the confusion, and the fear.
I pressed my lips to her forehead, nudging aside a feather of her silky black hair. A purr rumbled to life in my chest—just to throw her off a little more. I swear she shuddered. Her next exhale caught on the edge of a broken whine.
This was too easy, and I should be happy about that—I deserved one easy victory in life. But instead, at the consideration of how lonely she was, I felt the faintest trace of something else. It was the first smouldering embers of a feral fury, and ever faintest stirring of it was enough to send my pulse racing.
That rage, given a breath of life, would swallow me whole in an instant. I forced it down, taking another breath of frosted moonflower blooming in the morning sun.
“Welcome back, Little Doll,” I breathed, thumb stroking her cheek. I was rewarded with a flash of violet through dark feathers, one eye only, the other squeezed shut like that might mean I didn’t notice.
She didn’t say anything, instead curling up tighter, shame spiking in her scent. That was okay—a good sign, in fact. Shame, for an Omega who considered her scent match the only option, meant she wanted me.
I didn’t need to gloat at my victory, though, so I let her keep her silence.
She kept that silence impressively long, too.
When she tried to get up from bed, she almost fell, knees buckling from the night before, so I picked her up instead and carried her down to the kitchen. She waited quietly on a barstool, all but swimming in one of my T-shirts since it was so big on her. Her bunny tucked onto her lap as I served us the breakfast the kitchen staff had made. I’d warned them last night we’d need more than usual, and they’d delivered with enthusiasm, with stacks of pancakes, a Full English that looked fresh as I pulled it from the heater, and a platter of fruit in the fridge.
She stared at it all, looking a bit dazed, before she began picking at a pancake.
“Party this evening,” I told her as I joined her with my English Breakfast. “You’ll be attending.”
Surprised eyes found mine, but she still didn’t speak.
“Clothes have been brought in. I’ll leave what I want you to wear on the bed. Otherwise, get ready however you want. There are supplies—makeup and whatever else you might need in your bathroom.”
The other benefit to her staying the night in my room was that it had allowed space for hers to be fully stocked. She opened her mouth, eyes narrowing, then shut it, nodding with a tight expression.
We ate in silence, and I could still feel the shifting of her scent, that big bundle of confused emotions that couldn’t quite make up its mind.
“I’ll give you some space. I have some work to do. I want you in my office at five pm. You’ll be dressed and ready for the event.”
I only had a few things to catch up on today, but I’d spent the night with her, blown her fragile little mind, and now I wanted to step back and see what she did next.
I had to re-calibrate, and I didn’t think smothering her was the answer, as much as my instincts rioted at that conclusion.
So, I stood, tucking a strand of her raven hair behind her ear, pressing a gentle kiss to her temple, and made myself leave.
Later, I found Rogue in the multi-purpose room in the basement he spent most of his time in. It was massive, partly taken up by a gym space, the other a living space, with a set of couches, a TV, and mahogany bar and kitchenette. In the far corner was the only true standout feature: the black iron bars of the cell he ended up in when he rutted, or if I was feeling particularly irritated with him. There were cuffs and chains attached to the wall, and a barebones washroom attached.
Beside the cell was a rack with muzzles (because who didn’t need different colours and metals to choose from?), a lineup of weapons—from guns, to batons, to knuckle dusters—and a big old box full of rut drugs in case shit got too out of hand.
Even I’d had to use the drugs in there a few times since our lifestyle didn’t bring us in contact with Omegas nearly enough. That, however, wasn’t an issue anymore. I was practically lathered in the scent of frosted moonflower.
Rogue had his feet kicked up on the ottoman as he watched a crime show on the massive TV spanning the wall. The muzzle was still on his face, and I had no intentions of relieving him of it yet. He had a can in his hand, and the sight of Rogue forced to drink beer via straw to work around the muzzle would never not be fucking hilarious. Though it was only the early afternoon, and he wasn’t a massive drinker, so I took that to mean he was stressed.
Good.
He glanced at me as I entered, then rolled his eyes and returned to the show.
“What do you want?” he asked.
Grinning, I crossed toward him and dropped down on the couch, kicking my legs up and crossing my ankles on his thigh.
“What do you want?” he asked again, a rumble of irritation in his voice. Those piercing teal eyes burned just briefly as he looked at me.
Music to my ears.
“Nothing.”
“You said I could have the week off.”
“I’m not asking for anything. She’s getting ready for tonight. I’m bored.”
He didn’t dignify me with another glance, though his focus was far too intent on the show. Her scent was really fucking strong, and it definitely smelled like frosted moonflower and sex.
“You opened my picture.”
He grunted. “Said I had to.”
“Not true, actually.” Specifically, I recalled saying I’d double her punishment if he didn’t. “No… questions? Not even a little curious about her reaction when she heard about that death switch in your neck…?”
His eyes darkened the way they always did whenever I mentioned the device in his neck that kept him under my thumb.
“Why don’t you go do some fucking… painting or whatever?” he asked.
I scowled.
That would mean having to step foot in that stupid room again.
Nah.
This was way more fun.
Well, it was, until Rogue paused the show, turned the Xbox on, then jammed his headset over his ears.
I got to my feet, peering around the space as he loaded up a racing game. It looked messier than usual. Rogue was an oddly neat human if left to his own devices, but the innards of one of the punching bags were spilling out and hadn’t been cleaned up. There were a few pots scattered across the counter, and—now I came to think of it—the faintest smell of burning.
I crossed to the kitchenette, opening the fridge and rooting around to check on the leftovers.
Rogue would never admit to being a good cook, but he was—and he enjoyed it, too. Sometimes I made him make me shit instead of getting it from the staff, but I knew for a fact he made sure it sucked—and probably spat in it. But when did that ever hurt anyone?
Nah.
Way to get the best food around here was to steal it from Rogue’s kitchen directly. I did it sparingly, though, since otherwise he’d get discouraged and stop cooking altogether.
Sure enough, there was a damned good-looking cheese pasta in here.
I pulled it out, grabbing a fork from the drawer, and decided it looked like it would taste just as good unheated.
I could practically feel the honied bourbon simmering in the air from his poorly contained irritation at my rummaging. He might do what he was told, but the benefit of keeping an Alpha on the brink of feral is that their territorial instincts never truly died.
As I passed him on the couch, I plucked the headset from his head, tucking it around my neck instead, the tinny sound of race cars echoing in my ears.
Rogue growled, fist balling on the controller, and he crashed in the game.
“So,” I said, dropping back onto the couch. “Did you rub one out to that picture?”
He ignored me.
He had, though— had to have. That was a picture of his mate, and he was on the edge of losing his fucking mind.
I picked out a stray tomato (hated them anyway) and flicked it at him, grinning as it made a satisfying splat on his cheek, flecking his sandstone skin with cheese sauce.
He went absolutely still, every muscle of his huge frame taut with fury as he, so very slowly, picked the tomato from his face. It looked like the most difficult thing in the world for him, flicking it on the concrete at his side, and not whipping it straight back at me.
Finally, those burning teal eyes met mine through loose waves of white hair that tumbled to just below his eyebrows.
“Don’t you think,” he said, teeth gritted. “You might be a little over-invested in making me part of your sex life?”
“Probably,” I chuckled, taking a bite of pasta. “I’m about one bad hormone storm from making you hide in the closet while I fuck her.”
I straightened.
Actually…
“Damn.”
“For fuck’s sake.”
A grin was spreading on my face. “What if she didn’t know? God, and she’s so hot and bratty.”
He seemed closer to fighting my commands than he had in a while, but he couldn’t. Not really. We’d already pushed that boundary a million times, and no matter how it played out, all paths led to this.
Rogue chose chains instead of death, and he knew I had no issue letting him die. So that was that.
“If I tell you, will you drop it?” he asked. “Keep your fucked up sex ideas to your goddamned dreams.”
“Tell me what?”
“If I…” He wrinkled his nose. “Jacked off to the picture you sent.”
Damn. “Deal.”
“Four times.”
I laughed. “You think she’s hot.”
He side-eyed me with a look of utmost incredulity.
Well.
Okay.
Obviously.
“Wait. Four ?” I asked again. “You know I was fucking her with a gun against her will, right?”
He shrugged, eyes still on the screen, though his jaw was tense. “Seemed a waste of a moral failure to go once and call it at that.”
“Being efficient with that morality spend these days, are we?”
He grunted, and the sound could have possibly been amused. “Doesn’t matter. You aren’t going to let me near her.”
“Always stellar with the excuses—although, you know. I was thinking about that.” I took another bite of pasta as he finished a lap on the game. “If I can get the timing just right… I was doing some digging on this thing called heat bonding . Pretty rare, but apparently if an Omega in heat fucks an Alpha who just went feral, you get this wild-ass bond. She fixes him up, but he needs her for the rest of his life to not go feral again.”
Rogue said nothing, jaw clenched as he mashed the controller, eyes fixed on the screen.
“Anytime she’s pissed off at you, you could just end up feral again, so you have to do whatever she says.”
Again, he crashed his car.
He was in last place now, and to my delight, he set the controller down, clearly having hung onto my every word.
“Can you imagine?” I asked. “Your worst nightmare, and she could just turn it on with the flip of a switch?”
He fixed his eyes on me intently. “You want me to bite her?” he asked.
“Well, not initially.” That was the whole point. A taunt. He wasn’t supposed to get anything from it. “But like this? Just picture it. I own my Omega, and my Omega owns you—it’s perfect. I don’t even have to associate with you anymore. You belong to the sweet piece of ass that belongs to me—what do you think?”
“I think you need to speak to a therapist.”
“Did you ever do that—when you had all the freedom in the world?” I asked. “Think you might not be here if you had?”
“You know what?” He flashed a false smile through the muzzle. “Sure. I’m totally fucking in with your stupid experiment.”
“And if I’m right?”
“You’re not,” he spluttered. “Never heard anything so stupid in my life. When she goes into heat, send her down—and don’t touch her first, might ruin it.”
I sneered. “Bit of a far cry from the Alpha begging to take her punishments for her yesterday,” I noted.
He barked a laugh as he looked at me. “I think she’s already scrambled your brain.”
“And why is that?”
“You can’t pick what you want me to be. The pining saviour desperate to put a bullet in your skull so I can sweep her away to some farmland cottage, put babies in her belly, and live happily ever after—or the piece of shit happy to jerk off to any picture of her you send my way. Make up your mind.”
I considered that.
He wasn’t totally wrong—not that it meant she was scrambling my brain—but while his interest in her wasn’t a huge surprise, the offer of taking her punishments was far from a given when it came to a man like him.
I considered, for a moment, the consequences of keeping them apart. Would she paint a picture that was far more generous than he deserved?
Or perhaps she wouldn’t care even if she did know. The scent match seemed so important to her. My gut twisted, a bitter taste in my mouth as I stared at him and thought of her.
I hadn’t realised, last night at the auction, quite how special she was.
And he… well, he was him .
Rogue fucking Manzo.
Scum, who deserved worse than any punishment I could come up with, death switch in his fucking neck, or not.
“Well?” I asked, curious about his take. “Which are you?”
He flicked his eyes back to the TV, picking up the controller and starting another match. “I hate cottages,” he grunted. “Ceilings are always too fucking low.”