Chapter 26
Blood And Belonging
~SERAPHINE~
Consciousness returns in fragments.
First: pressure.
The strange, disorienting sensation of blood pooling in my head, of gravity pulling the wrong direction, of my body being oriented in a way it absolutely should not be.
Upside down.
I'm hanging upside down.
Second: cold.
Metal against my wrists, my ankles, biting into skin with the particular chill of something industrial. Chains, maybe. Or cuffs. Something designed to hold, to restrain, to keep me exactly where someone wants me.
Third: recognition.
The familiar weight of fabric against my skin—my costume, still on, the dark panels and hidden burgundy that I wore for the performance. The performance that ended with bullets and blood and Kai's hand pressing a chloroform-soaked handkerchief to my face.
Kai.
He drugged me.
He BETRAYED me.
The memory crashes back with devastating clarity—the theater, the escape, the moment I trusted him, the moment I was wrong.
Target secured.
That's what he said.
I was the target all along.
My eyes snap open.
The world is inverted—ceiling below, floor above, everything twisted and wrong. I'm hanging from an aerial ring, I realize—the kind I've trained on countless times, designed for acrobatics and performance and beautiful, gravity-defying movement.
But there's nothing beautiful about this.
The ring is suspended high above a concrete floor—thirty feet, maybe more. Warehouse architecture surrounds me: exposed beams, industrial lighting, the particular aesthetic of a space designed for function rather than form.
And strapped to my chest...
One-two-three-four.
My heart stutters.
One-two-three-four.
A bomb.
An actual, literal bomb—wires and circuitry and a digital display counting down seconds that I can read even from this angle.
08:47
08:46
08:45
"Damn."
The word comes out flat.
Calm.
Completely inappropriate for the situation.
"Now this is a stupid way to die."
A laugh escapes—high, manic, the sound of someone whose brain has officially given up on processing reality in any normal way.
Hanging upside down.
Bomb strapped to my chest.
Betrayed by the man I trusted.
What a fucking week.
"It is."
The voice comes from below.
Familiar.
Wrong.
I twist—the motion sending me swinging slightly, the ring creaking with the movement—and look down at the figure standing on the concrete floor beneath me.
My blood runs cold.
He looks like Kai.
Exactly like Kai.
Same dark red hair, though shot through with grey at the temples. Same strong jaw, same aristocratic bone structure, same air of absolute authority that radiates from every pore.
But older.
Aged.
And his eyes...
His eyes are nothing like Kai's.
Where Kai's dark gold holds complexity—pain and conflict and the struggle between who he was raised to be and who he's choosing to become—this man's gaze holds nothing but emptiness.
Cold.
Calculating.
Completely ruthless.
Kai's father.
The man who killed my parents.
The man who's been trying to kill me since I was twelve years old.
"You're all the same," he says, and his voice is smooth—cultured, polished, the voice of someone who's used to being obeyed. "You Omegas. Pretty on the outside, poison on the inside."
He circles beneath me—slow, deliberate, a predator examining prey that's already been caught.
"I'm glad my son wasn't invested in the pussy," he continues, and the crudeness of the word is jarring coming from someone so polished. "That's what happens in Sage's case—emotional attachment clouds judgment. But Kai?" A smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "Kai understands priorities."
Priorities.
Is that what I am?
A priority to be eliminated?
"You're beautiful, I'll admit that," the elder Lawson adds, tilting his head to examine me from a new angle. "But insane beings like you are a threat. To order. To stability. To everything my family has built."
A huff escapes me.
Indignant.
Defiant.
Even hanging upside down with a bomb on my chest, I refuse to be dismissed.
"If you guys were friends with my parents," I say, and my voice comes out steadier than it should, "then you would have been fine with insanity. The Eastmans weren't exactly known for their stability."
His expression flickers.
Brief.
Controlled.
But I saw it.
"I know you were there," I continue, pressing. "At the performance. I noticed you. Top tier, behind the curtain. Thought you were being subtle, but I've spent three years learning to spot threats in crowds."
My body sways gently on the ring—a metronome marking time, marking seconds I don't have many of.
"If you wanted to kill me, you could have. From that position, with any decent marksman, I would have been dead before the first bow." My head tilts—awkward in my inverted position. "But you let your son betray me instead. Why? To prove loyalty ain't shit, even to your Omega?"
I laugh.
Sharp.
Bitter.
"Like father, like son, I guess."
"Shut up."
The command cracks through the air.
First emotion he's shown.
Interesting.
"I was loyal to my wife," he says, and there's something raw beneath the polish now. Something wounded. "And what did it get me? She killed herself. Took poison like a coward and left me with nothing but a son who can't even follow simple orders."
His wife.
Kai's mother.
The Omega who loved dance and died alone.
I sigh.
The sound echoes in the warehouse—soft, resigned, the exhale of someone who's running out of time and patience.
"Loyalty is just a word," I say quietly, "if you're just appreciating shit from afar. Like a doll you're hoping will always be on display."
His jaw tightens.
"What would you know about it?"
"I know what I saw with my parents." My voice is steadier now—grounded in memory, in the truth I carry like armor. "My father adored my mother. Not as a possession. Not as a symbol. As a person. He learned her passions. Supported her dreams. Let her be strong without feeling threatened by it."
I let the words hang.
Waiting.
Watching.
"And from what I've researched," I add, softer now, "you adored her too. Didn't you."
The silence is answer enough.
I whistle—low, knowing, the sound of puzzle pieces finally clicking into place.
"So that's why you decided to betray us."
His expression doesn't change.
But his hands do.
They're shaking.
Slightly.
Almost imperceptibly.
But I see it.
"You asked for my mother's hand," I continue, voice dropping to something almost gentle. "Asked to be her Alpha instead of with my father and the group of men he chose. And she said no."
08:12
08:11
08:10
The bomb continues its countdown.
But I keep talking.
"She didn't want to cause tension or trauma with her best friend—your wife. The woman who loved you, who trusted you, who believed you when you said she was enough." My laugh is bitter now. "And you couldn't accept that. Couldn't handle rejection from an Omega you decided you deserved."
"I said shut—"
"So you set out to kill our entire lineage.
" The words come faster now, tumbling out like water through a broken dam.
"But my brother and I missed the killing spree.
Survivors. Loose ends. And now you've painted some narrative about enemy bloodlines and necessary eliminations when really it all started because you couldn't be a loyal Alpha to the Omega who just wanted love. "
His face is red now.
Flushed with rage.
Good.
Angry people make mistakes.
"She wasn't as talented as my mother," I add, twisting the knife.
"Wasn't as beautiful. Wasn't the one you really wanted.
And you made sure she knew it every day of her marriage, didn't you?
Made sure she felt like a consolation prize.
Made sure she understood that your love was conditional on her being something she could never be. "
"SHUT THE FUCK UP."
The scream echoes through the warehouse.
Raw.
Unhinged.
Everything he's been hiding finally breaking the surface.
"Well, I won't have much choice at this rate," I say, gesturing vaguely at the bomb with my chin. "Having this thing strapped to me sort of limits my conversation time."
07:34
07:33
07:32
"But whatever." A shrug—difficult in my position, but I manage. "If I die, I'll be at peace. Finally get to see my parents again. Maybe tell them about the asshole who killed them because he couldn't handle being told no."
His hand moves toward his waistband.
Gun.
He has a gun.
"And you?" I continue, voice steady despite the weapon being drawn. "You'll be the culprit who made sure his son is a miserable fucker with no Omega and a pack that's going to be hella pissed at him for what he did."
The gun rises.
Pointing at me.
Direct line to my head.
"Guess what?" I smile—bright, manic, the expression of someone who's made peace with death and found it wanting. "That's more ruthless than anything I've ever done. Destroying your own blood. Congratulations."
"Fine." His voice is ice now. "I'll quicken it then. Save the countdown the trouble."
His finger tightens on the trigger.
This is it.
This is how I die.
Not dancing.
Not fighting.
Just... executed.
By a man who couldn't handle rejection.
I close my eyes.
One-two-three-four.
One-two-three-four.
One-two-three-four.
One-two—
A sound.
Wet.
Metallic.
Wrong.
My eyes snap open.
The elder Lawson is looking down.
At his own chest.
Where two blades—my blades, the ones I thought I'd lost when I was drugged—are buried to the hilt.
Blood spreads across his expensive shirt.
Fast.
Too much.
Fatal wounds.
And behind him...
Kai.
Standing there with my blades in his hands, expression carved from stone, dark gold eyes burning with something I've never seen in them before.
Hatred.
Satisfaction.
Release.
"I've always wondered," Kai says, voice calm and conversational, "why close combat was emphasized so heavily at Ruthless Academy."
He twists the blades.
His father gasps—a wet, gurgling sound.