20. Declan
20
DECLAN
Furious doesn’t quite cover what I’m feeling towards Tarquin right about now. I pace up and down my bedroom like a caged tiger ready to lash out. How dare he dictate to me what I can and can’t do. Who the fuck does he think he is? I let out a low growl as I pass by the window, and then I stop prowling to stare across the grounds. Synthia is walking across the grass, veering away from the front door to go around the side to the back garden. I narrow my eyes and contemplate the next few minutes. It is the perfect opportunity to slip into her room and go through her things. See behind the curtain of the dutiful, if a little bit feisty, omega escort.
I slip out of my room quietly, not wanting to attract attention from either of my pack mates. The corridor is silent as I make my way to Synthia’s room. Her scent grows stronger as I approach her door, and I take a moment to breathe it in.
Easing the door open, I step inside, immediately enveloped by that honeysuckle deliciousness. It’s intimate and alluring in a way that makes my alpha instincts stir despite my purpose. I ignore the pull and scan the room methodically.
Her things are minimal and organised. The bed is made, albeit a little messily. Her phone sits on the bedside cabinet, plugged in and on charge. I open the drawer and spot her birth control pills.
Moving to the wardrobe, I open it and scan the contents in the drawers. Expensive lingerie, a few tasteful dresses. Nothing particularly revealing. Her large tote is shoved in the bottom, and I crouch down to have a poke through. The first thing that catches my eyes are the three small injections tied together with an elastic band. With a frown, I pull them out and inhale deeply. “Heat inducers.”
I would recognise them anywhere. My stomach churns as memories of my father injecting my sister with these so he could sell her out to the highest bidder fill my mind, and I have to push them back or her screams will make me do something I will regret. My fist closes involuntarily around the injections. “What are you up to, Synthia?” I murmur, shoving her bag into place and standing up. I pocket the injections. If her plan is to bring on her heat early so she can stay here, seduce us, get pregnant and never leave, then she has another thing coming. If Tarquin decides she is staying from his own mind, then that is one thing. But she will not manipulate us into keeping her. I won’t allow it. “Devious little bitch,” I mutter as her phone buzzes to life on the bedside cabinet.
Curious, I cross over and see that it is No Caller ID. The urge to pick it up and answer, to find out more about this omega, prickles at me. Before I know what I’m doing, I reach for the phone and slide my thumb across the screen, and answer.
“Hello?”
Silence.
Then they hang up.
I stare at the phone for a moment, the sudden disconnection adding another layer to the mystery of Synthia Fuller. Placing it back exactly as I found it, I leave her room as silently as I entered, the heat inducers burning a hole in my pocket.
The hallway is still empty as I slip back to my room. Closing my door, I examine the injections more closely. Street garbage. Cheap. Probably dangerous. Three doses—enough for a full heat and all that entails. My fingers tighten around them as I consider my options.
I could confront her directly. Watch her squirm as she tries to explain away her deception.
I could tell Tarquin, let him handle it with his typical ruthless efficiency.
Or I could wait. Watch. Let this play out a while longer. Watch her reaction once she discovers her entrapment plan is missing.
But then why did she bring birth control pills? I can’t shake that thought nor weigh it up. The two pieces together don’t make sense. Something is going on here, and I intend to figure it out sooner rather than later.
A knock at the door makes me shove the injections hastily into the drawer next to my bed. Crossing over, I catch a whiff of the little omega and fling the door open. Stepping back, I witness her nervous stance, wringing her hands, eyes wide while she stands there, barefoot, in a white dress with Tristan’s scent still clinging to her like a cloak.
“What do you want?” I ask.
My abrupt question seems to rattle her out of her anxious state. “Tristan told me about the new arrangement.”
“Oh?” I snap, my anger flaring. “Did he?”
She frowns and takes a step back from me. “It’s not to your liking?” she asks curiously.
“To my liking? My prime alpha tells me to basically stop the only thing that helps me cope, and you expect me to like that?”
She purses her lips. “He hasn’t told you yet.” It’s a statement, not a question.
“Told. Me. What?”
Her eyes widen slightly, caught in her own slip-up. “I... he said I’m to do whatever you ask. No limitations.”
My eyebrows rise as I process this information. Tarquin changed his mind so quickly? Impossible. Yet, there’s something about the way she’s standing there—vulnerable yet determined—that makes me wonder what exactly transpired between them.
“No limitations?” I repeat, unable to keep the scepticism from my voice.
She shakes her head, her gaze steady despite the tension I can sense radiating from her. “He mentioned stabbing and drowning. I hope that you aren’t going to go that far.” Her light tone almost makes me laugh.
Almost.
If I didn’t know what she was planning.
Tarquin, clearly, has zero idea how conniving she is. She is good, I’ll give her that.
But seeing as our prime has just given me carte blanche to actually do my worst, as he said last night, maybe I can get this information out of her while exorcising my demons.
I step aside, gesturing for her to enter my room. She hesitates only briefly before stepping past me, her scent washing over me—honeysuckle, nervousness, and a slight tinge of thrill that she tries to hide.
“First, you are filthy. Go and clean up.”
She swallows as I close the door, but she nods and crosses stiffly to the bathroom as I watch.