Tangled Up In Knots (Royalverse #3)

Prologue

SIX YEARS AGO

No matter how many times this alarm goes off, I’m always surprised.

Skull-splitting and gut-clenching, the clang echoes through the sterile, fluorescent-drenched air above me.

Above us.

I try to ignore the ringing in my ears, shuffling on my hands and knees to scrabble across the concrete floor.

It’s harder than usual, today. Whatever regimen they have me on this week cranks up my anxiety, but leaves my limbs sluggish.

Numb prickles bloom in my palms and snake up my arms as I attempt to speed-crawl, diving toward the other person locked in this cell with me.

I’m too late, though. The blare has already woken the fragile omega from her fitful nap. She trembles, her small body vibrating with the first hint of a whine before I flatten her against the cold ground.

Shit.

I used to be better at this. There was a time, years ago, when I could detect the faintest energy shift from three stories below, even if I was asleep. Perhaps being trapped here is dulling my senses. Or maybe I just had a stronger motivation, then, guarding my actual sister.

Briar.

I don’t let myself think about her very often, these days. But as I curl myself around this month’s “little sister,” trying to shield her from the horrors surrounding us, the name slips through the cracks of my consciousness. I swallow a painful lump, scolding myself.

Focus. Think.

I’m just about the only “specimen” in here who can. Despite two years of “hormone correction” and “alpha exposure therapy,” I remain very much a beta. Much to the despair of every so-called “scientist” in this abhorrent facility… and the man I once believed was my father.

Until he admitted the truth about abducting my sister and I as babies. And sold me to these people.

Or leased me to them, apparently—allowing a team of experts to do his dirty work and draw out the Omega he still believes I have hidden.

Each day is poignant proof how wrong he is. While all these poor, sweet creatures keen and cower, I’m the only specimen on the Omega Floor who doesn’t react to the constant cocktail of alpha musk and pheromone boosters.

Because, as Briar and I always suspected, I don’t have an Omega to draw out.

They still try, though. Every. Single. Day.

Wincing, I press my palm over my latest cellmate’s lips, sealing them closed as gently as I can while stifling her whine.

I know from experience—our handlers cannot hear this new girl react to whoever they drag down our corridor.

If they do? They’ll pluck her out of our cage and throw her into the observation tank, along with whichever alpha they’ve recently injected with rut hormones.

I cringe when the young girl’s fearful eyes skirt to my face, confusion bleeding into her crystalline irises. I’m sorry, I try to tell her, rocking us silently. I’m so, so sorry.

Out loud, I lower my voice to a breathless whisper, shifting my body to block her view. “Don’t look, omega. Just… don’t look.”

I wish I could remember her name. Ironically, I think it’s some sort of flower, like mine.

They may have told me when I was still waking up from the sedation for this week’s “wellness exam.” Although, I suppose it’s possible they aren’t telling me what any of these girls really call themselves, and the captive omegas are just too overwrought or wary to correct them.

Either way, my new charge huddles closer, obediently hiding her face against my shoulder and squeezing her eyelids shut.

My heart seizes and aches. She looks so much like Briar—all silky black hair and fine features. I try not to think about that or imagine what my baby sister might be like now, as a young woman.

I hope.

Because the fact is, I don’t know what our “father” did with Briar. He might have hurt her by now. Or moved her somewhere equally terrible. Or—God forbid—auctioned her off to the highest bidder…

No. I shut that thought out, biting my lip until the harsh sting captures my full attention. Focus, I chide myself. You can still protect this omega.

I hope so, anyway. A second later, another ruthless buzzer turns the girl’s quivers into shakes. I swallow past a thick throat.

Shit, shit, shit.

That was the signal for the nearest armored door. Which can only mean one thing.

The feral alpha is coming.

He’s being selected more and more frequently, these days. And every time, I swear I won’t look again. That I can’t bear it. Because, even as a beta, watching this particular alpha’s pain and fury is too much for my mangled heart to take.

His handlers appear first, each with chains looped around their fists. Three grown men, tugging with all their might… and they barely manage to get their “patient” over the threshold.

As always, the wild-eyed alpha looks more like an animal than a person. He grunts and roars. Pulling at his binds, flashing his teeth in a menacing snarl that never abates. When one of the guards yanks him harder, the young alpha takes a full-blown snap at him.

My stomach seethes, then drops. Oh God. I hate this part.

The burliest keeper produces a muzzle from his back pocket while a different henchman pulls a taser from his belt clip. The omega in front of me squeaks, sensing the oncoming blow even though she can’t see what’s happening. I duck my face toward her, trying to block it out for myself, too.

Despite my best efforts, the telltale zap still turns my head, just in time to witness the alpha avoid it. He dodges, roaring in mindless outrage. Pivoting with the sort of athletic grace one would never expect from a man so enormous. Flinging his medically amplified scent into the air.

Oh no.

Did I mention: shit???

In the cells across from ours, more omegas screech in distress. The small body tucked against mine trembles harder as she inhales the chemicalized musk. Her next whine is so desperate, I don’t have a prayer of covering it.

The alpha hears her. Savage, bottomless eyes flash through the bars between us. Landing on me. And—no, no, no—her. The little omega.

Something odd streaks across his face. A bolt of understanding? Or recognition?

I don’t get a chance to figure it out, because one of the guards finally finds his mark. Another raspy zap zips out of the taser. Quieter than the alpha’s roar and my cellmate’s screech, but, somehow, it’s the loudest sound I’ve ever heard.

The cruel electric current bends the feral alpha backward. His head slams into the metal bars caging us. I hear the harsh thud, but he doesn’t even groan as he slumps to the floor.

Someone else is screaming, though. Shrieking with an unholy urgency I don’t understand.

Until I realize: Oh. It’s me.