Chapter 7
Elliot
Fuming, I paced the length of the ostentatious hallway, hands clenched into fists at my sides. I would rather be anywhere but here, but it wasn't up to me, was it?
My heart pounded in my chest like a drumbeat echoing my conversation with Damon, each thump resonating with the fury simmering inside me. I was so furious that I could barely control myself.
Fury at myself, primarily. How could I have allowed him to kiss me like that? To reduce me to a quivering mess of wanton need with just one press of his lips against mine? It was embarrassing, infuriating... and absolutely exhilarating.
My heart was already accelerating just thinking about his soft lips pressing against mine.
The memory of his mouth on mine sent unwanted shivers down my spine, making my traitorous body ache for more of what I shouldn't want. Damn it! This wasn't supposed to happen. I was supposed to remain calm, collected, and unaffected by his charms. That was the bare minimum.
Yet, all it took was one moment of weakness, one slip-up, and he had me reeling. When my guard was down, he took advantage of it.
And gods above, the man was insufferable! Arrogant, smug, infuriatingly confident... and utterly, undeniably alpha. Every word that dripped from his perfect, sinful lips seemed designed to provoke a reaction—whether it be anger, arousal, or some twisted mix of both.
I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself as I wandered through the labyrinthine corridors of this manor. The grand estate was a testament to wealth and power, but its opulence failed to impress me amidst the whirlwind of emotions storming inside me.
I could hardly think about the place where I was, considering all the other shit going on in my life.
As I ventured deeper into the bowels of the beast's lair, I found myself confronted with an unsettling display of naked flesh and unapologetic masculinity again. It was hard to miss it.
Alphas lounged openly in various stages of undress, seemingly oblivious to their surroundings. And to be honest, I was surprised some of them were not completely naked.
Some sprawled on plush chaise longues, engrossed in heated debates; others engaged in physical activities—sparring matches, weight training, even wrestling bouts that appeared far too intimate for mere sport.
The sight of so many powerful, half-naked men parading about should have been disconcerting, yet I couldn't deny the stirring it elicited within me. Each glimpse of sculpted muscle, every flash of thick cocks swinging freely between sturdy thighs, stirred a growing hunger that I struggled to suppress.
Was this normal behavior for alphas? Or was this merely the Vexley pack's particular brand of debauchery? Or maybe even something else entirely I was unaware of?
I paused before a vast window overlooking the expansive gardens, watching as two burly alphas rolled around in the grass, locked in a passionate embrace. Their limbs tangled together, bodies pressed close, mouths fused in a frenzied exchange. Heat flushed through me as I watched, unwelcome desire pooling in my belly.
Why did this turn me on so damn much? Why did seeing these dominant males rutting and preening like proud beasts make my cock throb painfully in my pants? Why did part of me want Damon to fuck me?
Damn Damon for putting these images in my head! For making me crave things I knew I shouldn't. Things I barely understood.
A harsh laugh escaped me as I realized the irony of my situation. Here I was, an omega—the very essence of submission and nurturing—surrounded by alphas who wore their dominance like armor. And instead of shrinking back, cowering under their collective might, I was standing tall, challenging their authority, defying expectations. Maybe that was why I was so frustrated, because I might be fighting against my own nature.
But why did I keep having those thoughts? Because Damon brought out the worst in me? Because he pushed me, prodded me, taunted me until I snapped?
Or was it because he saw something in me—something hidden beneath layers of self-doubt and fear—and refused to let me hide from it any longer?
My thoughts were interrupted by the soft padding of footsteps behind me. I tensed, turning slowly to face whoever dared approach me while I was lost in thought.
It was one of the guards that had been posted at the gate. His muscular form was draped in nothing more than a loose silk robe, tied loosely at the waist. His broad chest bore intricate tattoos—symbols and sigils that seemed to dance across his skin as he moved. To be honest, I was surprised he was wearing something at all.
"Ah, the new pet," he rumbled, eyes gleaming with amusement as they swept over me. "Damon's little omega plaything. I'm Hunter, by the way."
My blood ran cold at his words. 'Pet'? Was that what Damon thought of me? A plaything to be paraded around, a possession to be flaunted? I didn't even have to voice that question. Damon was an asshole. Of course that was exactly what he thought of me.
The insult was blatant and infuriating, igniting a fresh wave of anger within me.
"I am nobody's pet," I snapped back, clenching my right hand. "And I will not be treated as such."
Hunter merely chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners in amusement. He really seemed to enjoy taunting me and piling on the pressure. Well, he could try, but that wasn't going to work on me. I was stronger than that and soon he would know.
"Such spirit," he said with a mocking tone, leaning against one of the pillars. "Damon has good taste, then. You're defiant enough to be entertaining." He paused before adding: "But we all belong to someone here at Nightshade."
"Does that make you the owner?" I retorted, my gaze narrowing as he watched me out of the corner of his eye. "Because if so," a dangerous glint shone in my eyes, "I'd suggest getting your leash."
His smile didn't waver, but there was something new behind those eyes—a flicker of respect that hadn't been there before. "You're feisty," he admitted softly, his voice dropping to a low rumble. He finally stepped away from the pillar and walked closer with purpose. "I appreciate it."
"What is this place?" I asked abruptly, needing to shift the focus away from my simmering anger. "This isn't some kind of… club, is it? What exactly does Nightshade do?" My voice was strained as I tried to keep everything calm and collected. It had been brewing inside me for too long now, so, what could be done about that?
And deep inside, I knew what the Nightshade Wolves did. I just didn't want to admit it.
He considered my question for a moment before answering with a casual shrug. "We're… facilitators," he said with an almost bored indifference. "Connectors of people who need things."
Again with the vagueness? I hated it.
"What kind of 'things'?" I pressed further, impatience creeping into my tone.
Hunter grinned, revealing a flash of white teeth. "Information, influence, resources," he answered smoothly. "Anything that money can buy." He paused briefly before adding: "And some things that money can't."
I frowned, sensing the veiled threat in his words. It wasn't just about legal business; there was something else going on beneath the surface of this organization—something darker and more sinister.
"So, you're essentially a black market operation?" I asked, deliberately testing his reaction. "A cartel running under the guise of luxury services."
And I knew that was the truth, so his answer didn't matter much.
His smile widened slightly as he seemed pleased that I was picking up on certain aspects of their way of life. "You're quick," he conceded with a nod. "We prefer to think of ourselves as… innovators." He paused, then added in a low voice, "Like the Yakuza, but more refined."
"And Damon?" I asked pointedly. "What's his role here? Besides being an infuriating distraction and tormentor?"
Hunter let out a hearty laugh, the sound echoing through the hallway. "Damon? Oh, he's the… talent scout," he said with mock seriousness. "He has a knack for finding stray omegas, you see. Lonely little things wandering around, needing someone to take care of them. Someone to make them happy."
The sheer absurdity of his statement made my blood boil. He really found this funny, didn't he? "Happy?" I spat out. "You think Damon Vexley can make anyone 'happy'?"
I couldn't believe his audacity. His words were a calculated jab, designed to provoke a reaction—and it worked. That was why he was doing it.
"Don't underestimate him," Hunter said casually. "He has a way of getting what he wants."
"And what is it that he wants from me?" I asked. "To break me? To mold me into something I'm not?"
Hunter shrugged, his expression unreadable. "Damon's intentions are… complex. Best not to worry your pretty little head about it." He paused, then added with a mischievous grin, "Just enjoy the ride."
Enjoy the ride? I hated it. I hated everything about what was happening here.
I glared at him, wanting nothing more than to punch him in his smug face. But I knew that would be foolish, reckless. So, instead, I channeled my anger into icy silence.
"So," Hunter continued after a moment, breaking the tense atmosphere, "you must be hungry, little omega. All this drama must have worked up an appetite."
I hadn't realized how hungry I was until he pointed it out. My stomach rumbled in response, betraying my earlier attempts at stoicism. The journey through the forest, the confrontation with Damon, the unsettling tour of this manor—it had all taken a toll.
"Damon is waiting for you in the grand dining room," Hunter announced, gesturing down the hallway. "He's expecting you."
Expecting me? I didn't like that one bit.
My heart sank at the prospect of another encounter with that infuriating alpha. But my stomach protested, and I knew I couldn't refuse. It was better to face him again, wasn't it?
The thought of a proper meal—something other than the stale bread and water I'd been subsisting on since escaping—was almost irresistible.
"And why would he be waiting for me?" I asked, narrowing my eyes.
Hunter shrugged again, that infuriating smirk playing on his lips. "He likes to play games," he answered with a shrug. "Besides, everyone here wants a piece of you." He paused, then added with a wink, "Even me, so enjoy the show."
I bit back a frustrated sigh and started walking towards the dining room as I followed Hunter, my every step heavy with reluctance. I hated this place. I hated Damon. And I hated the fact that I was probably going to end up liking whatever disgusting meal he'd prepared for me.
The grand dining room was even more opulent than the hallway we had just passed through. A long mahogany table stretched across the room, laden with an array of dishes that looked both extravagant and intimidating. Crystal chandeliers glittered overhead, casting a warm glow on the scene. And at the head of the table, sitting in a high-backed chair, was Damon Vexley, his dark eyes fixed on me with an intensity that sent shivers down my spine.
He rose to his feet as I approached, a predatory gleam in his eyes. "Took you long enough," he murmured. "I was wondering when you'd decide to grace us with your presence."