Bonds of Hate

Prologue

MAYA

Logan presses a chocolate-covered strawberry to my lips. “Open up, sweetling.”

I meet his eyes as I take a bite. The warmth of his gaze sends a tremor of awareness shivering up my spine. He hasn’t taken his attention off of me from the moment I walked through the door.

My cheeks flush as his smile widens and I feel like I might just melt into a puddle on the spot.

His voice is a low growl. “How does that taste?”

I can’t stop the hum that slips past my lips in response.

“That good, huh?” Logan chuckles as he holds a glass of champagne to my lips.

We’ve had three arranged and highly supervised meetings so far, culminating in this final one that is actually taking place at the royal palace. I’d be more excited about my first visit to a place I’ve only seen in pictures, but I’m too nervous. If the prince plans to offer me a mating contract, he’ll do it today.

Prince Logan Corellian, second-in-line to the throne and one of the most eligible bachelors in the country of Melilla, might choose me for his mate. It doesn’t hurt that he is probably the most attractive Alpha that I’ve ever seen.

The thought of being his is exhilarating.

And more than a little terrifying.

To distract myself, I let my attention wander to the impressive feast laid out on the wrought-iron table between us. You’d think the palace cooks assumed an army would attend this luncheon, not just Logan’s pack and my chaperone.

It’s a testament to how much I want this to work that I haven’t lunged past the prince to shove the nearest edible thing in my mouth. He doesn’t need to know that this strawberry is the first thing I’ve eaten since yesterday.

My mother, Charlotte, makes no secret of her watchful attention as she sits beside me. A casual observer might think she watches me so closely to ensure my virtue remains intact, but she wants this mating contract signed even more than I do. Today’s food restriction had been her idea. According to her, we couldn’t risk the chance I might not fit into the custom-made gown I’m wearing for the occasion.

Logan presses the champagne glass back to my lips, forcing my wandering attention back to him.

Charlotte squeezes my thigh hard under the table. She must notice my distraction and isn’t happy about it. To be fair, I’m not sure I’ve ever done anything to make her truly happy in my life.

But maybe the prince notices it, too. He tips the glass higher so I’m forced to swallow a larger mouthful. The bubbly alcohol is enough to send a burst of sparkling heat along my senses. It obviously isn’t possible for a single sip to intoxicate me, but my head still swims as the handsome lines of Logan’s face briefly go in and out of focus.

Golden eyes, fringed with thick black lashes, are stark even against his tanned skin. The eyes of a predator with the beauty to entice even the most careful prey. Almost too beautiful to be real.

Logan’s bloodline can be traced all the way to the original rulers of Melilla, House Corellian, before it split into warring city-states only recently reunited under the rule of his father, King Leopold I. There are dozens of princes, born from the women in the royal harem who represent every region and former city-state in the country, but Corellian blood has always been one of the most highly prized. Whether it’s simply a long history of impeccable breeding or some medical interventions not available to those lower in the social order, Corellians have always been almost too lovely to behold.

Prince Logan is no exception. The refined perfection of his face is a startling counterpoint to the pure masculine energy rolling off of him in waves. Someone so pretty shouldn’t be so easily able to project an air of barely restrained violence. The combination is enough to drive all rational thoughts completely out of my head.

He strokes away an errant drop of champagne from the corner of my mouth with the pad of his thumb. My suddenly dry lips part on an involuntary sigh and I reflexively trace his flesh with my tongue.

The sharp tang of his skin burns through my tastebuds, chasing away any lingering flavor of champagne and strawberries.

I had already scented the subtle hint of clove on him, mostly hidden by the scent-masking soaps that are polite to use in mixed company. The elite of society don’t go around showcasing their musks for all and sundry to enjoy. Soaps and perfumes wouldn’t fool a true scent-match, anyway.

Now, his scent explodes across my senses.

Bitter clove and amber.

Earthy. Spicy. Sharply sweet.

The taste of him lingers on my tongue, his scent growing stronger with every inhale. Another involuntary sound escapes my throat. A purr, which would mortify me under any other circumstances.

Logan’s smile widens. “How responsive you are.”

I stare back at him with eyes gone wide. He shifts closer and the scent of clove swells in my throat.Heat clenches deep in my belly as an embarrassing wetness settles between my thighs.

His nostrils flare in awareness. His gaze moves from my flushed face and downward to my lap, as if he can see the little pool of slick gathering under the ruffled tulle of my skirt.

I resist the urge to cringe away in embarrassment.

Good omegas control their urges. They know better than to leap over luncheon tables to climb an Alpha like a tree, no matter how good he smells. Or how deadly his good looks.

Logan leans in closer, lips brushing the delicate shell of my ear. “You smell better than these strawberries, so much sweeter.”

Metal creaks as Charlotte shifts in her chair, breaking the spell I’ve fallen under. I lean away from the prince, needing to put some distance between us before I choke on a cloud of bitter clove and my own shame.

If I looked her way, I’m sure she would be on the very edge of her seat, watching this scene play out like a championship handball match going into overtime.

The only thing more frightening than an Alpha in a rage is a social-climbing beta mother on a mission.

Charlotte was the one who ordered my courting dresses two sizes smaller than what I normally wear. I had no choice but to spend the last month basically starving myself in order to squeeze into them.

Alphas like their Omegas tiny and light. All the better for tossing them around like rag dolls when in a rut , as Charlottes likes to say.

I always pretend not to hear the note of envy in her voice under the derision.

Every little girl dreams of becoming an Omega when she grows up. Eventually being claimed by an Alpha biologically compelled to coddle and adore her.

At least, that’s the story they always sell at the Enclave, the government-run training center for Omegas that Charlotte shipped me off to when I hit puberty and presented. For my own good, she always insists, though I’m sure the generous stipend she received in exchange for signing over legal custody of me didn’t hurt.

At twenty, the typical age for graduating from the Enclave, I’ve spent the better part of my life being told what it means to be an Omega. Cajoled and coerced into fitting the very specific mold that is supposed to be both a birthright and an obligation. Omegas are rare. Omegas are dying out. We have an obligation to reproduce .

It’s hard to know if you actually want something, no matter how attractive it is, when no one has ever offered you any other options.

Charlotte might like to think that she can see through all the Alpha posturing, but that doesn’t stop her from taking advantage of it. Wrapping me up like a pretty present and gifting me to one of the highest-ranking Alphas in the country is the best way to secure her own future. If he turns out to be a perfect scent-match for me, then that’s just a nice, though unnecessary, bonus.

The money from my stipend had been enough to buy her way into an apartment near the city center and to purchase the expensive scent-mimickers that rich beta women often wear to attract Alpha mates. No Alpha with even half a brain falls for it, but the illusion is enough. Especially when real Omegas are so scarce.

Now her Omega daughter has a chance at one of the royal princes, the final piece of a puzzle she worked her whole life to put together. If I balk now, she will never forgive me.

I can’t even really blame her for it, not when I know what alternative awaits a woman in this world without some kind of protection.

Just like that, as it always happens when I’m least prepared for it, I think of my father.

Memories are hazy. It’s been so long, but I remember enough of him. Strong. Caring. Beta, but still a perfect provider until the day he died when I was five.

Tears don’t fall. Enough years have passed for me to learn that much self-control. But some fleeting sadness must show on my face before I can hide it.

Prince Logan immediately senses the change in me.He leans away, a frown forming on those full lips and turning down the elegant curve of his brow.

An edge of warning shades his voice. “Is there a problem?”

The softly murmured question is still sharp as a knife-blade.

“Of course not!”Charlotte lurches toward the prince, obviously intending to smooth over my social gaffe.

The movement triggers an immediate reaction from the previously stoic guards stationed at three different corners of the room. They don’t draw weapons, but well-oiled holsters creak against metal as they shift into ready positions. Relaxing again, only when she settles back in her seat with a look of consternation on her face.

I almost forgot that Charlotte wasn’t our only audience for this meeting. Her research efforts had been exhaustive, so I know almost as much about his pack as I do about the prince himself.

Ares leans against a pillar, which does nothing to hide his impressive bulk. The light-brown curls spiraling off his crown might be the only soft thing about him. Alphas are always big, but he looks like he could bench-presseveryone in the room at the same time without even breaking a sweat. The pack enforcer who seems every inch the part. From the look in his eye, he is always just waiting for an opportunity to show off his strength.

Poe stands the closest, as if he is little more than the prince’s shadow. If gossip is to be believed, Poe is the one Logan sends when he wants to deliver the sort of message not officially sanctioned by the crown. An assassin, maybe. Or just a son-of-a-bitch with a mean streak. Dark, watchful eyes haven’t missed a single movement of anyone in the room. From the all-black uniform he wears to the shadowed lines of his face, he seems perpetually cloaked in a veil of darkness.

Cillian, the pack’s beta, is the one I know least about. His shock of pale hair, so white that he must bleach it, obscures eyes I know are the barely blue of ice chips. His eyes narrow as our gazes meet, whipcord-thin body tightening with tension until I force myself to look away. It’s him who takes a threatening step forward, glaring until Charlotte bows her head in an obvious expression of submission.

Otherwise known as Pack Logan.

Once convinced danger isn’t actually imminent, Charlotte hurries again to make excuses.

Manicured nails dig into my bare shoulder, but her voice practically oozes deference as she addresses the prince. “There is absolutely no problem at all, your highness.” “Please forgive my daughter if her mannerisms are not entirely pleasing. You know how temperamental Omegas can be. But without those pesky hormones, they wouldn’t be all that they are.” Charlotte rushes to add, as if she knows anything more about me than what she gathered from the annual reports my instructors write and an occasional day visit. “Maya is top of her class at the Enclave, so you can be assured she is well-trained in all manner of Omega responsibilities and has been kept safe from outside influences. She is almost entirely innocent.”

Innocent.

The word brings a renewed smile to the prince’s face, even as his eyes narrow in obvious contemplation as he studies me.

“I would like to speak with the Omega alone for a moment,” he drawls lazily, tearing his gaze from me to give Charlotte a nod of dismissal. “You may leave us.”

It takes a beat for Charlotte to realize that the prince has just ordered her out of the room. Her hands shake slightly as she squeezes my shoulder hard once before releasing me.

“Be respectful of the prince and his pack, Maya. You represent our entire family here.” Her twitchy fingers run through my hair, fluffing and arranging it unnecessarily as a show of her own nerves. “I’ll be just outside.”

The prince gestures at Poe, who shoves himself off the wall to escort Charlotte to the heavy wooden doors. Those same doors had seemed practically impenetrable when they initially shut behind us upon entering the room. But the room’s high ceilings and patterned walls seem much closer now that I’m alone with four men.

I risk a glance at Charlotte’s face before she turns away. The look she gives me says precisely what I expect it to.

Do not fuck this up.

Both of us are worried about what will happen next, just for very different reasons.

Logan takes a lock of my hair between his own fingers as her footsteps recede.

“This is lovely,” he murmurs, so softly that I wonder if he is talking to himself.

The hair in layers of violet so dark it’s nearly black, streaked with indigo and plum, cascading down my back is my most striking feature. Visible evidence of whatever genetic mutation makes me an Omega .

Not all of us have such an obvious physical marker, but most Omegas do. Hair that naturally grows in impossible colors, eyes more commonly seen in exotic animals or bone structure so impossibly bird-hollow and delicate that it shouldn’t be possible to remain upright. No two Omegas are exactly the same, all of us distinct in our own ways.

We would probably be treated like freaks of nature if Alphas didn’t want us so much.

I want to thank him for the compliment, but the words catch on my tongue as our gazes once again meet.

The previous warmth has disappeared from his expression, replaced by a calculating coldness.

“Time to drop the act, Omega.”

I may understand the words, but their meaning is lost on me. My mouth opens, but I can’t think of anything to say out of it, making a slight gasping sound that sounds like a baby bird who has just fallen out of its nest.

Logan leans closer. “What sort of game are you playing here?”

“I don’t think I’ve heard her say anything since she walked in.” Ares sidles closer, a cruel smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “She a mute, you think?”

“Might as well be.” Cillian’s voice is almost musically resonant. The sound of it would hypnotize if not for the obvious derision in his tone. “She hasn’t made much more than a peep since she walked in.”

Heavy doors slam shut, making me jump and punctuating Poe’s silent return as he returns to stand behind the prince.

Ares takes a deep swig of Logan’s champagne, shamelessly watching me over the rim of the glass. “I don’t know about peeps, but I sure liked those little purrs she was making before. What do you think we’ll hear if you offer her something better than a strawberry to put in her mouth?”

Pure lewdness colors his tone and the heated once-over he gives me, enough that even I’m not innocent enough to miss it.

“Those certainly weren’t the moans of an innocent miss, now were they?” Instead of being bothered by the inappropriate remark, Prince Logan only seems pensive. His tone becomes unyielding when he again addresses me. “I’m not in the habit of being ignored or repeating myself, Omega. I asked you a question.”

He did? What question? Anxious butterflies turn hard to drop like stones in the pit of my stomach.

A good Omega is seen more than she is heard.

Poe’s voice, cultured and pitiless, cuts through the air. “I suggest you use that pretty mouth to speak, little bird. Before we find another use for it.”

This meeting has been sanctioned by the Enclave, arranged through all the proper channels. I haven’t done anything wrong. Why are they speaking to me this way?

My voice is rough from anxiety and disuse. “I…I’m not…there is no game.”

The prince’s eyes have gone cold, calculating. “Three previous meetings, with this being the fourth, and not once have you broken this perfect and innocent little act of yours. You’re either an amazing actress or completely empty-headed. I can take a guess, but I want you to tell me which one it is.”

My heart doesn’t leap up my throat, but makes a slow climb that makes me feel like I’m choking on each beat. Every muscle in my body screams with tension. What did I do to screw this up so completely?

A mantra kicks up in my head. Run. Run. Run.

And if I give into the urge, make a break for it, they will do the only thing Alphas always do when an Omega runs from them.

Chase me down.

I think through my alternatives, knowing there are none. Charlotte has already said that I won’t be returning home with her after I graduate from the Enclave in a few weeks. Her new Alpha husband had been lured with the implied promise that if his beta wife can give birth to a valuable Omega daughter once, then she can do it again. But he can’t be trusted with said Omega stepdaughter actually living under the same roof with him.

If asked, she would convincingly insist that everything she does has only ever been for my own good.

Everyone benefits, Maya.

I’ve heard the words in her voice often enough that they might as well be inscribed on the inside of my skull.

Prince Logan represents everything I’m supposed to want for myself. A high-ranking Alpha, only steps removed from the throne, who is naturally predisposed to care for and coddle their Omega mate in the lap of luxury.

Apparently, Logan had reviewed every file of the Omegas at the Enclave before choosing me. Specifically.Our earlier meetings had been nothing like this, cordial but supervised by a cabal of instructors from the Enclave.

But every other Omega at the Enclave looked like they wanted to rip my eyes out when the request for this final interview with the prince came from the palace. A royal messenger — beta, but dripping in finery — had delivered the note personally.

It had felt like winning the lottery, even more so when the private car with my mother already in the back seat arrived to whisk us off to the palace. While Charlotte had gushed over the leather seats and bottles of chilled champagne, I was too focused on the mix of terror and excitement churning in my gut to notice anything else.

All the nagging from my mother, the endless boredom of gray walls and grayer staff at the Enclave, the girlish fantasies whispered to each other like secrets in the night. It had all led to this moment right now.

The moment in which I find myself staring into the serrated eyes of the most beautiful man I’ve ever met.

Forcing myself back to the present, I raise my chin by a fraction of an inch. The movement is so small that only someone staring straight at me would catch it. The slightest flare of his nostrils is the only sign that I have the prince’s undivided attention.

“Prince Logan.” My voice is a low murmur, but I’m proud that it doesn’t shake. “Tell me what you want from me and I’ll give it to you.”

A moment of silence, like the room itself is holding its breath. Waiting for his reaction.

Logan’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “I want you to get down on your knees.”

The wall of Alpha energy fills with expectation as the prince continues to stare down at me with an inscrutable gaze.I am very aware of how close they are. How easy it would be for any of those pairs of overly large hands to snatch and grip.

This feels like a test, but I won’t know if I’m passing or failing until it’s far too late.

“Get on your knees, Omega, or get out.” Logan growls his next words. “ Move, now .”

I am already halfway to the floor before my brain reconnects to my body. My knees hit the tile hard enough to bruise. I just catch myself with my hands before my face follows right after them.

I’ve only ever been told about Alpha commands, a vocal register some of them are capable of that compels other designations to mindlessly obey.

Logan always speaks with the force of someone who expects to be obeyed.But his Alpha voice is something different. I wouldn’t be able to refuse even if I wanted the chance to try.

“Don’t do that!” I snap, before I can stop myself.

He chuckles darkly, and the sound reverberates down my spine. “But I don’t understand? I thought you wanted me to tell you what to do.”

Tarnished gold eyes, beautifully cold, train on me like a bird of prey sighting a shivering mouse in the tall grass.

I push myself up with my legs folded underneath me, a classic submissive pose taught to us at the Enclave. This is a test, I remind myself. Just like the hundreds of tests I’ve taken and passed during my training.

If an Alpha voice were enough to break me, then I wouldn’t have gotten this far.

I will make this work because I have to.

I’d like to think that Charlotte didn’t know exactly how that stipend worked before she shipped me off to the Enclave. The money she received wasn’t just some government largesse.

It wasn’t a gift.

Alphas pay the Enclave a pretty penny to have an Omega placed with them, repaying the debt incurred by the stipend and years of other expenses incurred by taking care of us. Even a prince can’t get something for nothing.

It’s basically impossible for an Omega to not be eventually chosen by an Alpha. There are too few of us and too many rich Alphas slathering for the chance. But an Omega can refuse to be mated, go her own way after graduation, not accepting anyone who might have offered for her.

As long as she can pay off the considerable debt she accrued over the years.