Chapter 6
Chapter Six
MAYA
D efiant energy carries me back into the large antechamber, past the gawking faces of eager Omegas and sullen betas. It lasts almost all the way to the palace gates before I collapse onto a stone bench in between two hedges shaped like birds, shaking like a leaf and holding back sobs.
I give myself five minutes to fall apart completely before I pull myself back together.
The walk back to the train station will take almost thirty minutes. Unlike the Enclave Omegas, no town-car is waiting to whisk me back to the city. Walking back through the streets at night is a bad idea for any woman, but for me it might just turn deadly.
After reclaiming my bag from the gate guards because they had allowed nothing to be brought inside the palace, I use a public restroom to change out of my dress and into a drab pair of pants and loose shirt. A gray scarf wrapped around my head hides my most distinctive feature before I start the long journey back to my temporary home.
Being out in the world, even surrounded by innocent people, feels dangerous. My shoulders itch with paranoia. I continuously cast glances behind me, convinced that I’ll see familiar eyes glaring at me from the shadows.
I remember my frantic fingers feeling for a pulse in cool skin and not finding one. But did I wait long enough before fleeing into the night? There is no way to be sure except to wait and see if vengeance comes for me.
Unless I find another way to make myself safe.
I don’t care what Logan and his pack do to me. The palace is the safest place imaginable. The harem, even more so. I’d passed almost fifty guards between the palace doors and the inner chamber.
No one could get to me there without my permission.
Except Prince Logan and his pack.
A shudder of memory rocks through me hard enough that the woman next to me on the bullet train casts me a sidelong glance. My mind goes over and over the time I spent locked in that room with Logan and his pack, trying to decide if I walked out of there as a triumph or a disgrace.
Maybe I shouldn’t have stripped for them. But I had to make sure the prince knew I would do whatever he asked me to do. Defiance might be a bold spice, but I can’t sprinkle it on too liberally.
His scent alone had almost been enough to trigger a flashback, rocking my equilibrium in a way I pray he didn’t notice.
Bitter clove.
A year later and the taste of it never quite leaves my tongue, as if taking his essence down my throat was enough to leave a permanent imprint on my senses.
“Cold, dearie?” The old woman beside me asks.
I give her a weak smile. “I’m fine, thank you.”
My fingers pinch the inside of my arm hard enough to leave a bruise. I need to get it together before I call any more attention to myself.
I disembark from the train in the middle of a mid-range shopping district. Silky fabrics in beautiful colors wrapped around mannequins in the shop windows immediately draw my eye and I let my gaze linger briefly before hurrying on.
My more pleasant memories of early childhood involve following my mother from store to store while she amassed an armful of shopping bags. Her promises repeat in my head like an anthem that one day I would have a mate of my own to treat me to all of this and more.
Promises are a lot like exotic pets, easy to get and hard to keep.
Charlotte loved nothing more than to fill my head with absolute nonsense and then treat me like an idiot for actually believing any of it.
More than once in the last few weeks, I’ve considered reaching out to her for help. But even if she’d be willing, which I doubt, her newest husband is a Guardian, one of the Alphas who patrols Capital City and enforce the law. I can’t be with them if my past ever catches up with me.
The nicer shops slowly disappear as I turn down a much more well-worn side street. Designer stores make way for laundromats, liquor stores and money lenders.
I turn into a nondescript pawnshop with old furniture in the window. A bell dings as I push open the door, but no one greets me even when I let the door close behind me with a loud bang.
Racks of clothing arranged in no particular order fill the front half of the shop. I have to wind through shelves of random electronics and appliances to reach the sales desk.
A wizened man naps on a wooden stool, hunched over with his head resting against the wall at his side. He only snaps awake from his doze when I rap my knuckles on the chipped counter.
“I have a rental return,” I inform him as I drop the shiny bundle of fabric in front of him.
With an annoyed grunt, the shopkeeper picks up the dress and shakes it out. “Receipt?”
I produce the receipt with a tight smile, knowing that he would have happily refused to refund my deposit without it.
He makes a show of smoothing out the dress and placing it on a hanger before going to the ancient register.
I glare down at the plastic credit chit he tosses onto the counter. It’s the faded blue of a half-note, not the bright red of the full one I expected. “This is short.”
“You pay a penalty for stains,” he says impassively. “I’ve got to send it out to be cleaned ‘for I can rent it again.”
“There aren’t any stains.”
One gnarled finger points at a spot on the hem. “I see one right here.”
“That looks like lint.” I reach for the dress, but he yanks it away. With narrowed eyes, I tap my finger on the receipt that has a neatly typed list of terms and conditions that I made a point of reading before paying him a single credit. “There isn’t anything here about a cleaning fee. And don’t you clean the clothes between rentals no matter what?”
He shrugs, not bothering to so much as look at my receipt. “Always been the policy. You’re s’pposed to bring it back clean.”
I’m not stupid. I know when I’m being scammed. The dress could have been professionally dry-cleaned and pressed by Alcase, the Omega Goddess herself, and he still wouldn’t return my full deposit.
I glare back at him, unreasonably annoyed by the placid expression on his face. “This is extortion.”
The look in his eye turns malicious. “Fetch a Guardian if you think you’re the one being cheated.”
At any other point in my life, I would happily demand a Guardian Alpha. But as things stand, that would probably be a bad idea. I’ve already created enough of a paper trail for myself by applying to the palace. I don’t need a legal file opened, too.
For all I know, someone matching my description might currently be wanted for murder or assault. Involving the authorities isn’t exactly in my best interest right now.
The shopkeeper can’t possibly know any details, but he clearly recognizes desperation when he sees it and plans to take advantage of it. I don’t have the luxury of calling his bluff.
“Fine.”
I snatch the credit chit and a generous handful of candy off the counter, nearly emptying the plastic bowl on my way out. Only seems fair, considering he just stole the money I planned to use for buying dinner. “Pleasure doing business with you, asshole. ”
“Hey, those are only one per customer!”
“Call a Guardian,” I snap back as the door slams shut behind me.
I regret that bit of bravado as soon as I’m back on the street, but there are no shouts to halt or the blare of sirens as I hurry away.
My attitude has always been one of my biggest problems, followed somewhat by a streak of impulsivity. Swallowing that down has only become more difficult with time. I’ve always been good at playing the shy and demure Omega when I have to, though I suspect Prince Logan is one of the few people who always see through my act.
I still think walking away like I did after dropping my virginity bomb was a good choice. He needs time to mull it over, listen to the input of his pack that act like the devils on his shoulders whispering filth in his ear.
I didn’t miss the flash of interest in Logan’s eyes when the realization struck that he could still be the first to have me. Virginity is a novelty, especially at my age, one that he probably has had little opportunity to experience.
Pathetic that it matters, but true all the same.
In hindsight, I should have stayed long enough to interview with other princes. Stirring up Logan’s jealousy might have given me more leverage in pushing him toward choosing me. Even better, I might have legitimately caught the interest of someone else.
But the thought of parading myself in front of another Alpha, next in a parade of Omegas, makes me want to vomit.
Saffron, or any of the other Omegas from the Enclave, would probably skip several nights of sleep if that’s what it took to interview with as many of the princes as possible. I recognize the look of an Omega who will do anything to ensure her own survival.
I used to see that same look staring back at me in the mirror every day at the Enclave. You either become an expert at this game or just another pawn on the chessboard, sacrificed at the whim of more expert players.
All of us do what we must to survive. I’m just not sure if my heart can take it.
When I walk in, the rooming house matron is camped out at the bottom of the stairs. From the way her eyes narrow, she has obviously been waiting for me.
“Your room was only paid up through last night,” she snaps, by way of greeting.
Without a word, I hand her the half-note and move past her.
She inspects the credit chit before pocketing it. “This won’t cover breakfast in the morning.”
Too tired to argue, I nod my understanding as I force my resisting body up the three flights of stairs to my room.
The rooming house used to be a Victorian mansion, one of the few standing relics of the old civilization.
My room is the smallest and cheapest in what used to be attic space. It has no windows and a stairwell that leads nowhere else. The inherent privacy compensates for a complete lack of natural light.
I would have negotiated a weekly rate if I thought I’d still be here by now. My interview with Logan had gone better than my worst imaginings, but I’d been foolish to think he’d be so overcome by my presence to offer me a mating contract on the spot.
Stupidity with men seems to be one of my few consistent character traits.
I step into the room and freeze in place. Everything looks the same, from the unmade and rumpled bed to the pile of laundry in the corner that I won’t be able to do until I scrounge up coins for the pay washer in the rooming house’s basement.
Nothing has changed, so why do I feel a sudden urge to run for my life?
The air stirs, so subtly that I could have imagined it.
Then the door slams shut behind me, and silent footsteps bring a hard male chest against my back.
My instincts are impeccable, but my speed leaves something to be desired. Still, I react as quickly as I can. I pull the folding knife I always carry out of my pocket and flick it open in a single movement.
I thrust wildly behind me without looking, hitting something soft and firm enough to be flesh, even if I can’t tell what kind.
A restrained grunt is my attacker’s only reaction. When I move to stab again, the knife is backhanded out of my grip hard enough to leave my wrist aching.
I open my mouth to scream, but a hand large enough to cover the entire lower half of my face slams it shut. The sound dies a strangled death in my throat.
A recognizable voice growls against my ear.
“I’ll let you go if you agree not to scream.” Poe’s voice is a dark wash of barely restrained violence. “Or I can find a more permanent method to keep you quiet if you want to be difficult.”
A full body shudder runs through me. Fear and anticipation war for dominance, robbing me of the ability to form any thought more coherent than this one:
Poe came here alone. He would only do that for one reason.
Prince Logan doesn’t know Poe is here.
His fingers tighten on my jaw, a warning that he won’t tolerate anything but an instantaneous response. I give the smallest of nods, the most I can manage past the strength of his grip.
I whirl to face him the moment his hands slide away, rubbing my now sore jaw.
“Poe, always a pleasure.” I keep my voice pitched low. Even I’m not bold enough to deliberately needle a pissed off Alpha who has me trapped in an enclosed space. That said, if he were here to kill me then I’d already be dead and I can’t quite conquer my love of sarcasm. “If I’d known you’d be making a social call, I would have been ready with tea and scones.”
“I prefer we not waste any more time than we have to.”
Seeming completely adjusted to the darkness, Poe stalks around the room. He flicks the sheets of my bed and kicks over the pile of laundry.
“Looking for something?” I ask, edging a few inches so I’m closer to the door.
He sniffs the air. “You haven’t been here for a year. Not even close.”
“Never said I had,” I reply evenly, doing my best not to telegraph my growing alarm at his presence and behavior. Poe has always been the most unpredictable of Pack Logan. “How did you find me, anyway?”
“Cillian placed a tracker in your hair.”
I run my fingers through the fancy side ponytail I hadn’t yet undone. The pointed ends of bobby pins prick my fingers until I feel one that is harder and rounder than the others.
“Very cute.” Extracting the tiny piece of metal, I toss it on the floor without bothering to look at it. Not that it matters now. “On your orders, I presume.”
The dark eyes that study me are completely dead. “Orders weren’t necessary. He knew we wouldn’t want to lose track of you this time. Not when you’ve decided to reappear at the worst possible time.”
That damn beta is even worse than the rest of them.
“He hasn’t actually come out and said it, but it’s obvious,” Poe muses with a frown. He looks about as unhappy as a kid being told that not only is Santa Claus not real, but the guy who plays him at the mall is a pedophile with keys to your house. “Prince Logan is going to choose you.”
A thrill of adrenaline runs through me, but I keep my face carefully blank. “I’m honored.”
He eyes me, from the placid expression I have plastered on my face to the hands neatly clasped at my waist. “You wouldn’t be half bad at court, I’ll give you that. I’ve never met an Omega better at wearing the mask.”
“But…” I prompt.
“I don’t trust you as far as I could throw you.”
I can’t help but laugh at that, further souring his expression. “So you do trust me, then?”
“What?”
“I get you’re just using a cliche turn of phrase, but in this context it makes absolutely no sense.” With one arm, I gesture wide at all the six-foot-five and two-hundred pounds of granite hard male in front of me. “Look at you. You could probably throw me pretty damn far if you put your back into it.”
If Poe gets the joke, his expression gives absolutely no indication of it. “That mouth. You wonder why I have to protect Logan from himself. You’re a distraction and…” he pauses and takes a breath, as if about to deliver the worst accusation he can think of in the moment. “And a fucking liar.”
Offended, I glare at him. “I might be a lot of things, but I am not a liar.”
“I ran a background check. You left the Enclave over a year ago, days after that first visit to the palace.” His voice is tight with barely restrained anger. “You may not be mated, but I refuse to believe that whatever Alpha had you didn’t touch you, not even once.”
“I don’t care what you believe?—”
A hand grips my throat, cutting off my words. Ignoring my struggles, the other snakes past the drawstring waist of my work pants.
Poe shoves three fingers inside me with all the force of a battering ram.
I’m no stranger to violence, but the shock of it is enough to blank out my mind. Rape is not an esoteric concept. As an Omega, the implied threat of it hangs over every move we make.
When he encounters and destroys the barrier he clearly didn’t expect to find, a change briefly comes over him. He takes a single intake of breath as an expression of wonder falls over his face. No more than a single second passes before the expression disappears into the more familiar mask that gives nothing away.
He hovers over me, an arm wrapped around my waist to keep me still. “You’re a virgin.”
The scrape of his blunt nails and the sheer size of his fingers hurts enough that I stop struggling. Tears burn behind my eyes — of grief and impotent rage. The physical barrier that represents virginity might be entirely meaningless, but that doesn’t make it his to take.
“I was.”
“If you haven’t taken a cock, then you still are.” Fingers playing inside me as if he can’t help himself, he searches my face. “Where have you been for the last year?”
Fluid soaks into the rough fabric of my pants, an involuntary reaction to the friction of his fingers. “Fuck you, Poe.”
“Tell me.”
That voice — his Alpha voice — unlocks all the clenching muscles of my body. I don’t answer him, even though the primordial part of me, the biological imperative that makes me Omega, wants to give him whatever he wants.
For a moment, I drift somewhere languid. My body floats in a tranquil sea. The Omega part of me wants to stay here, free from the weight of decisions or emotion. All I want is whatever my Alpha wants for me.
At least for as long as it takes for the echo of his voice to stop ringing in my ears.
Then I’m back to glaring daggers, wishing I still had a knife in my hand.
His use of that voice is even more of a violation than the fingers he has thrust inside of me. Most Alphas know better than to use it in polite company because it’s the verbal equivalent of slapping someone across the face with your dick.
If they kept at it long enough, they could force a susceptible enough Omega into a sort of haze, a fugue state little different from hypnosis. A strong enough Alpha can make the right Omega do practically anything he wants her to do.
Resisting it is part of the training Omegas receive at the Enclave, which still surprises me a bit.
Poe also seems to realize the depth of his overstepping. When I shove him away, he takes a willing step back.
Air cools the drying slick on my thighs as I yank my pants back into the place. Outrage wars with despair as I meet an empty pair of eyes. If he feels even an ounce of regret, there is no sign of it on his face.
“I already told your prince. You can have whatever information you want after I sign a mating contract. I assume you have no further objections now that you know I’m not a liar.”
“On the contrary, the fact that you were telling the truth just makes you even more dangerous than I thought.”
My shoulders drop in sudden exhaustion. We are firmly on the same page. All I want is to never see him again. Unfortunately, that isn’t one of my available options.
I refuse to let him see me cry, so I fight through the maelstrom of conflicting emotions.
“So what…you’re here to threaten me into disappearing? ”
A humorless smile briefly twists the harsh line of his mouth. “Would a threat actually work?”
I glare back at him. “Obviously not.”
He picks up a duffel bag that I only just now notice on the floor at his feet. When he tosses it on the bed, I hear the unmistakable sound of credit chits jangling together. “This is twenty thousand notes. Enough to buy out even the largest Enclave contract. You’ll get twice this much after you ignore the royal summons you’re going to get in the morning and Logan signs a mating contract with someone else. Enough that you can go anywhere and do anything. You can even buy a whole new identity if you want one.”
My gaze snaps to his face at those last words, but read nothing in his expression. It’s impossible to tell if he knows more than he lets on or if that was just a good guess at my ultimate desire to disappear.
“You’ve made your offer,” I bite out. My gaze moves over him and I feel a burst of satisfaction when I note the growing pool of red on his shirt. Even if he barely reacted, at least I did a bit of damage when I stabbed him. “Now get out of my room before I stab you again.”
“Don’t get all teary-eyed. This is what you signed yourself up for.” He holds up the hand still coated in my virgin blood, not breaking eye contact as he licks his fingers clean. “But you need better aim or a bigger knife. That little pigsticker is worse than useless. When you stab the next Alpha, all you’re going to do is piss him off.”
I can’t resist the question as he turns to leave. “Are you pissed off?”
His eyes are a flash of obsidian as he glances back over his shoulder before disappearing into the dark hallway. “Always.”