Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
MAYA
C old seeps into my bare skin, seeping so deep down into my bones that I’ll never be warm again. I don’t open my eyes because I already know what sight will greet me. Every day. Every moment. The same.
I’ve learned not to struggle against the straps weighing down my wrists. Struggling only makes the pain come sooner. It makes him angry.
Stress hormones skew the results, you stupid girl.
If I’m quiet long enough, I can postpone the inevitable for a bit. Time has become elastic. Meaningless. My awareness is made up only of moments with pain and moments without it, I’ve lost the ability to measure time any differently.
Metal clangs against metal.
My heart pounds in time with the click of approaching footsteps.
Silence. Until I force my eyes open.
He shifts to the periphery of my vision, drawing out the moment in the way he always does. I refuse to look at his face, instead fixating on the starched white lines of a pressed lab coat.
White now, but it won’t be for long.
I don’t know his name, not the real one anyway. The forged mating contract he used to trick the Enclave matrons had a fake one on it. He insists I address him as doctor, but I refuse to do so within my own mind, not when this is the only refuge I have left.
Instead, I call him the monster.
He holds up the scalpel where I can see it, holding it gently between index finger and thumb like the bow of a violin.
An artist with his terrible instrument.
I made the mistake early on of thinking that this tiny blade could only be capable of so much damage. I’ve since learned there are few limits when one has enough time and the patience.
“A colleague of mine theorized that scent glands can be completely removed and transplanted without affecting the ability to form a mating bond. It would be a remarkable advancement if a procedure could be perfected. Such a shame that so few of us have the stomach for what must be done. Their loss, I suppose. The glory of discovery will remain mine alone.”
His voice sweeps over me with a wash of pickled ginger and cheap sod. The scent is reminiscent of death and decay, maggots squirming in the soil above a newly dug grave.
I can’t stop my flinch when the edge of a blade glides along the side of my neck, just above where a frantic pulse beats against the fragile skin.
The monster shushes me with the soft murmuring noises a schoolboy would make to the injured dove in his hands just before snapping its neck.
He doesn’t expect or desire an answer from me. A throat gone hoarse with screaming is an assault to the ears, anyway.
“Not that I would assume you to be aware of the importance of our work here, useless thing that you are. I know you think you’ve suffered here, but it is all in service to something greater. We are here to make you worthy. To make history.”
I let his words wash over and off me like an ocean wave, focused only on keeping my head above the water. Losing consciousness would only compel him to wake me in some undesirable way. He desires an audience for this, and I am the only one available.
His blade lingers at the sharp juncture of my clavicle. It moves up and down the jutting edge of bone as if it distracts him.
I entertain the distant hope that the desire for cruelty will overwhelm him enough for a mistake. A cut too deep to staunch. An escape, that is the only one I haven’t yet attempted.
“Of course, miracles of modern medicine come only in their due time. We won’t risk our grand design on an untested procedure. A secondary gland will do just as well for now.”
The monster strokes gloved fingers down my wrist, playing just above the leather shackle.
His blade flashes silver before I squeeze my eyes shut. The pain is delayed, overburdened synapses firing so slowly that I could almost believe that I imagined the sound of flesh slicing cleanly, the skip in my heartbeat as blood pumps to the surface.
When the agony arrives, surprise makes it that much worse.
He laughs at my screams.
Pickled ginger and sod. The taste of death lingers on my tongue.
I wake up screaming.
My fingers run frantically over the throbbing skin of my wrist, searching for a wound that no longer exists but somehow still throbs in sympathetic suffering. It takes several minutes for my mind to pick apart the tightly woven threads of reality and nightmare.
The phantom pain lingers, ghosting across my skin where the scalpel carved into me. There is the smallest bump under the skin there, scar tissue from where the gland was surgically removed and then re-implanted. Ostensibly still functional, though I haven’t had the opportunity to test that theory.
The monster had made me look at that innocuous bit of flesh before returning it to my body. He told me he would drop the tissue and let it rot on the floor if I refused to open my eyes.
It had been the pale pink of a new skin, still pulsing slightly despite the lack of blood flow. About the size of a grape, it was disgustingly reminiscent of a chewed-up piece of bubble gum.
I rush to the bathroom with just enough time to make it to the commode, vomiting the full contents of my stomach until I’m left dry heaving over the porcelain.
The memory is still too real, too fresh. Despite the dim warmth of this tiny room, I feel the cold metal of the examination table against my back, the clinical brightness of the fluorescent lights burning my retinas when my eyes are forced open.
A disembodied voice calmly describing my value as a lab specimen with every excruciating slice of the blade.
After rinsing my mouth, I return to the bed and curl deeper into the blankets. Without a window, it’s impossible to know the relative time of day, but I suspect it’s still very early.
Though Logan definitely meant it as an insult, I’m grateful for the solitude of my tiny room in the harem. It’s a blessing not to have anyone witness my trembling limbs or the cold sweat already seeping into my bedsheets. No uncomfortable questions about why I woke up screaming in the middle of the night. I might consider thanking him if I didn’t think he’d change my living situation out of sheer spite.
The lowlights abruptly brighten, bathing the room in a soft amber glow. Enough to be noticeable without making my light-sensitive eyes ache. This must be my wake-up call.
Today is the day it really begins.
The thought of facing three antagonistic Alphas and a somehow even less friendly beta again has my stomach in knots. I barely made it through my interview without my knees collapsing underneath me, and I felt enough desperation then that it could mask as bravado.
I’d somehow convinced myself that my interview would be the hardest part. But the look on Logan’s face when he commanded me out of the throne room still lingers in my mind. His Alphas stood behind him, expressions coldly smug, with no ability or interest in gainsaying him.
A concerted effort to humiliate me.
I wish I could tell them the truth. Maybe they would actually feel that supposedly natural Alpha urge to protect an Omega in need.
No, absolutely not. Logan has proven that he will never be the Alpha I dreamed about as a little girl. That Alpha is a fantasy that the Enclave concocted to trick us into complacency. The rest of his pack is no better.
Dreams are great until you wake up to a nightmare.
A bell chimes gently through the room, marking the half-hour. They’ll be expecting me in the prince’s apartments soon.
For the thousandth time, I remind myself that nothing the prince or his pack can do to me is worse than the alternative. I’ll do anything to maintain a place here. The protection of the palace walls, grounds full of patrolling guards armed with automatic weapons, is the only thing that matters to me.
I just have to remember that once I’m face-to-face with them again.
The thought of facing the harem betas over breakfast makes my stomach turn even more than the thought of eating anything. I force myself to sit up, pushing the memories and fears away for now. My wrist might ache when I support my weight with that arm, but the reminder doesn’t need to cause a descent into my darkest thoughts.
The monster could very well be dead. And even if he isn’t, he can’t touch me here.
A covered serving tray on the desk catches my eye. Lifting the dome cover, I find a gorgeous platter of fresh fruit, sliced meat and warm breakfast breads.
A surge of gratitude towards Perkins bubbles up inside me. She must have sent a tray to my room while I slept to save me the embarrassment of parading myself through the harem.
Despite my complete lack of hunger, I’m compelled by the scent of freshly brewed coffee. There is a perfectly made cappuccino with steam still hovering above the rim, an intricate design of a blooming flower in the milky foam on top. I admire the design for a few seconds before ruining it by indulging in a large sip.
I’m practically moaning as the complex flavor of Arabica beans and steamed milk hits my tongue. This might be the most delicious thing I’ve tasted in a year. In my defense, it’s been about that long since I had anything more than the dishwater sold from public dispensers. That stuff isn’t so much coffee as it is a crime against humanity.
The caffeine gives me just enough energy to face getting readying myself for them, though I skip eating any actual food.
The shower’s hot water helps ease some of the lingering tension from my nightmare, though I’m careful not to let my mind wander. A collection of expensive makeup and skincare items covers the bathroom counter, so I take extra care with my appearance because that’s clearly what they expect of me.
A light application of concealer helps disguise the dark circles under my eyes. I debate what to do with my hair before deciding to leave it loose around my shoulders. Logan’s fixation on the color is impossible to ignore and I see no reason not to take advantage of it.
The final touch is a spritz of scent neutralizer, which I’m surprised to find among the other cosmetics. The only thing missing is the heat suppressant I’d been taking daily before running out only days ago. Logan obviously doesn’t want biology interfering with our interactions. My Omega pheromones won’t be entirely masked, but they will be significantly more muted with the scent neutralizer.
But scent neutralizer doesn’t do anything to prevent a heat cycle.
I need to remind Cillian about the agreement to provide them.
A last glance in the mirror reflects someone who looks put-together and calm. Someone who belongs in a royal palace. Someone who definitely didn’t wake up screaming from memories of torture.
The illusion is almost perfect.
Another chime sounds through the room, clearly a warning of the time. I take a deep breath, square my shoulders and lift my chin.
Time to face whatever games Logan and his pack want to play.
“ D id you eat?”
I don’t realize that Ares is standing directly behind the still open apartment door until he slams it shut loud enough to make me nearly jump out of my skin.
It takes a few seconds to realize he is asking me a question with the expectation of an answer.
He regards me with an annoyed expression, prompting again. “I said, did you eat?”
It hadn’t occurred to me that anyone would care what or when I ate. Sensing I’m suddenly on uncertain ground, I decide to avoid the truth or a lie.
“Perkins sent me a breakfast tray,” I hedge.
“How interesting,” Ares drawls, raising an eyebrow over stormy green eyes. He stalks around me with predatory grace. “But that’s not what I asked. Did. You. Eat?”
I take an involuntary step back. “I...had a few bites.”
His nostrils flare as he scents the air. “You’re still learning how this works, so I’ll give you one more chance not to lie to me.”
“I had a cappuccino with no sugar and two pieces of cantaloupe.”
“Your blood sugar is low enough that I can practically smell it.” He crowds into my personal space, forcing me to crane my neck to maintain eye contact. “Why didn’t you eat?”
My stomach makes a nauseous flip. “I wasn’t hungry.”
The tip of his tongue traces the outline of his full lower lip. “That tastes too much like a lie. Try again.”
“I was too nervous to eat,” I snap, unable to conceal my annoyance at his persistent prodding. “If I’d eaten that lumberjack’s breakfast this morning, it would be all over your shoes right now after I vomited it all back up.”
As soon as the waspish retort escapes me, I immediately regret reacting. I don’t understand how these men so quickly undo years’ worth of Enclave training. Overnight, I seem to have lost every inch of social grace that was beaten into me.
Wincing, I spare a single glance at his grim expression before dropping my gaze to the floor that is at least thankfully free of partially consumed breakfast.
I hate the way my muscles painfully tense in anticipation of his reaction.
But he surprises me with a bland response.
“Fair enough,” he says neutrally. “We’ll let it go for today. But you’re underfed. No more skipping meals or there will be consequences.”
I nod too fast and the movement makes me lightheaded.
He takes my arm in an unyielding grip, though gentle enough not to hurt. “Come on. The others are waiting.”
Ares steers me into the opulent dining area where the rest of the pack sits around a massive oak table. Its rich mahogany surface gleaming in the morning light streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows. Logan sprawls at the head like he owns the place — which, I suppose, he technically does — absorbed in reading something on his tablet, his golden eyes reflecting the blue glow of the screen.
Poe and Cillian flank him on either side, both focused on their own devices with an intensity that makes me wonder if they’re actually working or just avoiding eye contact. None of them so much as glance up as we enter, though I can feel the weight of their presence like a physical thing pressing against my skin.
Three Alphas practically sweating pheromones and a whipcord-taut beta with an attitude problem.
The knot in my chest loosens slightly as their apparent disinterest continues when I approach. I catch the brief flick of Poe’s gaze as I reach the table, but it’s so quick that I could have imagined it. I can handle being ignored. If anything, I preferthat to the alternative.
Until I realize that there are only four chairs.
The table is long enough to seat at least twelve people comfortably. My mind might have been elsewhere when Ares practically force fed me at this same table, but I definitely remember there being plenty of places to sit.
Ares quirks the smallest smile when I hesitate. His overly large hand at the small of my back presses me forward with enough force to make me stumble.
He catches me easily around the waist, lifting and spinning my body around like it weighs nothing at all. In one disorientating move, he plants himself in the empty chair and settles me across his knees.
I perch as stiffly as I can on his legs. My back arches to keep from resting against his massive chest, but the move forces my weight to shift downward on his lap. He isn’t hard yet, but the soft bulge beneath my thighs is still massive enough that it compels a squeak of surprise from my throat at feeling it.
“There we go. All comfy.” The laughter in his voice is obvious, though I refuse to look back at the shit-eating grin he must be wearing. “What a perfect morning to have the upholstery repaired on those old dining chairs.”
The shame of being treated like a little Omega doll he can toss around makes me see red, but I swallow the surge of annoyance.
“Let’s try something lighter,” he murmurs to himself as he plucks a fruit and yogurt parfait from the display at the center of the table and places it in front of me. “You like candied ginger, right? Ginger is supposed to be good for nausea.”
He doesn’t wait for a response as his long-armed reach brings a selection of food items closer that he thinks might interest me.
The obvious concern for my eating habits brings a burst of unexpected warmth that curls low in my belly. Everyone always says that Alphas are supposed to take care of their Omegas, provide and protect. Concerned primarily, even exclusively, with their Omegas wellbeing. That was the purpose of their designation. But I’d stopped believing that was anything more than Enclave propaganda a long time ago.
Ares holds up a spoonful of yogurt and fruit to my lips, the distance respectful enough that the move doesn’t feel forced. “Try this. I added some pumpkin seeds for texture. The mix of salty and sweet is better than you’d expect.”
I accept the bite, surprised not to feel the nearly constant wave of nausea as I swallow it down. Ares is right, the pumpkin seeds are a nice touch. A swell of hunger rises and I eagerly reach for the spoon. With a chuckle, Ares bats my hand away and scoops up more of the parfait himself. He insists on feeding me several more bites before finally relinquishing the eating utensil.
His purr rumbles gently against my back as he watches me eat. For the first time, the sound is more comfortable than it is alarming.
“Already planning to fatten her up?” Logan’s mocking voice breaks the otherwise companionable silence.
He doesn’t look up from his tablet, but I can’t fight the instinctive impression that he hasn’t missed a single second of my interaction with Ares.
“Why not?” Ares responds, obviously unbothered by the chiding tone. “She might blow away in the wind as she is now.”
Logan snorts. His gaze finally rises from the tablet, taking in the scene of me sitting on Ares’s lap with a derisive expression. “As long as you stop short of us needing to roll her down the hallway.”
Ares slides his hand over the soft curve of my belly, settling there with a blaze of heat. Nostrils flaring, Logan’s gaze falls to where Ares’s hand gently caresses the curve of my stomach. I feel a distant urge to push his hand away, an attempt to break the sudden tension between them, but I’m frozen in place.
Ares’s voice is a low growl. “Just imagine this little belly all round and lush. We finally have an Omega. Don’t you want to keep her all filled up? Whether it’s with food or whatever else she needs?”
Heat floods my cheeks as his meaning registers.
Sex, particularly with an Alpha, remains an abstract concept for me. Slick and knots and mating bites might be familiar terms, but actually facing the reality of what it will really mean to become their Omega is overwhelming.
I already know what it feels like for my body to belong to someone else, and there was absolutely no pleasure in it.
But the fingers that gently curve around my hand to bring the spoon back to my lips are gentle, without specific demand or expectation beyond seeing me fed. His other hand stays cupped around my belly but doesn’t stray lower, implacable but placid.
It’s that gentleness that proves to be my real undoing.
My thighs clench together, an involuntary spasm compelling my hips to grind in a slow circle in Ares’s lap.
He responds immediately. The bulk of his body curving around mine, his body heat wrapping around me.
Yanking me back against his chest, he grinds my hips down hard on his lap. “I know you want me to fill you up. Don’t you, sweetheart?”
A blaze of heat passes over my skin like the muggy bite of a hot summer day. Damp sweat breaks out along my skin as wetness collects between my thighs.
Logan makes no secret of his attention now, his burning stare taking in the display that Ares almost certainly arranged intentionally.
As if sensing my growing suspicion, Ares angles to whisper in my ear. His voice is soft enough not to carry past the two of us.
“Look at how he watches you, princess.” His breath drifts across my brow, cooling the sweat gathered on my brow. “Do you think he might be imagining that yogurt is something different sliding down your throat? I know I am.”
Ares lowers his head close enough that his lips brush the corner of my mouth, almost close enough to be a kiss.
Logan’s growl is pure threat.
“Oh, enough of this,” Poe snaps. He shoves up from the table and stomps across the dining room to a closed door near the hallway. Ripping it open, he produces one of the missing dining chairs and drags it back to the table. He sets it down next to Ares with a loud thump. “Move, Omega.”
I expect Ares to hold me in place when I rise from his lap, but his hands linger without holding me down. He makes a point of scooting close enough to move my half-eaten plates in front of me, though he doesn’t touch me again.
I breathe a sigh of relief when Cillian launches a discussion into the day’s agenda items. Without the weight of their undivided attention, I can truly breathe for the first time since entering the apartments.
I scrape my spoon across the parfait bowl, feigning the act of eating as a cover for studying each of them in turn.
Ares lounges beside me, shoulder close enough that I feel the body heat radiating off his skin, but carefully not making actual contact. His legs spread wide, making no secret of the dark stain of slick I left on the fabric of his pants after sitting in his lap.
I force myself to look away.
With a mixture of relief and annoyance, I realize Poe is pointedly ignoring me, angling himself away to give Cillian’s droning his apparent undivided attention.
Logan keeps his gaze fixed on his tablet, that perpetual frown present on his face. But the death grip he has on the device in his hands gives him away. A few more minutes and the thing is going to shatter into pieces.
I’m affecting them.
The knowledge settles over me with a combination of triumph and unease. Anticipation is a sick feeling at the pit of my stomach and the clenching spasm between my thighs. Eventually, they’re going to make good on this brewing tension. I still haven’t figured out how I’ll handle it when the moment finally comes.
With Alphas, physical arousal is inevitable. It means nothing. They’ve already proven it’s too easy for them to compel my body to respond. But I don’t know how I’ll handle everything else they expect of me. Not with the memory of a monster’s hands haunting my dreams.
Not when my treacherous heart is still stupid enough to believe it deserves something more.
Cillian appears to be the only one of them unbothered by my presence. His gaze has not so much as drifted in my direction since I sat down at the table.
His lack of interest gives me the freedom to study his face without the risk of attracting unwanted attention.
The line of his jaw is sharper than I expect, the muscle tight with tension. His pale coloring makes him look almost unearthly, a sculpture cut from marble more than a flesh and blood human. He lacks the indistinct features typical of a beta, but he also doesn’t possess an Alpha’s stature and hyper-emphasized musculature, despite the boldness of his features.
I’ve seen no one quite like him before, and I can’t decide if I’m more attracted or repelled.
I stare at him long enough that it’s inevitable our gazes will meet.An unrecognizable emotion flashes in his eyes, quick and bright as a lightning strike. Both beautiful and terrifying.
He looks away with a humorless smile. “The last agenda item concerns the Omega presentation gala tonight.”
My heart freezes in my chest.
A gala…tonight?
Of course, I hadn’t been told about any gala.
The parfait I’d enjoyed so much now churns in my stomach. Dancing, small talk, navigating social landmines while the elite of society judge my every move. King Leopold maintains an unruly court full of rowdy Alphas and scheming, social-climbing betas. All of them would be alert to any sign of weakness, more than ready to exploit it.
My eyes narrow at the side of Cillian’s head, but he continues to studiously ignore me. The preparations for a formal gala dinner with the entire court had to have been made days in advance, so the lack of notice to me must be intentional.
Logan sounds as bored as he looks. “What about it?”
Cillian continues. “The king has ordered an official presentation of all the new Omegas before the court with a formal dinner to follow. All our presences are required, obviously.”
Poe groans. “I hate court dinners.”
“Not me,” Ares argues. “Nine times out of ten, a fight breaks out before the dessert course.”
“That’s because you do your best to start one before they even bring out the amuse-fucking-bouche.”
“Fighting is the best palate cleanser there is.”
“Shut up, both of you,” Logan snaps, gesturing for the beta to continue.
Cillian’s gaze flicks to me again, but his tone remains clinically detached as he addresses the prince directly. “A stylist will arrive at three for the Omega’s hair and makeup. The harem closet has been thoroughly mined of anything appropriate, so I assume you’ll want the Omega to wear the dress she arrived in.”
“Fine—” Logan begins.
At the same time as I say, “Absolutely not!”
Their combined gazes turn to me and I fight back a surge of unease at the sudden attention. I fight back the natural urge to cower in the face of so much Alpha antagonism.
Poe rolls his eyes. “That didn’t take long. She’ll be asking for jewelry next.”
I take a steadying breath, reminding myself to stay calm and measured. “I can’t wear the same dress to two court events in a row.”
Logan points a single finger at me, danger in his expression. “Pretty new clothes are a privilege you haven’t earned.”
“Does our spoiled Omega princess want a new dress?” Ares coos as he runs his fingers down the sensitive skin of my bare arm.
Idiot me really thought they’d be smarter than this.
I shift away from him under the pretense of squaring my shoulders for the fight they seem to want. “I’m not being spoiled. Just trying to keep you from embarrassing yourselves.”
Logan clenches his jaw hard enough to make his teeth grind together. “Explain.”
“This is a formal presentation, yes?” I ask.
Cillian’s voice is clipped. “That is what I said.”
I keep my attention focused on Logan despite a sudden urge to throw something at Cillian’s impossibly perfect face. “In case you aren’t familiar, a formal presentation is going to involve me being paraded before the entire court and directly introduced to the king so he can officially state his approval of our mating contract.”
Logan rolls his eyes. “This event is just a formality for pomp and circumstance. My father has already said that no Omegas will be denied, luckily for you. ”
“Pomp and circumstance, exactly.” I repeat the words slowly, as if I’m speaking to a small child. Some of it is guesswork on my part, but I think I’ve managed to piece together the part I’m supposed to play in this from their perspective. “And the whole point of this Omega business is to improve your standing with the king, yes? To prove to him you’re worthy of inheriting the throne. Are you with me so far?”
“I am.” Logan’s eyes narrow at the open condescension in my tone. “But watch yourself, Omega.”
I swallow back a snappy retort. If Logan expects me to stay quiet in the face of his complete idiocy, then he should just kick me out go the palace now and get it over with.
“What do you think it will do to your social standing if all anyone talks about for the next month is how pathetic it is that your Omega only has one dress to wear to court?” I wait a beat, searching their faces for any hint of understanding. “You’ll all be laughingstocks. It may be difficult to convince the king that you’re fit to reign over a court that thinks of you as its fool.”
“As much as I hate to admit it, she isn’t wrong.” Cillian types a few words onto his tablet, frowning in slight consternation. “And no dressmaker worth the effort will be available with so little notice.”
A beat of silence follows before Logan collapses back in his chair with a sound of annoyance. “Fuck. How did you not anticipate this would be a problem?”
Cillian breaks his normally rigid equanimity with a sarcastic retort. “Forgive my lack of insight into the political machinations surrounding formal Omega presentations. It didn’t occur to me that a dress might trigger this much of a crisis.”
“Guess they teach more at the Enclave than how to take a knot without choking on it,” Ares quips because trust him to take no situation entirely seriously. “Or maybe I’m just thinking of the Omega roleplay porno that Poe likes to watch.”
“Fuck you, Ares.” Poe snarls.
Ares laughs. “Anytime, brother. But only if I can be on top.”
They joke and posture as if none of this matters at all.
I was one of the most promising Omegas that the Enclave has ever seen. Top of my class. If any Omega should have been able to find the pack of her dreams, it’s me.
The enormity of it all finally settles over me. I’d escaped a horror, one that I’d compartmentalized to the deepest part of my psyche in order to survive, only to tie myself to a group of immature Alphas with barely a single brain cell between them and enough adolescent hormones to drown us all.
Spoiled children in the bodies of behemoths.
Overgrown fucking babies.
This situation is ridiculous. And so critical to my success that it makes me want to weep as the reality of what I’ve allowed my life to become suddenly crashes over me.
I jerk away from the table, chair scraping against the floor. “I need some air.”
“Sit down.” Logan’s voice cracks like a whip, even if it lacks the compulsive force that would actually prevent me from refusing. He didn’t forget the prohibition on Alpha commands in our contract, which surprises me. “We’re not finished here.”
But my legs are already carrying me toward the door before conscious thought catches up. I hear chairs scraping behind me as I flee, but I don’t look back to see who follows.
They can’t see me breakdown.
I just need space to think, to breathe, to process that the trauma reaction I thought I could delay indefinitely might finally rear its ugly head. The desperation and adrenaline that had propelled me through the last few weeks are now muted by bone deep exhaustion.
They don’t deserve to see me like this.
My obedience might be contractually obligated, but the least they can give me is five minutes to myself.
But the sound of footsteps echoing behind me suggests otherwise.