Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
MAYA
I follow Poe through the winding corridors of the palace, struggling to keep up with his long-legged stride. He doesn’t slow his speed when I fall behind, but glances back before passing through doorways or turning corners to ensure I’m still behind him.
More considerate than I thought him capable of being.
I haven’t forgotten what he did to me, not by a long shot. Every time I hear the mocking drawl of his voice, I remember how it felt to have rough fingers pushed inside me, blunt fingernails scraping at my insides.
I really want to hate him. At least part of me absolutely does.
But I also don’t have any allies here. Logan and Cillian have already established that I mean less to either of them than the dirt at the bottom of their polished shoes, despite the former’s inexplicable decision to choose me for this farce. Ares is honest about his desire to bend me over the nearest hard surface, but that doesn’t mean I can trust him for anything more than a forced orgasm .
Inexplicably, Poe is the first and only one of them to make a legitimate offer of help.
It’s enough to make me want to take a quick glance outside to make sure the seasonal afternoon rain isn’t falling up instead of down.
Because the world must be standing on its fucking head.
I’m also not an idiot. I know Poe is hiding something crucial about what is going on with their pack, some difficulty that somehow makes the royal court even more dangerous than it would be normally.
We had slipped out of the apartment without notice or explanation. Poe didn’t seem keen on letting the others know where we were going. They’d been too deep into a shouting match to notice when we tiptoed along the far wall and out the main door, Poe silently indicating where to step so I could avoid squeaking floorboards.
It made me feel uncomfortably complicit with him. Like we shared something between us that the others couldn’t touch.
Not a good thing. If Logan discovers that Poe is making hidden plans with me, even over something as innocuous as a dress, he will take it very personally. I’ll be out on my ass before I can think of even a lame excuse.
When I follow him up an ornate stairwell lined with House Corellian portraits that my curiosity finally gets the better of me.
“Is this place you’re taking me to some kind of secret?” I ask.
Poe chuckles, the sound more than a little unsettling coming from him. “Not exactly. But let’s keep this between us until after the gala. You want to make the most dramatic impression possible, right?”
I nod slowly, not bothering to hide my suspicion. Making a grand entrance at the gala will help secure Logan’s position as heir to the throne. Becoming the mate of a future king can only benefit me. I’ll take whatever advantage we can get.
Doesn’t mean I trust Poe any more than a hissing cobra.
“I also want to know where we’re rushing off to. All these stairs are killing me.”
“I’d offer to carry you, but I’m sure your answer would be a violent one.”
I grumble a response. Something along the lines that shoving him violently down the very stairs we’re climbing right now would be more than a little satisfying.
Poe actually has the nerve to laugh, the suddenness of the sound seeming to surprise even him. “Feral thing.”
“I assume if you’re just looking for a good place to hide my body after killing me, then you probably wouldn’t have bothered to walk this far.”
He holds a hand to his chest in mock offense. “I’ll admit I’ve threatened to do a lot of things to you, torture mostly, but murder has never been one of them.”
I think back to that night at the rooming house and feel a burst of annoyance when I realize he is correct. “Nice to know you have some lines you won’t cross.”
“Don’t count on that.” He glances back at me, his dark eyes unreadable. “We’re stuck on the same team now. Just because I don’t want to see you fail, it doesn’t mean I like you. ”
His words hang in the air between us, thick with warning. This is a temporary ceasefire, a fragile truce that will last only as long as we both see the benefit of it.
A little banter doesn’t change the fact that he will hurt me all over again if he thinks it’s necessary.
As we continue through the labyrinthine hallways, my mind is a morass of conflicting possibilities. Poe remains an enigma. Not quite an ally, but no longer an entirely antagonistic force, at least for the moment.
For now, I’ll do my best to stay on his good side and see where this unexpected path leads me.
We’re in a quiet wing of the castle, nowhere near the hubbub of the more central areas. I haven’t seen a lingering servant or guard on duty since we entered this wing.
Poe stops at a set of ornate doors, the wood panels carved with delicate flowers and intricate whorls. To my surprise, he hesitates. His hands fist hard around the lever handles, but he doesn’t move to open the doors.
Almost as if he is gathering himself.
“What are you waiting for?” I ask softly.
He turns on me with an aggressive snarl that momentarily transforms his face into something terrifying. I instinctively jump back with a shocked squeak and his expression clears into the now familiar mask of cold neutrality.
“Nothing,” he flatly replies and shoves the doors open. “After you.”
As soon as the space beyond is revealed, I understand why the hallways had been as quiet as a tomb.
White sheets cover the distinct shapes of elaborate furniture. Dust motes float through air that smells stale, as if no one else has breathed it for years.
The only thing uncovered in the entire room is a large portrait depicting a beautiful woman, bearing an elaborate crown of diamonds atop a riot of caramel-colored curls. A pair of imperious golden eyes are narrowed in regal contemplation. The painting is so detailed that she appears to be looking down her nose right at me.
Eyes that are achingly familiar.
This is the last Omega queen of Melilla.
Also known as Prince Logan’s mother.
Correction — Prince Logan’s dead mother.
“This is the queen’s chambers,” I gasp.
Poe hustles me inside and shuts the door behind us with a low click. “Obviously.”
I pitch my voice to a whisper, more out of reverence than because I fear being overheard. “Are we supposed to be in here?”
“Probably not,” he says with a shrug. “But there aren’t any specific rules against it I know of, so we’ll worry about begging for forgiveness later.”
Poe has never struck me as the rebellious type. If anything, he is more like Logan’s personal attack dog. Borderline rabid and loyal only to his owner.
I decide not to question the apparent change in him.
“What exactly are we doing here?”
Poe strides through the sitting area, leaving no question he knows exactly where he’s going as I follow him into the boudoir. “The king ordered these rooms closed on the day she died and he promised to never allow them to be used again, even if he remarried. Everything is pretty much how she left it.”
“Okay?”
“Everything,” he repeats. “Including this…”
He throws open the doors of a walk-in closet with a flourish, posing with his arms out like a magician who just pulled a rabbit out of his hat.
I can’t blame him. He has managed to produce exactly what we need out of thin air.
The closet is full to bursting. A decade’s worth of high fashion fit for a queen in an array of styles, fabrics and colors, all perfectly maintained as if waiting for their moment to shine once again.
Queen Midale was always known for her fashion sense and exquisite style. She graced the covers of fashion magazines for years, inspiring copycat versions of her wardrobe from courtiers to the poorest of the city’s denizens.
Showing up to the gala in one of her old gowns carries the risk of being seen as classless. But if we play the moment right, turn it into homage, Pack Logan will have the attention of the entire court. People would probably spend the entire night unable to talk about anything else.
Poe’s expression is unreadable as he stares at the closet full of gowns. “Think you can make something here work?”
I can’t resist the urge to reach out and touch them, cool satin and silk running through my fingers like water from a fountain. Every little girl might not dream of drowning in a neck-deep pile of taffeta and lace, but I was about to fulfill a closely held childhood fantasy. If I didn’t dislike Poe so much, I might be tempted to thank him.
“Oh, yes.”
P oe doesn’t leave the room as I try on the gowns. The look he gives me when I suggest he turn his back while I’m changing is mocking enough that I don’t bother making the request more than once. I decide to put issues of modesty aside before he changes his mind about helping me. At least, the flashes of skin he gets are quick and nothing he hasn’t seen before.
He keeps his hands to himself, thankfully. Though the weight of his gaze is almost as heavy as a physical touch. He studies me with a single-minded focus as I slip on each dress, dismissing most of them before I’ve even done up all the snaps and buttons, demanding I try this or that one next.
Though I could do without his critical commentary.
“Yes, purple and yellow are complementary colors. But this combination makes you look like a ragged patch of wildflowers that needs to be ripped out of the palace garden. Move on to the next one.”
“You have remarkably similar proportions to the queen, aside from those wide birthing hips. If Ares keeps feeding you like a pig being prepared for slaughter, you might actually get the tits necessary for a Queen Anne neckline one day. Until then, this looks like you’re hoping someone else will crawl into the front of that dress to fill it out for you. Take it off, now.”
“If you touch one more dress in any shade of yellow or orange, Omega, I’m making you walk back to the harem naked as the day you were fucking born.”
“You’re being ridiculously picky,” I bite out after the fifteenth dress he vetoes. Or is it the sixteenth? I’ve lost count at this point. “Since when are you the fashion police?”
Poe shrugs. “I’m better at this than you are.”
“I find that literally impossible to believe.”
His lip curls derisively. “You got lucky with that gold number at the welcome ceremony. If you’d stuck around much longer, someone would have noticed your dress was identical to a design Lady Farrow had commissioned last year but never wore because the color didn’t suit her. A future queen doesn’t wear someone else’s castoffs.”
I hate that I almost committed a social faux pas without realizing it. Made worse by the fact that Poe, of all people, is the one pointing it out.
Annoyed, I flick the nearest bolt of fabric so it swings on the hanger. “And what do you call what we’re doing here?”
“These are not castoffs.” He reaches for the dress I knocked askew and straightens it on the hanger. “These are relics.”
I’m about to suggest we reconsider one of the discarded gowns when Poe goes still. His gaze fixes on something in the depths of the closet. The sudden intensity of his focus makes me nervous. Before I can ask what’s wrong, he lunges forward and yanks a dress off its hanger with enough force that I worry he’ll tear the fabric.
“Try on this one.” He shoves the silvery-blue gown into my arms. The material looks like liquid moonlight and feels particularly soft against my skin.
“This was Queen Midale’s mating ceremony dress,” he explains, eyeing me critically as I slip the opening over my hips. I’ve been standing here in my underwear for long enough that I’m no longer bothered by modesty. “She wore it the night she and Leopold signed the contract and sealed their match over thirty years ago.”
My hands tremble as I slip the gown over my head. The silk settles against my skin with a whisper, perfectly fitted, as if it were made for me. When I look up, Poe’s expression stops me cold. His face has gone blank, but his eyes burn with an emotion I can’t name.
“The color...suits you. This is the one, I think.” He swallows hard and pushes a fringe of dark hair off his forehead. The nervous gesture is uncharacteristic of him. “You wear it as well as she did.”
“How do you know?” I ask.
He blinks, whatever vision is in his mind clearing as he focuses on my face. “How do I know what?”
“How do you know how well Queen Midale wore this gown? That mating ceremony happened years before you were even born,” I press, despite the mounting storm in his expression. “The Enclave had copies of old fashion magazines going back decades and I’ve never seen this gown before.”
“The queen re-wore her old gowns privately or at boudoir gatherings,” he explains, voice clipped. His gaze still wanders over the dress, lingering where it clings to the curves of my hips. “Especially if they were commissioned for sentimental occasions.”
There’s anger in his voice, though I can’t understand why. The way he’s looking at me now reminds me of how he watched me during that first confrontation at the rooming house — like I’m a puzzle he can’t solve, one that makes him furious by its very existence.
“Did you know her personally?” I ask softly. “The queen, I mean?”
The question hangs in the air between us, heavy with unspoken weight.
“I’ve served in the royal guard since I was twelve years old. Of course, I fucking knew her personally.”
I recognize the look in his eyes. Or at least, I think I do. That subtle flinch he tries to hide is the same one I’d see when some unlucky Enclave Omega returned from contract interviews with certain Alphas, the type who expected more than we wanted to offer.
A reckless feeling swells at the center of my chest, one that makes me want to dive into murky water without checking if it’s deep enough to be safe.
“But there was more to it than that,” I softly declare, because we both know it isn’t a question.
He doesn’t blink, a slight tilt to his head as he studies me. “There was.”
“For how long?”
His head shifts to the opposite side, watchful. “From the very beginning, until the day she died.”
The implication of it is…horrifying. Without what happened to me over this past year, it would be the most horrifying violation I could imagine.
Inscrutable eyes, so dark they’re nearly black, do not so much as blink.
It colors my perspective of him in a way that turns black-and-white into technicolor. The world has tilted on its axis and I no longer have steady ground underneath me.
What did the queen do to him?
“Look at all those questions burning in your eyes,” he purrs, voice low and dangerous. “It would be so much easier if I just showed you.”
I don’t have time to process what Poe means before he closes the distance between us. His hand wraps around the back of my neck, fingers tangling in my hair, as he pulls me forward.
He glares down at me from inches away. Cold anger swirls in those dark depths, chilling me down to the bone. He studies my face for a full minute in silence, dark gaze burning into me.
His fingers tighten painfully at the base of my skull, daring me to make an attempt at fighting him off. I recognize the trick for what it is. If I shove him away, then he’ll have all the excuse he needs to really make this hurt.
There isn’t time to question his sudden flip from calm to aggressive. Every Alpha is volatile, but Poe walks that fine line more precariously than most of them. He is basically a walking stick of dynamite, just waiting for a spark to set off the explosion.
My eyes lower in automatic submission. I stay as still as possible in his arms, barely breathing as I stare at the place where his heart beats, studying the rise and fall of his chest. I let out in involuntary shiver and his arms tighten around me, the heat of his body enveloping me like a furnace.
We stay locked in this silent embrace until I can’t stand it anymore. When our gazes meet again, I realize he’d been waiting for me to do just that. In the space between one of my stuttering breaths and another, he strikes.
The kiss is brutal, nothing like the careful exploration I’d imagined my first kiss would be. It’s all-consuming fire and desperate need, his lips crushing against mine with an intensity that makes my knees weak. My eyes squeeze shut because I can’t bear one more second of the intensity in that obsidian gaze as he remorselessly claims my mouth.
His other arm bands around my waist like an iron bar, trapping me against his chest, the heat of him searing through my clothes until I can barely tell where I end and he begins. My heart thunders against my ribs, matching the wild rhythm I can feel beneath his skin, even as I remain frozen in place.
Poe doesn’t appear fazed by my complete lack of response. He forces my lips to part with the hard press of his own. I taste a metallic shock on my tongue as he nips at my lower lip hard enough to draw blood.
I can’t stop a sound of pain and he murmurs in response, the soothing tone in complete contrast to the harshness of the kiss he forces on me.
The shift in his demeanor is gradual, but unmistakable. His bruising grip on me morphs into an actual embrace, like one between true lovers. The lips that move against mine suddenly seem softer and more plush than should be possible.
Aggression slowly leaks out of him as his tongue traces the corner of my mouth before pushing its way inside. Shocks of electricity flow like blood through my veins, until my whole body feels lit up from the inside. He uses his grip on my hair to tilt my head back, using this new angle to deepen our kiss.
A kiss that transforms into something gentle…almost teasing.
A kiss I might actually enjoy under different circumstances.
That realization finally makes me try to push him away. My hands flatten against his chest, the scent of driftwood and sea salt like poison on my tongue as I shove at him.
A grunt of dark amusement and a tightening of his vice-like grip is Poe’s only response. He is as immovable as stone as he peppers close-mouthed kisses at the corner of my mouth before thrusting his tongue down my throat hard enough I might actually be at risk of swallowing it.
We briefly scuffle, my nails scraping uselessly against the black fabric of his uniform as Poe deepens the kiss, pressing harder. More insistent. My utterly useless protests grow more frantic, legs kicking out, shoulders twisting, but his body could be steel for all the good it does me. His scent crashes over me like an ocean wave, overwhelming my senses until I can barely think straight.
When I eventually collapse against him, exhausted by the brief fight, he finally relents.
Breaking the kiss, Poe pulls back enough to see my face without releasing his hold on me.
When he finally speaks, the words are soft enough that I have to strain to hear them.
“The first kiss always came as a surprise. No matter how many times it happened, I never let myself come to expect it. Looking back, I think it’s always easiest to lie to yourself when you know facing the truth won’t change a damn thing.”
Poe is the oldest member of the pack, though you wouldn’t know it to look at him, an adolescent when Logan was born .
I can imagine it as vividly as watching a scene play out in front of me. Queen Midale approaching the youngest and most inexperienced member of the guard once they were alone, pressing herself against him before he had time to react.
“Why didn’t you…” I let myself trail off, not wanting to put into words what sounds too much like blame.
An accusation of complicity.
“Run? Fight? Tell?” He drawls out each word like he is savoring the taste of them. “Is that what you meant to ask?”
“Yes,” I whisper.
He acknowledges my honesty with a humorless smile. “I was stronger and bigger than her from the beginning, even given my age when it started. The queen was still an Omega, after all. But I couldn’t risk hurting her, even accidentally, so I didn’t have a choice about fighting her off. I was as helpless against her as you are now against me, just for different reasons.”
I want to tell him it isn’t the same, or doesn’t have to be. But I stay silent, unsure what is more likely to set him off, reproach or sympathy. The look in his eye is too far away, as if he isn’t seeing the entirety of reality as it is in the here and now. Any word or gesture from me could be the trigger that shoves him completely back into the trauma of his past.
I’m not sure I would survive it if that happens.
His fingers coast along the cinched waist of Midale’s gown, the tickling sensation enough to make me shudder.
“She would always find moments after big events, when the king was otherwise occupied. Most of my memories are of the queen in her finest gowns. After she kissed me, she would pull up these decadent skirts and command me to my knees.” He strokes his hand down my cheek, chasing the path of a single tear. He gathers that wetness on the tip of his finger and licks it clean. “If I made her ask twice, she would find a way to punish me for it.”
I sink to my knees without waiting for a command, my hands instinctively clutching at his hips to maintain my balance.
His eyes briefly widen in surprise before he catches himself. “What the fuck are you doing?”
My vision blurs with unshed tears as I force myself to meet his gaze, hoping my expression looks more determined than frightened.
I wish I could look at him and go back to only feeling hate and fear. Even as I feel disgust for the man he became, my heart aches for the little abused boy unable to protect himself. Being an Alpha must have only made the shame of what happened to him worse.
Because he could have fought. He was more than physically capable of defending himself.
But he didn’t.
A choice that likely torments him to this day.
Poe may not have intended for me to become a cypher of the dead queen, but being in her old apartments has obviously triggered the worst sort of walk down memory lane.
If I can turn this terrible thing into something good, then maybe we can both make it out of this room with some of our dignity still intact.
A breath catches in my throat, but I force out the words. “Tell me what the queen would do next. ”
His surprise morphs into something darker, a watchfulness heavy with challenge.
“Take me out,” he commands.
I’m surprised that my hands don’t tremble as I reach for the fly of his pants. Or maybe my entire body is shaking, so my hands seem fairly steady by comparison.
His dick is already hard enough that I have trouble finding give in the fabric to undo the buttons. He shifts his hips slightly when I pull at his waistband, but provides no other help.
When the hard thickness of him is fully revealed, my next breath rushes out of me in an involuntary exhale. All Alphas are huge and Poe is no exception. But he is also impressively formed. Long, straight and wide. Velvet skin wrapped in steel, almost as thick at the tip as he is at the base, without a single flaw.
Without waiting to be told, my fingers brush along the thick shaft. The skin is even softer than I imagined. As I watch, a single drop of clear fluid beads at the tip.
Poe lets out a low groan. The sound skitters down my spine like a physical caress.
When I risk a glance at his face, a dark and unblinking gaze meets mine. Some emotion flares in the depths of his eyes, strong as an approaching thunderstorm. On anyone else, it would look like a plea. Or a prayer.
A surge of mental strength washes over me.
I have the ridiculous thought that this might be the first time anyone has ever done this for him willingly. Even if the queen condescended to kneel for him, she still held all the power. The act remained one of force.
My nerves have officially taken a back seat to a sense of determination. I can do this. I can beat these Alphas at the stupid games they play.
My voice is barely recognizable to me when I speak. It’s strong, surer than I’ve ever been, even in my own head. “Command me, just like she would do to you.”
It’s a command of its own, but if Poe even notices, he doesn’t chastise me for it.
He sighs heavily, like he is the one taking on some sort of significant burden rather than me. “Tell me how much you want to give me your mouth.”
The words taste like brimstone and ash on my tongue, even though my belly clenches tight as I say them. “I want to suck you.”
“Filthy little thing.” His hand cradles the back of my skull, the weight of it heavy even though he doesn’t use any pressure. “Get on with it, then. Use that pretty pink tongue.”
My eyes squeeze shut as I poke out the tip of my tongue with a tentative lick. This obviously isn’t my first blowjob, forced or otherwise, but I screw up my face in concentration like it’s the very first time. I get the impression that the virginal reluctance act is what he needs from me. Poe couldn’t have been an oral sex expert when the queen compelled him to his knees, so in this moment, neither am I.
His thighs tense under my hands as I trace my tongue up and down the side of his shaft. He tangles my hair around his fingers. I sense his tension as he resists the urge to pull my head harder against him. I’m purposefully making him wait. Teasing him.
The weight of his hand on my head grows noticeably heavier. His warning of growl is more of impatience than pleasure. I know Poe is moments away from snapping away my fragile thread of control over him.
The taste of him is explosive on my tongue as the tip of him pops past the ring of my mouth. I sink down as far as I can without gagging and trace the hard nodule of his growing knot at the base of him.
“Fuck, just like that,” he croons. The fingers on my head turn gentle, brushing through the strands of my hair in a petting movement. “Use your tongue right there. You’re taking me so deep. Do you like pleasing me?” I murmur a positive response that hums through his flesh. He groans and surges his hips, making him hit the back of my throat in a way that should be painful, but isn’t. “Such a good little whore for me. Take it all.”
I’m deep underwater, his scent surrounding me on all sides until I drown it.
I instinctively chase his praise, altering my rhythm and speed in response to his sounds of pleasure. My mouth conforms to the shape of him, like my flesh and his were made to perfectly fit together. I want to explore even further, find all the places where the taste of sea salt and ocean musk is strongest.
With a mix of fascination and disgust, I recognize how much I want to please him. It’s a dangerous desire, especially with an Alpha. They aren’t capable of handling that sort of power over someone else gently.
But maybe I don’t want gentle. The thought of following that thread with him sends tingles of sensation right between my thighs. My knees shift under me in response to the growing ache.
Poe notices the change in me immediately. Teasing fingers trace the wrinkled frown on my brow, guiding my face back enough that I’m forced to meet his amused gaze.
His low voice practically drips with filth. “You think I don’t see you grinding on the floor? Nasty girl. I bet I’ll find you dripping if I shove my hand between your legs.” He chuckles as I force him deeper, unable to stop the slow circle of my hips, seeking friction where there is none. “Maybe if you do a good enough job, I’ll let you come next time you suck me off. Only good girls get to come. Are you going to be good for me?”
He laughs outright at my frantic nod. I’m too worked up for any of the shame I might normally feel. His hips thrust forward more steadily, a silent demand for friction.
Poe anchors his free hand at the back of my neck, his thumb sweeping over the jumping pulse there. “Yeah, you’ll be good for me, because I’m not giving you a fucking choice.”
The shock of pleasure I feel at his words nearly rocks me back on my heels.
He roughly cups my flushed cheeks before I can pull further away, guiding the movement of each bob and thrust. I abandon any pretense of coyness in the interest of not choking on him. Sloppy drool gathers in the coiled hairs springing from his base, coating my chin and cheeks until my face is a mess.
Poe makes wrecked noises as he entirely takes control, alternating words of praise with nonsensical noises of pleasure.
“Fuck, your mouth is so hot and wet. I feel you choking me down like the good little slut you are. I’m going to fill you up, baby. You’re going to swallow me all the way down. You’ll taste me on your tongue for days.”
This is madness. Some distant part of me still wants to refuse to submit on principle, despite my enjoyment of this, but it grows smaller and quieter with each manic thrust of his hips. His scent might as well be life-saving oxygen as I breathe him in. I need it to survive.
He surges into my mouth, growing impossibly larger. My remaining instinct for survival has my hands cupped around his swelling knot before he can force even that down my throat and cut off my air completely.
I swallow him down as he finishes down my throat, one pulse after another, until cum dribbles out of the corners of my mouth and I finally have to shuffle back to avoid staining the dress.
He holds my head still before the tip of him completely escapes my mouth, not giving me the choice whether to spit or swallow the mouthful of salty ejaculate on my tongue. For the moment, I relish not being given the choice.
“Good girl,” he groans, words washing over me like a tidal wave. “Perfect little Omega.”
The praise makes me feel invincible, like I could move mountains if he kept using that tone with me. My treacherous heart beats too fast, legs quivering as I push slowly to my feet.
The silk of Queen Midale’s dress rustles between us as he pulls back just far enough to study my face. His eyes are fever bright, pupils blown wide and pitch black.
He surprises me by kissing me again. The swipe of his tongue across my stained lips quick enough that I don’t have a chance to respond.
“She would always kiss me after. It tasted like sweet cream that had just turned. Curdled and sour. I haven’t been able to stomach milk for years.” The sharp edge of his teeth scrape against the too sensitive skin of my lips, just this side of biting. “But you, you taste like fucking heaven.”
I lick my lips, the move instinctive. He growls in response. Heat rises between us as he surveys me, lingering on the gown’s detailing. His nostrils flare with each inhale, and I wonder if he can smell the slick flooding my panties.
Poe shifts closer, expression warmer than I’ve ever seen it. “This gown fits like it was made for you, doesn’t even need to be altered.” His hand grazes the cinching at my waist, a dreamy quality in his voice. “You’re so small, just like she was.”
For a frantic moment, I wonder if he’ll insist on having more from me. I know I’ll eventually have to fuck them all, but I don’t want my first time to be like this. Not with the memory of another Omega twisting it into something tainted. I have to find some way to break the spell we’ve cast on each other.
The question bubbles to the surface of my brain, fizzing like an itch I just have to scratch. It’s the one I’ve wanted to ask since he first shared his shameful secret.
“Did you love her?”
Poe’s hands drop from me faster than if I’d burned him. His eyes are flat, like a storm rolling in on a dark horizon. He looks a decade older in the space of a heartbeat.
I almost step back to close the distance he puts between us. My next breath is more of a swallow, tasting the lingering salty musky of him on my tongue .
What the hell was I thinking? I should have known this was the question that would push him too far.
Too many emotions swirl together in his eyes. Want, pain, rage, all twisting together like a writhing nest of venomous snakes.
He fights for control, expression hardening into the typical Alpha mask. The transition is quick. Easy. The innate reaction to protect himself so ingrained that it might as well be second nature.
No matter how much I might want there to be something more underneath that dangerous facade, I have to remind myself of the truth.
That innocent little boy he used to be died a long time ago.
“If I did, it was only as much as I hated her,” he finally bites out. “You might want to remember that before inviting any more comparisons.”
He stalks out of the room, slamming the door hard enough behind me I jump in reaction.
I force myself to ignore the surge of guilt threatening to rise up in me. Regardless of his help here, Poe isn’t my friend, I don’t have the luxury of softer feelings.
A queen might be the most powerful piece on the chessboard, but she also has the biggest target on her back.