Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
MAYA
I clutch the dress bag to my chest like a shield as I walk back to the harem. Poe hadn’t given me any instructions before he stormed away, but it only makes sense that I return there to get ready for the gala.
Physically holding onto something is all that keeps me anchored to myself as I walk back alone through the palace hallways. If I pass anyone, I have no memory of them. I won’t be able to repeat whatever path I take back to the harem. My body is officially in auto-piloting mode while my brain takes a much-needed, and unfortunately temporary, vacation from reality.
All I can picture is the expression on Poe’s face as he came. Enraptured, with no hint of the normal animosity usually oozing from every pore. Dark eyes, normally watchful and suspicious, filled with genuine emotion, like the sun finally breaking through clouds after a storm. Something light hides behind all that darkness. For a moment, I could almost imagine what sort of Alpha he would have made without that history of trauma further exacerbated by Logan’s toxic influence.
Strong, but vulnerable. Obsessive in his caring. An Alpha who would stab his own heart before hurting the Omega he loved.
Even squeezing my eyes shut and forcing myself to think about literally anything else is no help. A slight bruise on my forehead from colliding with a wall is all I get for my efforts to suppress the memory.
I focus on the gown, still warm from my body even through the nylon and mesh of the dress bag. Body heat means I’m still alive. My heart is still beating. I survived another encounter with Poe where, by the end, he seemed torn between warring desires to either fuck me into the ground or bury me there.
Perkins’s keen attention lands on me the moment the harem guard closes the doors behind me. Her eyes narrow in contemplation as she surveys me, mouth twisting with concern.
She shuffles up and wraps a motherly arm around my shoulders. I don’t even realize how weak my knees have become until the bulk of her body takes some of my weight.
“You look a bit worse for the wear, dear.”
Even to my own ears, my voice sounds mechanical as I reply, “I’m fine, thank you.”
“You certainly are not. There just isn’t a damn thing either of us can do about it.” Her gentle hand cups my elbow, guiding me forward. “I’ve already received marching orders from that damn beta. The dressing room is all prepared for you, and I’ll send someone to assist with your hair and makeup. Apparently, no detail is to be overlooked in your preparation for the gala and we have precious little time.”
I let her lead me away because there is no use in fighting. I’ll need what little strength I have left for tonight.
The dressing room assault is a complete assault on the senses. Shiny mirrors line both walls above marble countertops. Dozens of bright bulb lights circle each individual mirror, practically blinding me until my eyes adjust. There are at least a dozen rotating salon chairs lined up on either side, practically enough for every beta in the harem to be in here at the same time. For now, the room is empty.
Perkins gently guides me to a chair and patiently undoes my death-grip on the dress bag before taking it from me. She hangs the dress on a nearby rack without removing it from the bag and hustles out with an assurance that “someone will be along shortly” tossed over her shoulder.
I avoid my reflection in the mirror, eyes darting around the room for a safe place to land before settling on the clenched fingers curled in my lap. If I get one good look at what I know is a haunted expression on my face, I might just break down entirely.
Except now there isn’t any distraction from what’s inside of my head.
Poe.
Fucking Poe should have been the easiest of them to resist. He isn’t a wolf in golden retriever’s clothing like Ares. Or my unwilling, but still frustratingly compelling, scent match like Logan. He doesn’t have Cillian’s unearthly beauty.
Poe is the one who shoved his fingers so far inside me he could play my cervix like a finger-puppet.
I should hate him.
I do hate him.
And I hate how connected I feel to that sad, lost little boy he used to be…
The door swings open, crashing with enough force to rattle the mirrors mounted on the walls.
Saffron strides in with the relative speed and impact of a wildfire. “Well, look who it is.”
There’s embarrassment and then there is whatever horrible thing I feel as the flame-haired Omega hefts a bag almost as large as she is onto the counter. I want to dissolve into a puddle on the floor and absorb into the tile.
Saffron is already dressed and ready for the gala, with not so much as a single hair out of place. Her gown is blazing red, a nearly perfect match for the hair cascading over her shoulders in delicate ringlets. Her lips are also painted red, but a darker shade reminiscent of black cherries. The color scheme should be too much, enough to make her look like an overgrown crab. But the end result is alluring while remaining graceful.
Thanks for the help,” she scoffs, brushing off her hands. “That thing weighs about forty pounds.”
I force words out through the sudden stricture in my throat. “What are you doing here?”
“Charming as always, I see.” She rolls her eyes. “I’m here to save you from yourself, apparently. Not that I expect a thank you, or anything.”
“I don’t need your help.” The words come out sharper than intended, my nerves still raw from everything with Poe .
“Oh honey.” Saffron’s perfectly manicured hands unzip her massive bag. “You absolutely do.”
One by one, she lines up enough cosmetics on the counter to turn an entire army into pretty painted ladies. Brushes of every size, palettes in rich jewel tones, and bottles that sparkle with promises of perfection. The methodical way she arranges everything speaks of years of practice.
Physical presentation had been a required class at the Enclave. I’d passed with the highest marks, just like I did in everything else.
“I can do this myself,” I insist, reaching for an eyeshadow palette.
Saffron slaps my hand with a foundation brush hard enough to sting. “Not quickly enough. And I promise you’re not better at this than I am. No one is.”
I glare back at her in the mirror, studying in her face. Damn it all, but her own makeup application is basically flawless.“You don’t even like me. How do I know you won’t mess up my face on purpose?”
She actually looks offended. “And why would I do that?”
“Huh, I don’t know. Maybe because you’ve been a grade-A bitch from the moment we met.”
“Oh, that was just me getting in your head.” She waves that concern away like the last few days are already ancient history. “We’re not in competition with each other anymore, so now it’s all good.”
“What do you mean we’re not?—”
Saffron hooks one finger on the collar of her gown to tug it aside. There, stark against her pale skin, is a claiming bite, evidence of the newly forged bond between her and an Alpha. The mark is still the pink of new skin, but the edges have already started to heal into delicate silver scars.
“Prince Nikolai and his pack.” A genuine smile lights up her face. “My heat was triggered almost as soon as I met him, so I never even left the palace after the interviews. It’s been pretty amazing, actually. The announcement will be made at the gala tonight.”
I can’t tear my eyes away from the mark. This is the first one I’ve seen live and up close. “Can you hear his thoughts?”
“Not at all,” she laughs. “But I do get impressions. Emotions, mostly.”
“Oh.” I finally meet her gaze as she adjusts the collar of her gown to cover the bite. “Congratulations.”
“Thank you,” she replies pertly. “Now, let’s get this done.”
Faster than I want to admit is possible, she puts a rosy glow back in my sunken cheeks and brightens my haunted eyes.
Fishing in the bag, she pulls out a large-barreled curling iron. “Does your pack like your hair better up or down?”
“I have no idea.”
She gapes at me in the mirror. “They didn’t give you a list of their preferences?”
My expression gives me away. A normal mating contract negotiation would have included a discussion of personal preferences: clothing and style, among them. Some Alphas want their Omegas stereotypical, all sundresses and hair done in beachy waves with television host makeup. Others would wrap their Omegas up in a shroud if they could so no other man ever gets the chance at so much as a peek. It was a way to show the Omega how her Alphas expected her to be viewed by the world, which was ultimately just a reflection of how they viewed her.
Pack Logan made sure I knew exactly which sexual favors they expected of me, down to the nittiest and grittiest detail. But hey had never once expressed even passing interest in the face I showed the world, unless it might reflect badly back on them.
Because they don’t particularly care about me at all.
“No,” I finally say. “They didn’t give me any preferences.”
Saffron clears her throat as she plugs in the curling iron. “We’ll split the difference, if that’s okay with you.”
I nod, keeping my gaze fixed on my own grim expression. “Fine.”
Her gaze passes over the skin revealed by the simple dress I’m wearing, obviously noting the complete lack of claiming marks. “How have things been for you with Pack Logan?”
“Fine.”
“Really? I’ve heard…things. Everyone in the palace talks, I hope you know that.”
I meet her gaze in the mirror with narrowed eyes. “You really don’t have to do this. We aren’t friends.”
“We could be.” Saffron rolls her eyes when I scoff. “Have you really never seen mated Omegas together before? I don’t know who you think is going to understand any better what you’re dealing with than one of us. Unless you’d rather go chat with some of the harem betas.” A note of disgust enters her voice and I get the impression she is speaking from personal experience. “I promise those bitches would claw your eyes out if they thought getting rid of you would let them take your place.” She grabs a piece of my hair hard enough to make me wince and she murmurs an apology. “Most of them think being Omega just involves a bunch of coddling and fancy jewelry. They have no idea what it’s really like for us.”
I watch as she coils a strand of my hair and a perfect curl bounces down my chest. “And what is it we know that they don’t?”
“That we play the cards we’re dealt, just like everybody else. Pack Nikolai has a reputation for being calm and rational. Their scents are nice enough, and I know they won’t hurt me.” She shrugs off this revelation of emotional detachment from the mates who just marked her as if it isn’t devastating in its implication. This sort of talk would have gotten us stripped naked and publicly whipped at the Enclave. “Sure, I could have waited around for the pack that would set my world on fire, but I’d have probably ended up claimed against my will or slaving for the Enclave to pay my debt like so many of our dusty, old instructors. I chose the best of the available options and I refuse to feel even a shred of guilt about it.”
“You really don’t think that perfect pack is out there waiting for you?”
“I think perfection is a lie that the Enclave sold us to keep us under control.” Saffron sets down the curling iron and reaches for a handful of bobby pins. Her fingers work so fast that it’s hard to keep track of them as she fastens some curls up in a fancy half-updo. “But we’re the ones getting rarer and rarer. We are the perfection and we have the DNA to prove it.” Picking up a vibrant curl, she shakes it in front of my face. “Your hair is fucking purple. That’s pretty damn unique. These Alphas might tell themselves they’re the ones who interviewed us. But, let’s be honest. If you walked away from them right now, Pack Logan will never find another Omega just like you. Meanwhile, Melilla is basically drowning in spoiled princes.”
I swallow past the sudden lump in my throat. “That’s a long way of saying suck it up, buttercup.”
“Then you haven’t been listening,” she deadpans. “Think of King Leopold and the old queen.”
The royal love story is a popular fairytale at the Enclave, told to us several times with some variation depending on the instructor relaying it. The core of it is always the same, but just how romantic of a story it is depends entirely on your perspective.
Everyone knows that before Leopold became the great unifier of Melilla, he was the regent of a tiny city-state in the north. He coveted a beautiful Omega from across the sea who had refused his offer of marriage. Leopold gathered an army and waged the Restoration War for years until he had conquered or destroyed everyone who dared stand between them.
The secret part of the story, that only the bravest of our instructors would whisper in our ears, is that Midale had refused every suitor when they could not promise her the world. She was the true instigator of the greatest war in recent history.
Leopold had wanted her, but she demanded a crown. So he burned down the world and made her queen of what rose from the ashes .
Saffron’s reflection in the mirror smirks at me as I realize the point she is trying to make.
Pack Logan controls me, and we have a signed contract to prove it. But that isn’t the way it has to be. There are methods I could use to take back some of that control, manipulate their Alpha biology against them to get what I need.
Midale’s ruthlessness changed the world, and she didn’t even need to lift a finger.
Saffron is the one who finally says it out loud.
“We have power. They just don’t want us to know it, because it’s the most dangerous power there is.”
L ogan, Ares, and Poe linger outside the apartment, obviously waiting for my arrival. Even from the other end of the hallway, I sense their impatient annoyance. Saffron had insisted that my hair needed a collection of crystal-studded hairpins arranged in the shape of a tiara across the crown of my head to match my royal theme. Arranging the pins had taken an extra twenty minutes that we didn’t have, but I agreed it would be worth it to keep the Alphas waiting.
I pause at the end of the hallway, taking in the three Alphas before they’ve noticed my approach because they face away from me.
Ares is half-collapsed against the wall in obvious boredom. Poe tosses a bare blade into the air and somehow catches it without cutting himself before throwing it into the air again. Even from a hundred yards away, I see the tension in Logan’s shoulders as he checks his watch for what must be the hundredth time.
“This is ridiculous.” Logan’s voice echoes off the marble floors and oak-paneled walls. “How long does it take to put on a dress and slap on some makeup?”
Poe balances his blade on the tip of one finger. “We have an Omega now. Waiting on a primping princess just comes with the territory.”
“If she’s not here in two fucking minutes—“ Logan’s threat dies as his shoulders tense in sudden awareness.
He turns and spots me, nostrils flaring as he deeply inhales.
I put a slight swing in my step to make the gown shift alluringly around my hips. Logan’s gaze immediately tracks over my body, doing a slow scan from my shoulders to my toes with an unreadable expression on his face.
I take my time walking toward them, letting the silk of Queen Midale’s gown whisper against the floor. The silvery-blue fabric catches the light with each step, making it appear as if I’m floating on starlight. Saffron’s expert styling has transformed my hair into an elegant cascade of curls that are pulled half-up to frame my face, with tiny crystals woven throughout that match the dress’s delicate beading.
Logan’s golden eyes widen, his mouth slightly parted. For once, that predatory gaze holds something besides cold calculation. Beside him, Ares lets out a low whistle while Poe’s dark eyes gleam with the satisfaction of a well-kept secret finally revealed.
Ares is the first to break the silence. “Is that one of the queen’s gowns?”
“It is,” Poe replies easily, as if he didn’t just pick at his own scars to make this happen. “Figured this might be a little better than the servant’s sack she was wearing before.”
This might be the first time I’ve ever seen Logan entirely speechless. A muscle ticks in his jaw as he watches me approach.
“You’re late,” he finally manages, but the words lack their usual bite.
I pitch my voice to a low purr as I come to stand beside him and deliberately bow my head. “My apologies, Alpha. I wanted to ensure I looked as good as possible for you.”
My neck aches from the effort of maintaining the submissive pose before an Alpha who doesn’t deserve even an ounce of respect. I just have to hope that Logan doesn’t immediately see through my act.
His scent spikes with a sharp tang of surprise as Logan makes a gruff sound of acknowledgement.
A single finger traces the curve of my cheek, before nudging my face until I have to look him in the eye. His hand strokes down my throat, palm resting on the pulse beating steadily under that fragile expanse of skin. For a moment, I wonder if that hand will squeeze down and choke the life out of me as a punishment for making them wait.
“This is a queen’s dress,” he muses as his thumb drifts across the sharp line of my collarbone. “A queen is never late. Everyone else is just early.”
“You aren’t upset that I’m wearing your mother’s dress?”
His gaze passes over me again, making my skin tingle with awareness in all the places his attention lingers. “Why would I be? It’s a brilliant move if we want the king’s attention.”
Logan’s arm wraps around my waist, pulling me against the solid wall of his chest. His scent washes over me — bitter clove, amber, and the bourbon he must have downed while waiting for me. The combination makes my head spin. For once, I actually let myself enjoy it.
My body fits perfectly against his side, as if we were made to fit together. The warmth of his touch seeps through the silk of my dress, so hot he must be a raging inferno on the inside.
For just a moment, I let myself sink into the fantasy of what this could be.
I imagine standing beside him on the palace balcony, waving to crowd clamoring for the first view of their new queen. Golden eyes watching me with adoration, rather than calculation and aggression. That moment is everything I trained since childhood to reach.
The vision is so vivid that I have to remind myself it is both fleeting and impossible. Logan will never make me his queen, and I would be stupid to accept it if he offered. Every soft thought about Logan is a weakness, a crack in my armor that he will eventually exploit.
But I can play pretend for as long as necessary.
“Shall we?
Logan tucks my hand into the curve of his elbow, the other at the small of my back, practically cradling me against him. His body curves over mine, solid and protective, as if he is only moments from swooping me completely up into his arms.
I graze my nose against the side of his neck, briefly scenting him. The taste of bitter clove bursts on my tongue as he growls in approval.
My smile is soft, practically a simper when I look up at him. “Lead the way.”
He gives me one last once-over, expression rueful as he shakes his head. “You really are the perfect Omega, aren’t you?”
Gritted teeth have to hide behind my smile as he escorts me away. The quiet knife wrapped in smoothest silk.
Otherwise, I might just be stupid enough to forget that none of this is real.