Chapter 2
Cillian
FIVE YEARS AGO
Falling in love with your boss is never a good idea.
The only saving grace is that he has absolutely no fucking idea.
I plan to keep it that way.
TWO YEARS AGO
I stand at attention by the window, watching Logan flip through yet another stack of files from the Enclave.
His fingers linger on each page, methodical and deliberate.
The late afternoon sun catches on his signet ring as he lifts a small fabric swatch to his nose, inhaling deeply before setting it aside with a dismissive grunt.
"This one smells like artificial cherries and desperation," he mutters, reaching for the next file.
I keep my face carefully neutral. After years of military discipline and suppressants, I've mastered the art of appearing unaffected. But inside, something twists painfully.
It wasn't difficult during our campaigns.
The women Logan took to his bed were temporary diversions—beta soldiers looking for a night with royalty, village girls dazzled by his uniform, courtesans paid handsomely for discretion.
Those encounters never threatened what we'd built as a pack, as a unit.
This is different.
"You've been at this for hours," Poe complains from his sprawl across the leather sofa. "They're all the same anyway. Institute-trained, properly submissive, virgin Omegas ready to spread their legs and pop out heirs on command."
I flinch internally at his crudeness, grateful no one is looking my way.
"Just pick one with nice tits and be done with it," Poe adds, examining his knife with feigned interest.
"It's not that simple." Logan's voice carries the weight of his position. “My father has an obsession with Alpha-Omega pairings. He expects me to take this seriously.”
Ares sets down his weights with a heavy clank. "You're the most qualified to be named heir. Everyone knows Ander is too reckless and the others lack your military experience. The people respect you."
"All the more reason to choose carefully." Logan lifts another scent sample, this one making his pupils dilate slightly before he moves on.
Jealousy coils in my stomach like a poisonous snake. Useless, dangerous emotion. I've spent years compartmentalizing these feelings, locking them away where they can't interfere with my duty. Yet they persist, surfacing at the worst moments.
"What about this one?" Ares crosses the room to peer over Logan's shoulder. "Her test scores are impressive."
"Too assertive," Logan replies. "Father would see it as a weakness if I chose an Omega who might challenge me."
I shift my weight, maintaining my position by the window. My suppressants are working perfectly. Poe and Ares don’t suspect what I am. None of them know how personal this selection process feels, how each scent sample Logan discards brings both relief and renewed tension.
"This selection is taking forever," Poe groans. "At least narrow it down to a shortlist so we can all move on with our lives."
Logan ignores him, continuing to sort through profiles with methodical precision. I've always admired his thoroughness, even when it drives the others to distraction.
My gaze follows his hands as he reaches for a file near the bottom of the stack. Something changes in his posture as he opens it — a subtle straightening of his spine, a new focus in his eyes.
The profile reveals a young woman with striking purple hair, her expression more guarded than the practiced smiles in the other photographs. Logan's fingers trace the edge of her picture, lingering there longer than with any of the others.
He lifts the scent sample to his nose, inhaling deeply. Once. Twice. His eyes close momentarily.
Something cold settles in my chest. I recognize that look. I’ve seen it before when he's found something that truly interests him.
"Find something promising?" Ares asks, noticing Logan's changed demeanor.
Logan doesn't answer immediately. He studies the profile information, his expression unreadable to anyone who hasn't spent years learning his every micro-expression. But I have, and I see the spark of genuine interest.
"Maybe," he finally says, setting the file aside. Not on the rejection pile, but in a separate stack of its own.
I swallow hard, forcing down the bitter taste of jealousy. This is how it was always going to be. Logan needs a female Omega, needs heirs. The pack requires completion.
My feelings don't matter. They never have.
I am his commander of guards. His protector. His friend.
Nothing more.
And soon, there will be an Omega in our pack. Maybe this purple-haired slag who caught his attention, maybe another one just like her. And I will continue as I always have: watching, protecting, hiding.
It's what I do best.
EIGHTEEN MONTHS AGO
I straighten the documents on Logan's desk for the third time, aligning their edges with almost mathematical precision.
The apartment feels too quiet without him.
Without any of them. Poe's gone to the training yard, Ares to some mission he didn’t bother to describe, and Logan's back-to-back meetings that are likely to run well into the night.
The silence lets my thoughts drift to dangerous territory. To the way Logan's eyes crinkle when he laughs. To how his hand feels when it brushes mine as I pass him reports. To all the ways I've memorized his movements, his habits, his preferences.
I snap back to attention when the apartment door opens without the customary knock. My hand instinctively moves to my weapon before I recognize the visitor.
"Prince Ander." I straighten immediately, bowing my head slightly. "I wasn't informed you'd be visiting today."
Logan's older brother strolls in like he owns the place. Considering he is on the very short list of princes who might be named heir to the throne, I’m sure he thinks he already does. His eyes scan the room with casual disinterest before landing on me.
"Is my brother here?" he asks, though I suspect he already knows the answer.
"No, Your Highness. Prince Logan is with His Majesty. I can fetch him if you'd like."
I move toward the door, but Ander shifts, blocking my path. Something in his posture changes, becoming predatory. I've always found him unsettling, but today there's something particularly dangerous in his eyes.
"That won't be necessary." Ander tilts his head, inhaling deeply. "Strange. I could swear I smell something... unusual in here."
My pulse quickens. I took my suppressants this morning. I always do. But the latest batch from Bastin hasn't been as effective, requiring more frequent doses.
"Perhaps the cleaning staff used new products," I suggest, keeping my voice level.
"No. That's not it." Ander steps closer, too close. Another deep inhale. “I’ve been chasing this scent for days. It smells like Omega."
I force my expression to remain neutral, but something must give me away — a microexpression, a flicker in my eyes, the slightest change in my scent — because Ander's face transforms with realization.
"Well, well," he purrs. "Isn't this interesting?"
"I don't know what you mean, Prince Ander.” My voice sounds hollow even to my own ears.
"Don't insult my intelligence, Cillian.” He circles me slowly. "You've hidden it well. Very well. I wonder if my brother knows what his loyal guard really is."
I remain silent, calculating my options. Ander makes frequent appearances in the training yard. I could possibly escape him if I throw my all into the attempt. But attacking a crown prince, even in self-defense, would mean execution. My reasons won’t matter.
"I've always been curious," Ander continues, his voice dropping lower. "They say male Omegas are the ultimate perversion. Removed for the good of society.” He stops directly in front of me. "I've always wanted to know if male Omegas slick up like females do."
My shocked expression betrays me completely this time. The suppressants mask my scent, but they can't hide my reactions.
"I see I've hit a nerve." Ander smiles, revealing teeth that seem too sharp. "Let's find out, shall we?"
I back away, but he follows, step for step. "Your Highness, this is inappropriate. Prince Logan will return shortly."
"My brother is occupied for at least another few hours. I made sure of that.”
The realization that this visit was planned sends ice through my veins. I continue backing up until I hit Logan's desk.
Ander reaches out, grabbing my arm with bruising force. "If you make it good enough for me, I might even give you a head start before reporting you to the Guardians for designation fraud."
I try to twist away, but his grip tightens.
"That's a capital offense," I say, struggling to keep my voice steady.
"Indeed it is. You’ll be put to death or spend what little life you have left in the work camps.” His free hand reaches for my face. "Your fate rests entirely on how well you please me. Maybe I’ll keep you for myself. Hide you away from this cruel, cruel world.”
My training kicks in — assess, plan, execute — but every option ends badly. If I fight him, I'm executed for attacking royalty. If I submit, I lose everything I've worked for, everything I am.
"Prince Ander, I must insist—"
"You're not in a position to insist on anything," he snarls, pushing me back against the desk. Papers scatter to the floor. "You're an Omega playing at being a beta. A fraud. A liar." His hand slides down to my throat. "But I can be merciful if you're good."
The door to the apartment remains closed. No rescue coming. No witnesses. Just me and a predator who's cornered his prey.