Chapter 3
Logan
EIGHTEEN MONTHS AGO
I only return to the apartment between meetings because I'm missing the file I need with tariff percentages for the trade minister. My very displeased father is keeping the minister on ice while I fetch my forgotten tablet, so my mood is already about as bad as it gets.
Then I open the door of my apartment and confront a scene my conscious mind struggles to comprehend.
One moment, I'm hurrying through the door when I'm stopped short by a whimpering sound, both achingly familiar and unlike anything I've heard before.
In the next moment, the walls of my office are painted red with blood.
I let Ander's body collapse to the floor with a dull thud. My hands shake, still gripping the letter opener I'd plunged into his throat. Blood pools around his head like a macabre halo, but I barely register it when I hear that sound again.
A pained, desperate whimper.
Cillian.
He's curled against my desk, uniform torn open, eyes wide and unfocused. The scent hits me like a physical blow — distressed Omega pheromones cutting through the metallic tang of blood. My vision narrows, pulse hammering in my ears as something primal takes over.
"Logan," Cillian whispers, voice cracking. "He was going to...”
"I know." My voice sounds foreign to my own ears, deeper and rougher than I've ever heard it.
The rut crashes over me without warning. My skin feels too tight, blood rushing south as my body responds to the Omega in distress. My Omega. Because Cillian belongs to me. I lead this pack. Everyone in it belongs to me. The thought pierces through everything else. Mine.
I don't remember crossing the room, but suddenly I'm gathering Cillian into my arms, cradling him against my chest. His body trembles, and I pull him closer, growling low in my throat when he buries his face against my neck.
"Alpha," he breathes against my skin, and the word unravels something inside me.
Cillian's arms wrap around my shoulders, fingers digging into my back as he lifts his face to mine. Our eyes lock for one suspended moment before he presses his lips to mine.
The kiss tastes like copper and salt—blood and tears—but underneath, something sweeter. Longing. Need. A decade of silent wanting finally given voice. I deepen the kiss, one hand cupping the back of his head while the other pulls him firmly into my lap.
"Should have been you," I murmur against his mouth. "Always you."
Cillian makes a broken sound, somewhere between a sob and a moan. His hips rock against mine, seeking friction, and I growl in response. My hands fumble with my belt, buttons, anything in the way of skin meeting skin. Cillian helps, fingers more dexterous than mine despite their trembling.
"Please," he gasps as I pull him back into my lap, his legs straddling my thighs. "Need you, Logan. Need my Alpha."
The words send a fresh surge of possessiveness through me. I capture his mouth again, tasting him deeper as my hands grip his hips. The scent of slick and arousal mingles with the blood in the air, and I should be horrified at myself for wanting this here, now, but I can't stop. Won't stop.
Cillian arches against me, head thrown back as I trail bites down his throat. His pulse races beneath my lips, and I lick over the spot where my mark will go. Where it should have been all along.
"Mine," I growl, pulling him down as I thrust up. "Always been mine."
"Yours," Cillian agrees, voice breaking as our bodies join. His fingers dig into my shoulders, eyes locked on mine. "Always yours."
The world narrows to this—to Cillian in my arms, around me, the way he gasps my name like a prayer. Not my title. Not 'Prince.' Just Logan. I've never been just Logan to anyone but him.
We move together, frantic and desperate, chasing something we've denied ourselves for too long. I hold him tighter, closer, as if I could fuse us together permanently. The bond between us strengthens with each thrust, each shared breath.
"Never letting you go," I promise against his skin. "Never again."
Cillian's response is wordless, a keening sound that vibrates through both our bodies as he comes apart in my arms. I follow him over the edge, teeth finding purchase on the juncture of his neck and shoulder, claiming what should have always been mine.
He scrambles higher up on my body, placing an answering bite on the closest skin he can reach on my left shoulder blade.
The pain is brief, but the realization that follows it is devastating.
As the haze of rut begins to clear, reality crashes back. Ander's body lies cooling on my office floor. Blood stains my hands, my clothes, probably Cillian's skin. I've killed my brother. I've claimed my guard commander.
Fear and regret are a tidal wave, Cillian's emotions and my own intertwined until it's impossible to tell one from the other.
I've doomed us both.
ONE YEAR AGO
Cillian has made a point of never being alone in a room with me since I started accepting interviews at the Enclave.
Unfortunately for him, both Ares and Poe have other duties to attend to, so he has no choice to remain with me while I finish getting dressed.
I'm due at the Enclave in less than an hour for an interview.
My third with the purple-haired Omega that I can’t seem to get out of my head.
Cillian’s mark on me itches like a bug bite, a reminder of the weakened, but persistent, bond between us. Our link has faded considerably since the day it was formed, but it hasn't gone away.
I'm painfully aware of the fact that it never will.
I adjust my tie in the mirror and catch him watching me now that my back is turned. "I can practically hear you thinking over there. You might as well spit it out."
Cillian’s reflection shifts his weight from one foot to the other. His eyes dart away when I catch him staring, but not before I glimpse the raw emotion there.
"You don't have to go," he finally says, voice clipped.
"You know I do." I straighten my jacket, turning to face him. "The king made himself perfectly clear. Unless you can think of a good excuse to give him for why I can’t interview potential Omegas.”
Cillian's jaw tightens. "There are other ways—"
"Like what?" I step closer, watching him stiffen. "Should I tell my father the truth? That I've already claimed one? That my guard commander has been lying about his designation for years?"
"Keep your voice down," he hisses.
"No one can hear us." I gesture around the empty room. "Just like no one can ever know about us. That was your choice, remember?"
"It was the only choice." His fingers curl into fists at his sides. "You know what would happen if the truth is ever discovered.”
"If people knew you were an Omega? Yes, I'm well aware of the consequences. You've made them perfectly clear." I adjust my cuffs, needing something to do with my hands. "You're a hypocrite, Cillian."
His head snaps up. "Excuse me?"
"You're jealous that I'm interviewing other Omegas, but you won't even let me tell Ares and Poe about us. They're our pack. They would protect you. Protect us."
"It's not that simple."
"It could be." I move closer until we're standing toe to toe. "But you'd rather I parade myself in front of eligible Omegas, pretending I'm not already claimed."
"It's your duty," he says, but his scent betrays him. It’s sharp with jealousy and fear.
"My duty." I laugh bitterly. "Tell me, when you watch me with these Omegas, does your mark burn like mine does? Does every smile and laugh I send their way feel like a betrayal?"
Cillian's composure cracks, just for a moment. "You know it does."
"Like I said, hypocrite."
"But it isn't Omegas plural, is it?" he challenges. "Multiple interviews, maybe. But just with the one. One Omega that you can't seem to get enough of."
My voice is clipped as I turn back to the mirror to try and fix this damn crooked tie. "You don't know what you're talking about."
"She's your scent match, isn't she? The one with the purple hair? Morgan, or whatever."
Maya.
The name echoes in my mind with the steady beat of a metronome.
The fact that her scent still sends a pulse of awareness curling in my gut, even with another Omega's mark torn into my skin, isn't something I care to admit.
"She is perfect for the palace," I acknowledge with a sigh. "Exactly who my father expects to see at my side. One of the only simpering misses at the damn Enclave I could actually see in a crown."
And I want her more than I've ever wanted any woman before, but I don't say that either.
"Logan."
He says my name in a way that forces me to turn around and face him.
"Cillian," I respond evenly.
His gaze is unblinking. "Do you love me?"
The question stops me short. Cillian is my best friend. My closest confidant. I want him to be protected as much as I don't want to see him hurt. The emotional distance between us has been something like torture.
What do you call all that?
"There are more important things than love," I say, finally.
Cillian tilts his head back and glares at the ceiling. "If you're forcing me to hate a girl I've never even met, at least I know you'll torture her in more ways than I could ever even dream up."
"What the fuck are you talking about?"
He waves that away with a sigh before returning his gaze to mine. I can feel his disdain through our link because it tastes like metal at the back of my tongue.
"What exactly is your plan here?" he demands.
There hasn't been a plan. My father can't be gainsaid, not without good reason. So I had dutifully attended these monitored and practically scripted interviews at the Enclave, waiting for a good excuse to reject even their most attractive Omegas. But Maya has never given me one.
If anything, I like her more every time she opens her mouth.
I glare at my own reflection, annoyed that my tie is somehow still crooked as I undo it for the fifth time. "I'm working on that."