Chapter 11 Maya #2
“How much blood is already on our hands from standing by while the king abuses his power?” Poe shoots back. “How many more will suffer if nothing changes?”
The debate continues, voices rising and falling as points are made and countered. I listen without contributing, trying to make sense of the tangled loyalties and motivations at play. Trying to determine where my own interests lie in this power struggle.
If we run, I’ll be far from the dangers of the city, from the king, from the dangers that lurk in Melilla. If we stay and fight, I’ll be vulnerable to recapture, to the horrors I barely escaped, but I might also get the chance to put a stop to it all once and for all.
Neither option is an easy path to freedom. Now it’s just a question of which version of captivity I prefer.
I become aware that the room has fallen silent. I look up to find everyone watching me expectantly.
“What?” I ask, defensive.
“We were asking what you think,” Cillian says quietly beside me. “About staying or going.”
I blink, surprised to be consulted at all. “Why does my opinion matter?”
The words come out sharper than intended, edged with a bitterness I thought I’d exhausted. Apparently not.
“Your opinion matters because you’re pack,” Logan says, his voice gentler than I’ve ever heard it. “Whether you want to be or not, whether I had the right to make you so or not—you’re one of us now. And that means your voice counts.”
I stare at him, searching for the lie, the manipulation. Finding none obvious doesn’t mean it isn’t there, just that he’s gotten better at hiding it.
“I think,” I begin slowly, “that we’re probably dead no matter which option we choose.”
“We still want to hear from you,” Logan replies softly.
“Don’t,” I say, holding up a hand to stop him. “Don’t pretend you’re offering me a choice when we all know you’ve already decided what we’re doing.”
“But I haven’t,” Logan insists, and the frustration in his voice sounds genuine. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. I’m not making this decision alone.”
I laugh, the sound hollow even to my own ears. “Right. The great Prince Logan, suddenly democratic. Suddenly caring what his pack thinks. Suddenly treating me like a person with agency.”
“Maya—“ he starts, but I cut him off.
“No. Stop pretending my opinion matters. I was locked in a cage just a few days ago, if you recall.”
“It matters,” Poe says beside me, his voice tight with controlled fury. “It matters very much.”
I risk a glance at him and immediately wish I hadn’t. The raw anger in his ice-chip eyes is too much to bear, too reminiscent of how he looked in the doctor’s compound when he found me strapped to that table.
“The doctor is dead,” Logan says firmly, as if stating this fact will erase everything I’ve just revealed. “You’re safe now. We made sure of that.”
Cillian clears his throat, his voice steady despite the pain I know he’s fighting.
“The doctor didn’t act alone,” he states baldly. “The king knew exactly what was happening to Maya, along with however many other omegas must have been experimented on in the past.”
The room falls silent as his words sink in. Logan’s expression hardens, but Cillian continues unflinchingly.
“Thane might have been dangerous, but he was the tip of a much longer spear.” His gaze sweeps across each face in the room. “You can kill one man, but the system that created him remains intact. Leaving Melilla won’t protect us from that.”
“This is exactly why we need to leave,” Ares says, his voice rough with emotion. “Maya and Cillian will never be safe. We need to get as far away from this as possible.”
“Running won’t stop the king,” Poe says, the words falling into the room like stones. “There is only one way to do that.”
Ares’s voice is unlike I’ve ever heard it before. “You’re talking treason.”
“There is already a resistance forming, small but very real. You’ve spent enough time ferreting out dissidents to know that yourself, Ares,” Poe replies, expression unwavering. “There are people willing to risk their lives to overturn the throne, both outside of the palace and within it.”
“And you’ll get all of them killed, with us along with them, if you make any attempt against King Leopold,” Ares replies, voice incredulous.
Their voices rise in an argumentative cacophony.
Cillian’s voice is soft, but with a note of iron that breaks through the noise. “I want to know what Logan thinks we should do.”
All eyes turn to Logan who only stares back unblinking. My connection to him through the bond is so faint that I can’t sense any particular emotion, just that his mind is a morass despite the lack of expression.
“This is getting us nowhere,” Logan says finally. “We’re just talking in circles.”
“Because you won’t listen,” Poe snaps. “Because you’ve already decided what’s best for everyone, just like always.”
“That’s not true,” Logan insists, but the protest sounds weak even to my ears.
“Isn’t it?” Poe challenges. “When have you ever truly listened to any of us? When have our opinions ever changed your mind once it’s made up?”
Logan opens his mouth to respond, then closes it again, seeming to reconsider. The silence stretches, uncomfortable and revealing. He can’t answer because Poe is right, and we all know it.
I watch the realization dawn on Logan’s face—the understanding that he’s lost something fundamental here. The unquestioning loyalty of his pack, the automatic deference to his decisions. It’s gone, replaced by doubt and challenge and the demand to be heard.
In that moment, he looks younger somehow. More vulnerable than I’ve ever seen him. Less the arrogant prince and more the man beneath the title—uncertain, fallible, human.
He straightens suddenly, decision visible in the set of his shoulders. “You’re right,” he says, looking directly at Poe. “I’ve been making decisions for all of you for too long. Assuming I know best. Assuming my protection is worth the price you pay for it.”
The admission stuns us all into silence. Even Poe looks taken aback, as if he expected more resistance, more argument, more of the Logan we all know.
“So let’s try something different,” Logan continues. “Maya will decide.”
My head snaps up, sure I’ve misheard. “What?”
“You’re the one with the most to lose either way,” Logan says, his golden eyes fixed on mine. “You’re the one the doctor wants. You’re the one who never chose to be part of this pack in the first place. So you decide. We stay and fight, or we run. Whatever you choose, we all support. No arguments.”
I stare at him, waiting for the catch, the condition, the subtle way he’ll manipulate the situation to get what he wants regardless of what I decide. But his expression remains open, his posture relaxed, his eyes steady on mine.
“You can’t be serious,” I say finally.
“I am,” he insists. “Completely serious.”
“Logan,” Ares begins, concern evident in his tone. “This isn’t—“
“My decision to make anymore,” Logan finishes for him. “That’s the point, Ares. I’ve been making choices for all of you for too long. Especially for Maya.” He turns back to me. “So choose. Whatever you want, that’s what we’ll do.”
I look around at each of them in turn. Poe, watching me with wary calculation. Ares, concern etched into his features. Cillian, his pale eyes unreadable but intent on my face.
And Logan, offering me the one thing I never expected from him: agency. The power to choose. The acknowledgment that my voice matters.
Is it manipulation? A new tactic to get what he wants? Or is it genuine growth, a recognition of his past mistakes?
I don’t know. Can’t know. All I can do is take the opportunity presented and use it as best I can.
“I need time to think,” I say finally.
Logan nods, accepting this without protest. “Our ride out of the city leaves in a week. You can have until then to decide.”
The others nod in agreement, though I can see the tension in their postures, the urgency they’re suppressing for my sake. They want an answer now, a direction, a plan. But they’re giving me space instead. Giving me time.
It’s more than I expected. More than I’ve been given since this whole nightmare began.
As the meeting breaks up, each of them moving away to give me the space I requested, I remain seated at the table, the weight of decision heavy on my shoulders. For the first time since Logan forced the bond, I have real power in this dynamic. Real choice.
I just wish I knew which choice is the right one.