Caged (The Last Daughter #1)

Chapter 1

Idril

Ihave four books, my mother’s locket, two changes of clothes, and no plan besides getting out.

It’s not like I have much else to take, even if I were able to fit more inside the ragged backpack I pulled out from the depths of my closet this morning.

It’s old. A faded blue color with frayed seams that hasn’t been outside this house since I designated as an Omega.

Which, coincidentally, is the last time I was allowed to leave as well.

My fingers shake as I hurry down the hall from my room, making my way towards the split marble staircase leading from my floor to the foyer.

My old sneakers—my only pair—thud softly on the floor, but each step makes me wince, terrified someone is going to hear me.

Everyone is gone. The staff left for the day, and Father’s in the city for another hour. You’re fine. You just need to hurry.

I don’t hesitate when I get to the staircase, gripping tight to the marble banister as I try to ignore the sound of my pulse pounding in my ears.

I swallow, but my mouth is dry from fear. I briefly consider making a detour to the kitchen to grab a few water bottles, but nix the idea.

I need to get out now. There’s no time.

I can find a stream in the forest if it gets too bad.

Just get out. Get to the door, walk out, and you can figure the rest out later.

That’s been my only plan for the last sixteen hours, when I stepped onto my balcony late last night and overheard my father on his cell.

He must have been relaxing on his balcony on the other side of the estate, but his voice carried just enough for me to hear.

“I suppose you can meet her tomorrow. You can come by in the evening to ensure she’s up to your…” he paused, like he was weighing his words. “Your standards.” He laughed, then. It was cruel. Full of anticipation.

But it wasn’t his laugh that made me start sweating with anxiety. After all, I’m used to his cruelty.

It’s what he said next.

“She’s not her mother, but I’ve trained her well. Keep in mind, I haven’t decided what I’m going to do with her once I’ve got what I need.”

Fates… is he talking about me? Surely not…

I leaned over my balcony railing, like the extra three inches would help me hear him better.

“She’s twenty-two, but she’s pure. As I’ve previously explained, I’ve had her on suppressants since the moment she designated as an Omega.

She’s never had a knot. She’s never even been with a Beta.

That combined with her genetics… if I choose to sell her, it should more than pay for another few years of funding for my research. ”

That’s all I needed to hear.

I didn’t stick around to listen to more barely making it to the bathroom before getting sick.

My father was talking about selling me. Why?

He promised that packs could start courting me soon. When I turn twenty-four. He’s been promising me for years.

Has it all been a lie?

I don’t know what he could possibly need more money for, or what any of it has to do with me, but I know enough to be sure whatever he has planned isn’t something I want to be a part of.

I always knew my father was a monster, but I truly—stupidly—believed he’d allow packs to start courting me.

Of course, I know he wants me to Mate a wealthy pack, and they’ll have to meet his approval first, but I hoped…

Stupid.

Stupid to hope, but I can’t seem to stop. No matter how bad things get, I keep hoping they’ll get better.

He’ll never have my best interests at heart. The scars on my back should be enough proof of that.

I’ve spent years locked away, playing the part of the dutiful, submissive Omega daughter. And for what?

I tossed and turned all night, trying to think of a way to get out of meeting whoever my father was talking to. It wasn’t until the sun started to rise that I came to a sickening realization.

There would be no escaping his plans. There’s only one way to prevent the future my father has in store for me.

I need to run.

Nervously, I lick my dry, chapped lips and take the final step off the staircase and onto the foyer floor.

Everything echoes in this area of the estate. My shallow breaths, my steps, my pulse thumping wildly behind my ribs—each sound amplified by the marble and glass. I swallow thickly, trying to work some moisture into my mouth.

I’m only a single room away from the door.

Twenty feet.

That’s all that stands between me and freedom.

My backpack feels incredibly heavy for containing so little. I readjust it on my shoulder and wince at the way the safety-pin holding the right strap together digs into my skin.

Move, Idril. Just move, for the Fates’ sake.

The grandfather clock in the living room behind me ticks loudly, like a soundtrack to my escape. Every second that goes by is another second wasted when I should be running.

Ten feet.

I’m so close I can almost smell the fresh air on my face.

There’s a part of me that’s strangely excited, though running means blindly navigating my way through the forest surrounding our property on my own.

I don’t have food, so that needs to be my priority.

Once I’m safe, that is.

Cautiously, I take another step, then another. The seconds stretch into eternity the closer I get to the door.

If only there were more time, I could have stashed food to bring with me. I could have saved some of my dinner, or maybe even pretended to be sick and begged Chef for some crackers.

It doesn’t matter now.

All that matters is escape.

Getting free.

Leaving this golden cage for the first time in almost a decade.

Three feet.

I stretch out my arm. My fingers graze the cool brass of the door handle. My heart stalls before resuming its wild, erratic beat, adrenaline and giddy joy coursing through my blood.

I push down on the handle, take a deep breath, and—

The sound of tires over gravel reverberates through the air. Less than a second later, an engine cuts off, and I hear the sound of car doors slamming, followed by feet crunching over gravel.

I’m frozen, fingers wrapped around the door handle, for what feels like eternity. My eyesight blurs, tears pooling on my lash line and threatening to spill.

Muffled male voices accompany the sharp clack of expensive shoes on the front walkway. I realize my fingers are still wrapped around the handle just as the door swings open.

With a startled yelp, I scramble out of the way, nearly falling over my own feet in the process. It’s like my mind refuses to accept that I’ve failed, but that changes as soon as Father steps into the foyer.

He’s dressed in his usual custom navy suit, and his ever-present Rolex catches the light of the crystal chandelier on the ceiling. He’s laughing, glancing at someone over his shoulder, but the sound dies as soon as he turns and notices me.

Cool brown eyes assess me, his sharp gaze flicking from my face to my shoes—ones I never wear, because I’m not allowed to leave—before landing on my backpack hanging dejectedly off one shoulder.

His jaw tightens as understanding dawns.

The hand sporting his expensive watch clenches into a fist, and I know, with undeniable certainty, that he knows I was escaping.

“Idril.”

I flinch at the sound of my name echoing through the empty foyer.

There’s no warmth in his tone. He sounds nothing like a normal, loving father. His large Alpha frame towers over my pathetic five feet, taking up all the air in the room.

No. No, this can not be happening.

I still can’t move. I want to run, but my limbs are frozen, as though my instincts are convinced that as long as I’m still, I won’t draw further attention.

I open my mouth to say something—what?—When someone enters behind my father. His scent hits me, and my vision flickers.

My fear escalates into terror, his scent wrapping around my Omega instincts like a warning.

Whoever he is, he smells like old, dead things. Like mold and rot and flowers on a grave, left to decay for centuries. My stomach rolls with nausea.

I want a nest. I want to burrow into something soft and never come up for air. It’s a stupid desire. Even if I could make my body move, there’s no nest waiting for me. The reminder slams into me, punching the air out of my lungs, sending me spiraling further.

My father never built me a nest. In fact, he took the Omega suite out of the estate completely less than a week after I designated—a message to his disappointment of a daughter that was impossible to misinterpret.

I’ve made do with what few blankets and soft things I’ve scrounged up, but something tells me even that will disappear after today.

There’s no safety left anywhere. My Omega whines, but I bite the inside of my cheek, refusing to let it out.

The man who smells like decay shoulders past my father—something Jonathan Varenthrall would normally never allow—and stalks toward me.

He’s tall. Too tall. With angular features that look unnatural and pale, but grey skin that stretches over his bones like it’s too small for his frame.

When his milky green eyes meet mine, it feels like insects crawling under my skin. He gets too close, and I take a large step back on instinct. The smile that stretches across his face exposes yellow teeth with long, pointed canines.

There’s something wrong with this male.

I’ve seen vampires before—beautiful, elegant creatures that resemble gods made flesh with their graceful movements and perfect skin.

Once, I even saw a wolven—all primal energy and feral power that his body struggled to contain.

This man is neither. He’s… something else.

Something wrong.

Not dead, but not alive. More like his soul was sucked from his body, and no one bothered to tell him.

His canines aren’t the delicate pointed teeth of a vampire.

They’re misshapen and deformed, meant for ripping and tearing into flesh.

“Well,” his deep voice sounds like static to my senses. “What do we have here?”

So fast, I don’t see it coming, my father grips my upper arm, preventing me from backing away any further. I yelp in pain, instinctively trying to pull away from him.

“I—I was—”