Chapter 14 Daxen
Daxen
Ispend the ride to Redmark with my nose buried in my phone. Deep in the dark web, going down rabbit holes in chat forums and dodgy websites.
I’m looking for hits on glowing Omegas, Omegas who can make sparks appear at their fingertips, or stories of Omegas doing other weird shit.
Not surprisingly, there’s nothing outside of some bad anime porn and Tumblr fanfic. Which leaves me exactly where I was when Gav hung up with Riven—with no idea of what the fuck is going on.
My head pounds relentlessly thanks to all the chaos of the last week.
Between magic blood, a human in league with a Severed, random Omegas showing up out of nowhere with never-before-seen abilities, Vae’s curse going ape shit, and trying to keep Caelan from claiming a fucking Omega I don’t trust, I’m about to lose my mind.
I’m not innocent in this, either. For the first time ever, I’m keeping a secret from Gavran.
Caelan disobeyed a direct order. He muted me on comms and stayed with that Omega for far longer than he should have.
And I didn’t report it.
I should have. It would have normally gone straight into the mission report. But Caelan’s my brother, and my loyalty will always, always be to him first.
Ratting him out to Gav feels like a betrayal I can’t even begin to stomach. I keep telling myself I can handle it, but I’m starting to question if that’s actually true, or if I’m just deluding myself.
It’d help if Caelan gave me some fucking answers, but he’s sticking to his bullshit story that he thought the Omega was close to her heat. Sure, he relayed the information he got from her, but it’s not much to go off of.
As if getting confirmation that Alexander is meeting with her father is somehow helpful. We already fucking know that. I’m even more certain now that the Omega knows more than she’s sharing.
We pull up to our destination right at 9 p.m. Redmark isn’t for the faint of heart. It’s essentially what you’d get if a bar, fight club, and mafia syndicate had an orgy in a previously condemned warehouse.
Outside, the building looks like it’s falling apart. Chipped cinder blocks, a neon “OPEN” sign with a fist made to look like it’s flying at your head, cracked sidewalk, and metal bars over the windows.
The sign hanging inside the main door says “Welcome to Redmark Gym,” but the smell of blood, testosterone, and regrets sends a very different message.
It’s an information and violence-fueled way station that never sleeps.
Upstairs is for brawling with other testosterone-fueled morons until you feel like a male, but downstairs is where the real action is.
People only come to Redmark if they need to beg, bleed, or barter. And no matter what your reason for stepping through the doors, you don’t leave without paying Riven’s price.
Sometimes he collects in the form of cold, hard cash. Other times, he demands a pound of flesh.
But everyone knows what Riven’s preferred currency is, and it’s the last thing they want to part with.
Secrets.
Riven comes from a minor Old World house that spent the last seven hundred years clawing for whatever scraps of relevance they could get their hands on.
With parents obsessed with nothing so much as rising socially by any means necessary, a young Riven rejected the idea of scraping for approval.
He saw their desperation as pathetic and chose to officially cleave from his house, much to his sire’s irritation, and forge his own way.
“Whispers move kingdoms faster than swords,” is what he told me, back when there were still kingdoms to move.
The male doesn’t believe in heroism or destiny.
What he believes in is leverage.
“Good evening, gentlemen!” Riven saunters down the stairs from the top floor, where his office and other off-limits rooms are located.
As usual, he’s dressed in a tailored three-piece suit.
His nearly black hair is perfectly styled, and he has one hand in the pocket of his trousers while the other scrolls lazily on his cell.
Black and grey tattoos peek from the collar of his shirt, winding their way up his neck before stopping at his square jawline.
Riven never wears any jewelry aside from an obsidian bracelet on his wrist that I’ve never seen him without.
He’s the picture of classic elegance.
And he couldn’t possibly look more out of place in this shit hole.
Gav steps forward to greet him. They shake hands, exchanging pleasantries.
“So where’s the glowing Omega?” Vae asks, scanning the open floor plan like she’s going to pop out and set the treadmills on fire.
“She’s upstairs in one of my personal rooms,” Riven replies, walking back up the stairs. “She’s rather… upset.”
“Upset how?” Caelan demands, sounding way more pissed than the situation calls for. My gaze flicks to his hands, which are unsurprisingly clenched into fists. I can’t help but roll my eyes.
Here we go.
“Well, she came out of the dumpster covered in the trash from both here and the Indian place next door, so you can imagine what she smelled like. One of my men stuck her in the showers and hosed her down.” He chuckles. “She didn’t appreciate the hospitality.”
Apparently, Caelan doesn’t think that’s funny.
“Yeah, I imagine an Omega might get a little feral when random Alphas strip them, throw them in a locker room shower, and blast them with cold water like they’re a bio hazard. Funny how that doesn’t exactly scream ‘soft and comfortable.’”
Riven scowls. “No one stripped her, Caelan. We put her in there with her clothing on, thank you very much. And the water was lukewarm at worst. We aren’t animals.”
“No,” Caelan’s jaw ticks. “You apparently just treat Omegas like they are.”
Riven stops at the top of the stairs and turns to Caelan.“Is there something you want to hash out, or has the ice around your personality finally started to crack after all this time?”
Riven looks amused rather than angry, but I know better than anyone that he can change on a dime. And I don’t feel like playing referee between these two tonight.
“Ignore him,” I snap before Caelan can reply. I jog up the last few steps and squeeze between Riven and my packmate. “He’s been a little on edge recently. Got the scent of some Omega pussy he can’t stop thinking about.”
That gets exactly the reaction I’m looking for.
Caelan snarls low in his throat and takes a menacing step in my direction, before stopping himself.
Cute, really, how he thinks I have no idea how bad he wants that traitor’s Omega daughter. The lust he felt the other night was so visceral, I had to take care of myself in the shower.
If that was all because she was close to her heat, then I’m Batman. I choose to ignore his little outburst and face Riven.
“Come on, show me the glow-stick.”
Riven leads us down the hall until we come to a closed door near the end.
Reaching into his breast pocket, he pulls out a key, but before turning the handle, he hesitates.
“The Omega is about ten percent feral. She’s been mostly catatonic since we found her, except when she’s mumbling random shit no one can make heads or tails of.
She spends most of her time lying there, staring at the wall. ”
He turns to Caelan.
“We have her restrained for her own safety. Those brief periods of lucidity are, well, you’ll see. Just trust me that it’s better if she’s restrained both for herself and for us. No one is mistreating her.”
“We’re good, Riv. Caelan’s chill.” Vae smiles that dimpled smile and claps a hand to Riven’s shoulder, ignoring his wince. “He just realized he was an Alpha for the first time last week and we’re dealing with those pesky hormones, ya know?”
“Fuck off,” Caelan grunts, but there’s no real heat in his tone.
Riven opens the door and gestures for us to enter.
“Well, son of a bitch. You really do have an Omega tied to a bed.” Vae steps forward, but Gav throws an arm across his chest, holding him back with a glare.
I stay back so I can study the Omega.
She’s lying on a twin bed that’s pushed against the wall opposite the door. It’s not a large room, but it’s no cell, either. It’s carpeted with exposed brick walls and a TV sitting on a dresser facing the bed. Two large leather reading chairs and a small table take up residence across from the bed.
The bed that does, indeed, have a female tied to it. I don’t even want to know why Riven owns a bed equipped with restraints in his gym. Some knowledge really is better left unshared.
The girl is small, with the natural curves of her designation, though it looks like her still-damp clothes are hanging off of her, like she’s lost weight since she last put them on. She has deep olive skin and dark hair. Big dark brown eyes that are framed by long lashes. She’s beautiful.
A biological honey trap, just like every other Omega.
The longer I watch her, the more I realize that there’s something off about her. Something feels like it doesn’t quite belong. She’s barely blinked, just staring blankly at the wall and murmuring something I can’t understand over and over.
“What’s she saying?” I ask, taking a cautious step closer.
“No clue,” Riven answers, taking a seat in one of the leather chairs. “She’s been mumbling the same shit. Sometimes it varies, but I can’t work it out. I’ve even tried googling it. Thought maybe it was song lyrics or something. Some new Taylor Swift single.”
He throws an ankle over his knee and picks an imaginary piece of lint off his immaculately pressed slacks, looking thoroughly unimpressed by the whole situation.
He always acts nonchalant, but his attitude is actually a well-constructed facade he’s honed over hundreds of years.
Riven loves to lure people into a false sense of security so they’ll open up to him—underestimating him in the process.
I pin my friend with a flat stare, and he responds by rolling his eyes like I’m being dramatic.
“She repeats the same thing, like I told you. ‘Four became one, one became light. Light wakes the gate. She is the gate.’”