Chapter 26 #2
Imagine how perfect her body would feel pressed up against yours.
How satisfying it would be to pierce that delicate, pale neck with your fangs and feel her pulse jump under your tongue.
You’ve been thinking about it for days. The way she’d moan and wrap those delicate fingers around your arms. The way her blush would spread over her soft flesh with every dirty word you whisper against her skin—
I growl and forcefully shove my instincts aside.
My Alpha is a fucking idiot. Like I’d ever listen to him. If I had, I would have died a thousand fucking times already. That part of me has no say here. Not when it comes to her.
He’s awful fucking chatty for the first time in centuries, lately. It’s an irritation I don’t need right now. Maybe I should consider suppressants for a while. Just until she leaves. The descenter is fine, but it doesn’t do shit to subdue the part of me with a knot for brains.
The Omega’s tongue darts out, swiping across her bottom lip. Her breathing starts to pick up. It’s as if she can sense my thoughts and simply can’t help herself.
Fatesdamned Omegas, always using their bodies to get what they want.
I snarl, louder this time. As soon as the sound rips from my throat, the Omega takes a gigantic step backwards. Her muscles tense. Her eyes dart around the room once more, searching for an exit.
She’s clearly about to bolt, but it’s far too late for that.
She’s in my domain now, and I’m in a mood.
A dark smile stretches across my face before I can suppress it. I’ve stayed away like I was told to. I haven’t sought her out. Gav told me not to get near her, and I’ve followed that order.
But if the lamb walks into the lion’s den all on her own… well. That’s not my fault, is it?
“I asked you a question, Omega.” My tone is as close to an Alpha bark as I can get without turning into a walking cliche. That being said, I’ve always found that a well-placed growl works wonders and saves time.
After all, my patience is not a renewable resource.
Especially not today, and especially not with this Omega.
“I—uhm—” She lowers her gaze to the floor and bares her slim, delicate neck. The movement is natural. Graceful. One she’s clearly performed before.
I just can’t quite tell if she’s doing it because she’s attempting to manipulate me into thinking she’s helpless, or if she always defers to Alphas like that.
It’s possible that Varenthrall requires it of her. He does seem like the kind of Alpha with a small-knot complex who requires constant submission just to feel powerful around his Omega daughter.
I don’t prompt her further, choosing to wait and see where this goes.
She glances around the room surreptitiously while studiously ignoring me. She’s still looking for another exit, and the clearly prey behavior sends a thrill shooting down my spine.
Rather quickly, I pick up on the way her eyes return to the couch closest to her over and over, as if pulled by some unseen force.
My gaze roams down her body, clocking the way she balls her hands into fists. Like pieces of a puzzle, the clues start to fit together, the image becoming clear.
Slung over the back of the couch, less than four feet away, is a fur-lined blanket.
It’s white. Obviously soft and warm. The exact kind of expensive fabric an Omega like her would expect.
She wants it, and she’s forcing herself not to reach for it. Her instincts must be out of control if she can’t even focus without her eyes being drawn back to it.
Interesting.
I watch with interest as, once again, her gaze lands on the blanket before quickly flitting away. Like a scared little bird.
I smile.
She chooses this moment to answer my question.
“I was told to clean.” Her voice is reed-thin and shaky. She sounds hoarse, like she hasn’t had a drink in weeks.
“I’m supposed to clean the furniture. In each of the rooms on this floor.”
I stay silent and wait for her to continue.
“I’ve done all the others.”
I still don’t speak. I’ve found silence is often the quickest way to get answers. People hate silence. They want to fill it. Either to keep things from feeling awkward, to hear themselves speak, or any myriad of reasons that all lead to the same result: providing the answers I desire.
The Omega’s eyes dart from me to the bookshelves lining the walls, back to me, then back to that damn blanket. I wonder if she knows she’s exhibiting signs of avoidance behavior.
The female is already cracking under pressure, and I haven’t even raised my voice yet. I wonder if she’s feeling effects from not having all the soft things she’s used to. Sure, Caelan claims she doesn’t have anything in her room. That it’s empty of nesting material as well as a nest.
I don’t believe that for a second.
Omegas are notoriously difficult to be around if they don’t have a proper nest or nesting materials, even in the short-term. If she truly had nothing at home, she’d be a textbook case of Chronic Sensory Disruption Disorder by now.
Omegas who go extended periods of time without nesting materials, scent-marking, or basic physical contact and reassurance from an Alpha spiral into hormonal chaos.
They exhibited symptoms of hair loss, emotional flat-lining, chronic fatigue, and panic attacks. In short, their systems short-circuit.
Yet here she is, walking, talking, and lying to us all like it’s a fucking hobby.
So no, I don’t believe Caelan saw what he thinks he saw. It’s more likely that he walked into the wrong room, she happened to be there, and he drew inaccurate conclusions without asking questions.
Either that, or she knew he was coming, and the area was staged.
Regardless, comfort items are a bargaining chip. And I’ve never been one to ignore leverage.
“You want that blanket?” I gesture toward it with a lift of my chin.
Her eyes snap to the couch. Her gaze narrows on me, full of suspicion.
At least she isn’t completely stupid. She should be suspicious. She’d have to be the dumbest Omega in history to believe I’d hand that over without asking for something in return.
Giving her a moment to think, I walk back to my work station, retrieving my tumbler of whiskey. I take a slow sip, relishing in the burn when I swallow. Never once do I look away from the Omega.
I enjoy watching her mind work.
More than likely, she’s already come to the natural conclusion. She has two options. The first is to play my game. I get answers, and she gets the blanket. If she has nothing to hide, then that’s the easy choice.
The second option is to refuse me. That would be fine, too. I keep my questions—and the blanket—and watch what happens as her instincts start to eat her alive.
My gaze locks on the prophesies pinned to my board, then sweeps over the data spread across my tables.
She knows something. She has to.
She’s lived in that house with that maniac her entire life. If I can just get her to talk, maybe I can figure out what Varenthrall is planning. Maybe we can find the missing Omegas. Maybe I can stop whatever’s coming before it has a chance to get worse.
Because something—a feeling low in my gut that I refuse to ignore—won’t stop screaming that this is all somehow related.
With new determination, I refocus my attention on the female. I slide a hand into the pocket of my slacks and enjoy the way the Omega studies my movements like she’s waiting for me to attack.
It’s fitting that she acts like prey. That’s exactly what she is.
I walk toward the couch with deliberate, controlled movements. Then, ensuring she’s paying attention, I pick up the blanket and run my fingers over the cream and white fur in gentle, soothing strokes.
I want her to see it, to imagine it’s her fingers sinking into the soft fur.
“It’s incredibly soft,” I murmur, taunting her. “Thick. Warm. The kind of blanket an Omega would kill to curl under on a cold night.”
She swallows thickly. Her eyes track my movements.
Her hands twitch. She wants it. Needs it.
Her instincts must be riding her hard, urging her to do whatever she has to in order to get her hands on it.
I imagine that for a girl who grew up with the best and softest fabrics her Omega could ever want or need, being without the last few nights has been a brand new kind of hell for her.
I bite back my smirk.
She’ll break. Quickly. This Omega has no idea what it’s like to be without. This is probably the first time she’s ever been forced to work all day long without a nest to escape to when things get too overwhelming for her spoiled sensibilities.
Her eyes squeeze shut. Her face scrunches like she’s in physical pain.
I expected a response. Anticipated what it would be. I kind of thought she’d throw a fit. Stomp her foot. Tell me life wasn’t fair.
I did not expect to see genuine tears swimming in her bright blue eyes when she finally looks back at me.
Something in my gut twists painfully. I should enjoy this obvious show of her pain, but instead of relishing in the knowledge that I’ve upset her, the sight of her tears clinging precariously to her lashes makes me… uncomfortable.
So I look away.
Instead of acknowledging how fucking weird that felt, I push her harder. Raising the blanket to my nose, I inhale deeply, purposely exaggerating the motion.
“It smells good. Like fire and leather. No other scents. Certainly no blood or tears… or fear.”
She flinches.
Perfect.
I can see her physically holding herself back from reaching out and touching the fabric. Her little fists clench and unclench at her side. Her breathing grows ragged, and the muscles in her arms and shoulders start to twitch.
And yet… she still hasn’t given me an answer.
So I twist the knife a little further.
“You could have it, you know.” My voice is gentle. Kind, even. “All you have to do is tell me the truth.”
Still… not a word.
Her gaze wanders to the fireplace, roaring steadily behind me. I watch as her eyes glaze over. Her limbs shift. Her muscles relax, and her eyes unfocus even further.