Chapter 28 #3
“Want to explain why I walked in on you holding a weapon, Omega?” His voice is steady, but the underlying tension betrays his anger.
My throat is bone-dry.
It always is around Daxen. His hatred strips me bare. Until sometimes, not even I can tell which parts of me are good, and which parts should be cut off at the root.
I sigh, aware that my answer doesn’t matter either way, but refusing to lie.
“I was told to catalog and sort everything in here. Cage has been outside the open door the entire time.”
I swallow down a whine of pain. Fates, even talking hurts.
“I was going through an old bag when the lights went out. The dagger was in it.”
Hands on his hips, he surveys the room, cataloging each inch as if the walls themselves might start talking. Provide him with proof of my supposed deception.
“I see.” He nods once, then turns on his heel like he’s going to leave. I almost exhale the breath I’m holding, until he pivots back around so fast it makes me flinch back.
The movement pulls sharply at my injury. I bite down on my cheek. Sweat beads on my forehead from the effort it takes to swallow my sounds.
My Omega wants to submit to Daxen. At the same time, I know he hates that I’m an Omega, and the urge to hide that side of myself from him is overwhelming.
It’s a mental tug of war. One that keeps tearing the same wound open over and over. No matter which instinct wins, I lose.
Dax slides his hands into the pockets of his dark wash jeans and murmurs lazily, “So the funny thing about that is, Cage, seems to think you were poking around in things you shouldn’t have.”
He raises a brow, as if he might actually give me a chance to answer his question.
He doesn’t.
“You were told not to mess with anything in the crates. Only the boxes were to be sorted. I was there when Vae gave Cage the instructions.”
My mouth drops open in shock. What?
“That’s not at all—”
My breath hitches. Hot tears gather behind my eyes. “That’s not what he told me.”
I know I need to stay calm. Lashing out will only make this worse. If I cry, they smirk. If I get frustrated, they look at me like I’m insane.
Fates, this is petty. And so godsdamned stupid. I suppose assuming hundreds of years on Earth would lead to emotional maturity is too much to ask. These males have had decades to grow up, but they still haven’t.
I take a deep breath, but that only makes the pain in my ribs throb harder. I keep my hands from moving to my stomach, curling them into fists at my sides instead. Dax watches, but doesn’t speak. Just stands there, full of brooding judgment.
“I was just—”
Dax steps close. “Just what? Just holding a weapon? Just conveniently standing in the middle of a room where every electrical system just fried?”
“I didn’t do anything!” I shout.
Daxen laughs, cold and bitter and cruel. “You never do, do you? Things just happen around you. Caelan just happened to get shot. The compound just happened to shake. The power just happened to fail.”
I blink back tears, determined not to cry in front of him again. “I don’t know why any of that—”
“You don’t know. Your favorite phrase.” He takes another step forward, glass crunching under his shoes.
“‘I don’t know, I didn’t do anything, Please believe me,’” his voice is high-pitched. Mocking. He leans closer.
“Here’s what I know, Omega. Every time something happens lately, you’re in the fucking middle of it. Every. Single. Time. And you want me to believe it’s all just a coincidence? You’re just some helpless victim?”
“I am helpless!” My answer rips from my chest, raw and aching. My heart hurts. My soul hurts.
I’m so, so tired.
“I have no power. No control. I can’t even—” I cough. The taste of iron fills my mouth and the back of my tongue. I swallow it down.
Then… I let go.
Not forever, but for now. I’ve hit my limit.
But Daxen pushes. He always pushes.
“Can’t even what?”
“Nothing,” I whisper, turning away so he won’t see the pain on my face.
I can’t do this anymore. Not today. I just can’t. Let him say what he wants. Let him spit accusations.
“May I please go to my room?” I ask, not bothering to look at him. If I were guilty of what they’re accusing me of, I would have broken under the pressure days ago. I would have cracked open and spilled apart, all over the marble floors and dark green runners.
I even know when it would have happened. Somewhere between Cage tripping me as I walked down the stairs, and Silas spilling water all over the floor I was cleaning.
I didn’t even care about the mess. It was the fact that I was so Fates-damned thirsty, and he looked me right in the eyes as he wasted all that water.
We both know it took everything in me not to lick it off the floor.
I don’t know how to play the games these males have had centuries to sharpen like daggers. They don’t just let me keep my head down and exist as Father did. They poke. Prod.
Want me to fight back so they can hurt me.
I can’t outsmart them at their own game. I’m afraid to break the rules. Too exhausted to try.
“You hardly got anything done in here.”
I lean my head back on the wall. “I got quite a bit done. If I’d been told there were boxes I wasn’t allowed to touch, I’d have done more.”
Why am I explaining myself? He isn’t actually being serious.
Dax is intelligent. He knows I was never not to touch certain boxes. These comments are just mental games. His favorite kind of warfare.
It isn’t about stupid boxes. It’s about control.
My arms start to tremble. The pain in my stomach and lungs surges forward, and I press my cheek against the cool wall.
Fates, is it hot in here? I was freezing earlier.
“I don’t feel very well,” I whisper. I keep my eyes shut, too scared to look at his face.
He snorts in disbelief. “You were fine ten minutes ago. You’re not a delicate flower, Idril. Get back to work. The generator will kick on soon.”
My knees give out, and I slide down the wall. My legs fold under me. The pain starts radiating up my chest and into my neck.
“My stomach hurts. And my lungs.”
I feel so helpless. Invisible and alone. My Omega whines, searching frantically for something soft to hide under. My instincts don’t understand that there is nowhere safe.
Nowhere to hide. No Alpha to protect us.
She doesn’t understand why. All she knows is that Alphas are made to protect Omegas. And I don’t have the words to explain why no one ever wants to protect us.
Daxen still hasn’t answered, and when my instincts start to fill with hope, and that hope begins to work its way between all my broken pieces, I want to scream.
Just like I knew he would, Daxen crushes it like a bug under his shoe.
“You’ll live.”
The words are dismissive. They feel like a punch to the gut, and my Omega curls into a tight ball.
I wish I could join her.
Licking chapped lips, I try asking for something else. Something he might actually give. “May I please have something to drink?”
I feel so defeated. So heavy. My limbs aren’t working.
Something is wrong. I feel the truth of it in my bones. I’ve gone from being exhausted, hungry, and in pain, to feeling like I’ve been run over in a matter of hours.
The desire to nest is eating at me.
I rub my shirt between my thumb and forefinger, an attempt to self-soothe I picked up as a child. When I first learned that softness is something to be earned, not freely given.
Tell him, Idril. Tell him you’re hurt. Tell him you thought it was just a small injury, but something is very wrong.
I part my lips to do just that, but I press my lips into a thin line at one glance at the male in front of me. I already tried to tell him. He was completely indifferent. Am I supposed to beg for help?
Begging won’t do anything.
I can’t look Daxen in the eyes while I wait for his reply. Instead, I train my unfocused gaze on his shirt. I don’t know how long I let it linger there. My brain is foggy, and my eyes want to close. By the time he speaks, my mind has started to drift.
“I’ll have Cage bring you a bottle of water.”
“No!” The denial is pure survival instinct.
“No?” He echoes indignantly.
“Not…” I lick my cracked lips. Can I really afford to be picky?
A wet cough rattles in my lungs. Again, the sticky copper taste of blood fills the back of my throat. I turn to the side to subtly choke it down, hoping he won’t notice. Hoping my panic isn’t showing on my face.
“Not Cage, please,” I mutter.
I don’t trust Cage not to tamper with anything he’s ordered to give me.
Daxen either doesn’t hear me or isn’t paying attention. His eyes are locked on my face.
No.
Not my face. He’s looking at my mouth.
His eyes narrow in suspicion. I know that look. He’s running through probabilities. Calculating if what he’s seeing is real, or if I’m somehow manipulating him by being an Omega.
By being alive.
“Are you sick?” He sounds like he doesn’t actually want to know, but his brain is forcing him to ask.
“No.” The lie tumbles out, but I don’t take it back.
He hums. A muscle ticks in his jaw. He stalks to the area I was working at before the lights went out. Where piles of cataloged possessions are stacked neatly in a half circle.
With each step toward the satchel, he kicks over another pile I organized. Trinkets scatter across the floor. They roll under boxes and between cracks in the cement.
Despite the anger flaring in my chest, I don’t complain. Hours of quiet obedience now lie scattered across the floor, and I can’t even summon the energy to speak up.
I lower my eyes so he can’t see the loathing reflected there.
“Where’s that dagger?” He asks, grabbing the satchel and peering inside.
“It’s the one with the bone hilt,” I murmur.
Gods, is that thin, reedy sound my voice?
“What else was in here?” He shakes the satchel, sliding the dagger into the back pocket of his jeans.
An odd sense of melancholy washes over me when I see him take the weapon for himself.
Why does it feel like I just lost something I never truly had to begin with?
And, is this sense of loss because of the dagger… Or Daxen?
A tear tracks down my cheek. I let it fall, too tired to wipe it away.
“That leather journal.” I point to it, lying among a bunch of old, creased photos of Redwood trees. He snatches it from the floor and tucks it under his arm. When his gaze returns to me, I lift my chin, trying to claw back even a tiny bit of dignity.
I hate that I’m crying. Hate that I’m in pain. Hate how he ignores me and makes me feel so worthless. Most of all, I hate that, even now, some broken part of me aches for him to wrap me in his arms and tell me everything will be alright. Even if it’s a lie.
With one last glance in my direction, he walks out.
The generator must have kicked on because as I follow his strong body with my eyes, I can see Cage hovering just outside the door. The light illuminates his cruel expression aimed straight at me over Dax’s shoulder.
Dax turns around. His eyes narrow on Cage.
Oh gods, he wasn’t fast enough to wipe the smile off his face before Dax noticed. Dax’s eyes drift back to me. They flick to my lap, where I’m still rubbing the hem of my shirt between my fingers with quiet desperation.
I stop the movement, shamefully aware of what I’m doing. Embarrassment burns in my cheeks. I snatch my hands away from the cotton, praying he won’t add another layer of humiliation to this day by pointing it out with a taunting comment.
He stands there for so long, I think I missed his exit, but when I glance up, he’s still in the doorway, looking at me thoughtfully.
His eyes soften just a fraction. For that brief second, he doesn’t look at me with hatred. He looks at me like he’s worried I might be unraveling quicker than either of us expected.
A split second later, he straightens his spine. The hard lines of his face reappear so quickly, I think I imagined the softness.
A trainee I’ve never seen passes. Daxen reaches out and snags him by the shirt ordering, “Take her to her room.”
He leaves, boots echoing on the concrete.
I exhale sharply, catching myself before I thank him, even though he wouldn’t hear me.
The only thing that matters now is getting back to the attic.
And away from every Alpha in this place.