Chapter 28
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
I’m thrown into a classroom with fifteen other omegas, including Bethany.
I go to her the moment I see her, and she sweeps me into a tight hug.
We cling to each other, tears in our eyes, as the Soldiers shut the door behind us.
It bangs shut with a deafening ring of finality.
A moment later, wards shimmer over the door, and I know we’re locked in.
One of the other omegas lets out a wail and runs to the door, pounding on it with both of her fists.
“Quiet in there!” a Soldier barks from outside. Saints, are we being guarded as well as contained by the wards? Any hope of escape dies in that moment. I have no scribe, and I’m armed only with my affinity. It’s not enough, no matter how much I’ve trained.
I slump down against a wall, Bethany sitting down beside me. She lets out a sniffle, and I hug her to me.
“The wife of the professor the Soldiers killed,” Bethany says quietly, nodding toward an omega slumped against the wall, her eyes staring blankly ahead, her arms wrapped around her thin body. “He was a friend of Doug’s. We exchange Yule cards with their pack every year.”
Another omega wraps the delicate woman in a shawl, tying it tightly around her shoulders, but the professor’s mate only stares forward, her expression forlorn.
I try to take stock of our hopeless situation.
We were all relieved of our scribes when captured.
Some of the women in here aren’t even mages and won’t be able to fight back with magic.
And even if we were able to do anything, we’re being held deep within the consortium.
There are dozens of Soldiers standing between us and any form of escape.
Especially if they’re guarding the rooms where hostages are being held.
Hostages.
Did the Soldiers of Saint Aldous just take an entire ball hostage?
No, something whispers in my mind. Many were killed too.
But I saw my men alive. I saw them. They took a few hexes, but they were all alive, weren’t they?
Saints, I can’t even be sure. I close my eyes and reach out with my awareness, seeking out my bonds.
I’ve never tried to feel my bond mates at any great distance before, and now all I feel are whispers, like smoke, faint at the very edge of my consciousness.
“Our packs…”
Bethany turns to me, blotting at her eyes with the back of her hand. “We’re both valuable hostages,” she says in a low voice. “They’ll want to keep our packs alive to control us and vice versa.”
My stomach sinks.
Around me, the omegas weep, but fear stays my tears.
The butcher has a particular interest in this one.
The butcher.
The name alone makes my blood ice in my veins, and I shudder against Bethany, terrified as my thoughts linger on the threat. A particular interest. Am I slated for death? Or worse? Who could the butcher be to the Soldiers of Saint Aldous and Baphomet’s Prince?
Unless…
Unless it’s the very man who’s been butchering omegas for months now.
My father.
The thought makes my stomach drop.
What I’m slated for is worse than death.
“He’ll be coming for me,” I whisper to Bethany, my voice dull. “My father. He’s the butcher.”
Bethany hugs me. “We won’t let them take you. I swear it.”
But I already know what happens to omegas who fight back. At best, we’re collared. At worst, we’re forced to watch our mates die before our eyes, trapped in omega traps. My greatest fear, a fear even greater than my fear of my father.
Saints, I can’t fight back, not if I want my pack to live. I see what Bethany means about them keeping our packs alive to control us. I would do anything for my men. Even if it means standing down, making myself small, and behaving.
“Beth, you have to let them take me when the time comes. They’ll kill your pack if you fight back.”
She looks me in the eye and smooths an errant curl behind my ear.
“Juniper, some things are worth fighting for.”
My father comes for me the next morning. None of us have slept, but we’ve quieted, left to our own thoughts and fears. The fear in the room is palpable, bombarding my affinity, but my own terror is louder.
The butcher.
I hear him talk with a few Soldiers, then the door swings open, and five Soldiers stream into the room, their scribes raised in an obvious threat: attempt anything and you will be punished, maybe killed.
My father doesn’t wear a mask like the Soldiers do, which is somehow scarier. The grin on his face could rival the vicious smiles the Baphomet masks wear. He isn’t hiding; his devious glee is painted across his face. He doesn’t need a mask to inspire terror.
Beth clutches me, angling her body in front of mine, but my father isn’t deterred. He backhands her without a second thought, and we both cry out. She goes down, but she doesn’t stay down.
“You will not take this woman,” she says, fire in her voice.
“Stun her,” my father says to the Soldiers.
One Soldier levels his scribe at Bethany, and I duck in front of the other omega, shielding her with my body.
My father rolls his eyes and nods to two of the Soldiers.
They come for me, each taking an arm, and I fight, thrashing against their grasp, but they’re too strong for me.
They drag me up from the floor, even as I kick out at them, and when I’m away from Bethany, she launches herself at my father, only for her to fall to the ground, paralyzed by the same hex Cassian taught me.
I seethe. They’ve hurt my family, my real family.
I’m defenseless against five Soldiers and my father; even my affinity won’t be enough to down them all. And worse, what would happen if I did take them down? Would my pack be punished? The thought makes me still in the Soldiers’ arms, and I sag, my head down.
“So, the bitch can behave,” one of the Soldiers grasping my arm says, his voice coming through his molded leather mask.
“When properly incentivized,” my father agrees. He nods to a Soldier. “Bind her wrists. Come, Juniper.”
I have no choice but to obey, to be dragged along by the Soldiers, taken from the other omegas.
When I’m clear of the door, they force me forward, scribes digging into my back.
I stumble along before them, off balance with my hands bound behind my back.
My father leads me deeper into the consortium, into the medical wing of the school.
The hospital at the consortium is a learning hospital, and I see that starkly as we proceed past treatment rooms and operating theaters.
I crane my neck to see if there are omega test subjects or hostages in the treatment rooms, but a Soldier sets a rough hand on my shoulder and shoves me forward.
We finally come upon a treatment room far from the others, and my father slips a keyring from his pocket, unlocking the door. I’m brutally thrust into the room, stumbling and crashing into the railed bed. I haven’t even righted myself when the Soldier forces me to my feet and unbinds my wrists.
Another slaps a cuff on my right wrist, and I struggle against him, knowing what’s coming. I’ll be cuffed to the bed, confined to the small space, utterly at their mercy.
“Now, now,” my father says archly. “Don’t fight the inevitable, Juniper. It makes you look stupid, not brave.”
Saints, I want to wheel on him and force my affinity into his mind, to take him down to his knees, clutching his head in pain. But I’d get beaten for that—or my pack would.
The Soldier clicks the other cuff around the rail of the bed and pushes me back until I collapse onto the mattress. I scramble to the head of the bed, curling to protect myself.
My father huffs out a pleased laugh, a dark sound that makes fear pool in my gut.
Now that I’m bound, the Soldiers leave the room, scribes drawn to put up the wards that’ll seal me in here. They’re taking every precaution for me, and I don’t know if I should be flattered or terrified.
“This won’t be easy for you, daughter,” my father says. I’m too frightened to even try to read his mind, but he goes on, laying it all out for me. “I’m going to show you everything you’ve been so curious about. My experiments. You’ve already seen the results, haven’t you?”
I glare up at him. “That alpha killed a councilor.”
“At the behest of the Prince, yes. Soon he’ll have the Council of Nine in the palm of his hand.”
I shudder. “You’re all monsters! Did you know the Soldiers call you ‘the butcher?’”
His face lights, his lips curling into a smile that chills me to my very core. “A title well earned, I assure you. Now, rest. Be good. Don’t try to fight what’s to come, or I’ll kill the pack you hold so dear.”
I still at his threat. I know he’s serious, but he’s still smiling that ruthless smile of his.
“Don’t force my hand, Juniper. You think you’re clever, but this is my game you’re playing. You won’t win.”
I sag against the headboard of the bed and nod my understanding.
He smiles his vicious grin, approving of my docility, then leaves, talking to the Soldiers briefly. I only hear his orders to guard me constantly, to be wary of my affinity, before the door clicks shut behind him.
A chill seizes me, and I fumble with the blankets on the bed, drawing them up around my body.
He’s right. I won’t win. Not if I can’t get out of here. I yank at the cuff, the chain jingling as the cuffs rattle against the bed rail. I yank and I yank until my wrist is bloody before the fight goes out of me.
I have no scribe, no idea how to get out of the winding halls of the Saint Galen Consortium. I have no way of finding my way out without being spotted.
Nothing. I have no hope. A rescue would be too risky. The hostages could be slain if anyone attempted it. No outside help is coming, nor help from the inside. I’m trapped here, confined to this room, this bed. My stomach gnaws at itself as fearful tears spring to my eyes.
I’m utterly alone. Confinement scares me, but my father scares me even more.
My father doesn’t come for me, not for days. The Soldiers come in with food and water, and to take me to the bathroom a few times a day, but other than that, I see no one. I don’t attempt anything when I’m not cuffed; what would I even do?
I glean small details from the Soldiers as they guard my room. I have two pairs of guards that rotate in and out, but their minds feel… slimy. Often their thoughts stray back to the convocation ball, which they remember with glee. An utter triumph.
“Baphomet’s Prince succeeded in this attack,” one says to the other as I read him through the door with my affinity.
“An attack long coming,” the other agrees. “And now we have everything we need. A base of operations, hostages. The Council.”
“No one will be able to stand against us. The master race will rise, and Project Halcyon will proceed as intended.”
I slip out of his mind, not wanting to hear anything further.
I don’t get any concrete information from them about my captivity.
They don’t know when my father will come, and all I get are flashes of the corridors of the consortium.
They all look the same to me. It’s hopeless to even think of escaping.
I may not be collared, but I’m too afraid to use my affinity for anything but mind reading.
I want to sear my magic into the minds of every Soldier that took part in the attack, into the Prince’s head. Into my father’s.
Left to my own devices, trapped in this horrible bed, I sleep while I can.
In my waking hours, I play back my visions.
I’ve seen myself pinned to an operating table by Soldiers.
I’ve seen my father walking me through the medical wing of the consortium, talking to me about his experiments.
Which of those visions will come true? I know in my heart of hearts that at least one of them will.
Or is that my affinity whispering to me?
I dig deep within myself, trying to call a vision. My head throbs with the effort, but I can’t get my affinity to flow; I’m far too frightened. Blood trickles from my nose, and I sob, tears mixing with the blood as they run down my face.
I ache for my pack in my long hours alone.
I want their comfort, the assurance of their arms around me.
I want their scents in my nose. I want them, and yet I want them to stay away.
My mates are exactly the type to try to stage a rescue, but I send up a prayer to the saints that they don’t.
I’ve seen what happens to packs that don’t obey.
I don’t even need Kel forcing it into my mind; it’s in every one of my nightmares.
I can feel my bonds, stretched to their very limit, and I know they’re being held on the other side of the consortium if my small understanding of my bonds is true.
Only, I can’t feel Marcus and Simon. I have to believe that Cassian would have protected Simon, but as for Marcus, I have no idea.
I don’t have bonds with them, so I can’t read their emotions, and I’ve never used my affinity at such a range.
I try, but all it does is bloody my nose.
I can’t get my affinity to flow through me, and I can’t center myself, can’t focus on my breath.
I try as hard as I can, but my thoughts are too frazzled, too fraught.
Without my pack, what hope do I have of being rescued?
If the Soldiers I read are to be believed, and I have no reason to doubt them, Baphomet’s Prince has all the players in this horrific game exactly where he wants them.
The army won’t attempt a raid and rescue mission for fear of hostages being killed.
The resistance doesn’t have the numbers.
No rescue is coming. We’re all at the whims of the Prince.
I’m trapped too far away from the other hostages to even know if the Soldiers have negotiated for the release of any of them.
I’m truly in the dark, and it terrifies me.