Chapter 8 - Charlize #2
He dips his hand in the pocket of his grey robe and hands me a small vial. “Here. Drink this.”
I accept it hesitantly. “What is it?”
“It’s a heat suppressant. It will help suppress the heat response while your body settles.”
“Settles into what?”
He looks right at me. “Has anyone ever told you that you ask a lot of questions?
“Has anyone ever told you that your statements and actions can be a little bit vague?” A pause. “You said it’s exactly as you suspected. Can you tell me what’s exactly as you suspected.
Something almost sympathetic crosses his weathered face. “Your wolf isn’t dead.”
Silence.
“It never was. Just starved enough it never had the strength to show itself—until three Kings’ pheromones and a reckless dose of drugs forced it toward the surface.”
I raise the vile and shove it down my throat. “It’s old news that my wolf isn’t entirely dead. My village healer told me that a long time ago. What I don’t understand is why I reacted to the Kings’ pheromones the way I did.”
“Isn’t it obvious? It’s because you’re an Omega,” he says. “Not just any Omega. Their fated mate.”
The confirmation of what I’d thought earlier comes crashing on me. They rejected me as a mate because they thought I was shiftless, but I’m an Omega now.
He studies me for a moment. “Whether your wolf fully wakes, how strong it becomes if it does—that depends on time. Care. Rest you clearly haven’t had in years.”
I laugh, and it comes out bitter, broken at the edges. “Rest. In the Kings’ palace. As their prisoner.”
“As their intended,” he corrects gently. “You keep forgetting what you are. The Kings’ fated mate.”
I go very still.
“They don’t intend anything for me,” I blurt out. “I heard what one of them said. Wolfless, weak, not worth the trouble.” The words come sharp to hide my hurting heart.
He watches in silence.
“They didn’t want me, so whatever this is, it’s not acceptance.”
“That’s not true,” he says, his voice quiet and strangely soothing.
The healer stomps his staff three times on the floor and then leaves me standing there, confused.
I drop onto the edge of the soft bed and cup my face in my palms. My heart is heavy with a mix of emotions. Anger. Sadness. And something else I haven’t named yet.
Tears sting my eyes, and I cry, eventually, because I spent twenty-four years certain I’d never belong on the Star island. I thought I’d never be a real wolf, never be wanted or accepted by their kind.
Now some old healer with kind eyes is telling me that I’m Omega and I could actually fit in the one place I resent the most. I’m not sure I want to fit in.
I’m not sure how I feel about being an Omega, about being the Alpha Kings’ intended.
I curl myself up under the sheets, my head resting on an actual pillow—soft and comfy. Tears stream down my cheeks as I lay there, thinking about this drastic turn of events.
What am I going to do now?
That uncertainty sits heavily in my chest, weighing me down.
***
The next morning, I wake up to the sound of chirping birds outside and the rays of the rising sun streaming in through the window. Its golden glow is warm against my skin, and my eyes flutter before finally opening.
I haven’t had such a peaceful night since I can remember. Even though I stayed up late sulking in bed, the second I fell asleep, I didn’t wake up until now.
Here, there’s no stepmother to barge into my small room—if that tiny cubicle passes as a room—and yell at me for being such a bag of lazy bones.
Am I actually free?
I comb my fingers through my hair and sit on the edge of the bed, bare feet on the cool, polished floor.
A knock on the door startles me. It’s soft and gentle. Yet unexpected. My head snaps toward the door as I wonder why whoever’s out there hasn’t come in already.
Instead, they knock again.
I’m so used to my privacy being invaded all the time that I don’t remember it’s common courtesy to knock and wait to be asked to come in first.
Oh! They’re awaiting my permission.
“My lady,” a familiar voice calls softly from behind the door. “Are you awake?”
My lady?
That sounds weird.
“It is I, Brianna.”
She’s the younger one of the two servants who washed me yesterday.
I clear my throat. “Come in. It’s open.”
The door creaks and makes way, revealing her in her black-and-white outfit. She walks inside, her flats silent against the floor.
“I apologize for waking you up, my lady.” She halts at a distance from me, her head slightly bowed.
I rise to my feet, feeling uncomfortable by the way she can’t look me in the eyes. It’s like I’m some kind of goddess over her, and I don’t like it.
“It’s fine. You didn’t wake me,” I say to her.
A pause.
“The Kings expect your presence at the dining room,” she says. “They’d like you to have breakfast with them.”
My heart stops.
She walks over to the bed, and that’s when she reveals the dress that’s been behind her back this whole time. It’s a beautiful crimson gown with pearls around the neckline. She carefully drapes the dress over the mattress and straightens it.
“I’ll be here to help you change.” She stands beside the bed.
“You’re not going to bathe me again, are you?” I ask her.
“If you want me to, I will.”
“No, I do not.” I head straight toward the bathroom.
Once I’m done, Brianna styles my red hair into a neat bun on top of my head. She paints my lips red and brushes powder against my face. She stands behind me and pulls up the zipper of my gown, her eyes meeting mine in the full-length mirror before us.
The mirror is clearer than any one I’d ever seen, and I can’t help marveling at my own reflection. The soft fabric hugs me in all the right places, highlighting my curves and contours.
I can barely recognize the woman staring back at me in that mirror.
“You look absolutely gorgeous, my lady,” Brianna murmurs.
My cheeks flush. “Thank you.”
She leads the way, and I follow. The shoes on my feet fit perfectly, the soft clicking sounds bouncing off the walls. I’m led into a large room with a long table dominating the center.
All three Kings are already seated.
The mean one who ordered my execution looks up at me with the cold eyes of his. His white-blond hair is combed back, spine straight, a plate in front of him he hasn’t touched.
He glances at me once, brief, assessing, then looks away.
Wayne looks like he just rolled out of bed and doesn’t much care who knows it. Black hair mussed, sprawled in his chair, one boot propped against the table leg. He grins the second he spots me. “Ahh, look who finally decided to join us. Come. Sit.”
Briana takes a bow and disappears without a word.
I don’t sit right away. I look between them, and the deliberate distance they keep clicks something into place.
Their chairs are angled just slightly apart, and none of them hold the others’ eyes for more than a second.
I pull back the empty chair, its leg scraping against the floor. Quietly, I take my seat at the table.
“You’ve recovered some color,” Sinth says, gentler than the other two, though his amber eyes stay watchful. “How are you feeling?”
I’m angry. I’m confused, and I genuinely don’t want to be here.
However, I glance at him and say, “Better.”
“That’s it?” Wayne asks, munching on an apple. “That’s all you have to say, ‘better’?”
What else was I supposed to say? I don’t say that out loud, though. I just stare down at my plate, the tantalizing aroma of roasted chicken breast drifting into my nostrils.
“Come on, tell us how you’re feeling,” he insists. “Don’t be such a bore.”