Chapter 7 – Billie #2
She stops so abruptly I almost run into her. When she turns, her expression could freeze hell.
"Sarcasm," she says, each syllable dripping with disdain, "is unbecoming of an omega."
"Guess that'll be our first lesson then."
Her nostrils flare slightly, the first crack in her icy composure. "You were a hunter, were you not?"
It's not really a question, so I don't bother answering.
"I suppose you think yourself above all this," she continues, beginning to walk again. "That your background somehow makes you superior to the role nature has designed for you."
"Nature didn't design shit," I snap. "This is just biology fucking me over."
She gives a laugh that sounds like ice cracking. "Such crude language. Yes, we have much work to do." She pauses at a window overlooking the gardens. "Tell me, Miss Moreau, what do you know of omega history?"
"They're rare. They can breed with Fae. The end."
"Precisely the level of ignorance I expected.
" She turns from the window, fixing me with those violet eyes.
"Omegas are not merely breeding stock, despite what your hunters taught you.
They are the bridge between our species.
The only humans capable of truly understanding Fae culture, of moving between both worlds with grace and purpose. "
"Because they can pop out hybrid babies."
"Because," she says, her voice taking on a tone of exasperation, "they possess qualities that resonate with Fae magic in ways regular humans cannot. Your pheromones, your very presence, creates harmony where there would otherwise be discord."
"That's a fancy way of saying we're walking aphrodisiacs."
She sighs. "You will learn, Miss Moreau, that there is more to being an omega than base biological functions.
You will be welcomed into the highest circles of Fae society.
You will experience wonders that even the most successful humans could never dream of.
You will walk in worlds they cannot even imagine. "
"All for the low, low price of my freedom and autonomy."
"Freedom?" She laughs again, and this time she sounds genuinely amused. "Child, you will have more freedom as an omega in Fae society than you ever would have had as a hunter. The doors that will open for you, the power you will wield—"
"Power?" Now it's my turn to laugh. "Is that what you call this?" I gesture to the collar around my neck. "Being tagged like livestock?"
Her expression hardens. "That collar is for your protection during your transition period. Once you have proven yourself capable of behaving appropriately, it will be removed."
Bullshit. But I file that information away.
So it can be removed. Good to know.
She leads me up the curved staircase to the second floor, down a hallway lined with portraits of what I assume are former students. All human, all wearing expressions of serene contentment that make my skin crawl. Brainwashed, every last one of them.
"These will be your chambers," she says, opening a door at the end of the hall.
I step inside and have to bite back a curse.
It's bigger than the entire residential block at the compound.
A sitting area with furniture that looks too expensive to actually sit on.
A bed that could sleep five people comfortably.
Windows overlooking the gardens, framed by curtains that shimmer like captured starlight.
"A wardrobe has been prepared in your size and colors," Madame Loriyne says, gesturing to a door I assume leads to a closet. "If you require assistance with any of the items, you need only ask."
"My colors?" What the fuck does that mean?
She gives me a look that suggests I've just asked what water is. "The tones that best complement your complexion and natural coloring. Really, Miss Moreau, did the hunters teach you nothing of presentation?"
"They taught me that clothes should be functional. Everything else is vanity."
"And now you will learn that presentation is its own function.
How you appear reflects not only on yourself but on your future mates, your household, your entire lineage, and not least of all me as your teacher.
" She moves to the door. "Dinner is served at seven sharp. Tardiness will not be tolerated."
She's gone before I can respond, the door closing without a sound, as if she's mastered even the art of shutting a door like a fucking lady.
I'm alone.
First things first, the window. I cross the room in five quick strides, reaching for the latch. The collar warms immediately, then sends a jolt of electricity down my spine that makes me stumble back.
"Fuck!" I grab my neck, the metal warm under my fingers. Not hot enough to burn, but definitely a warning.
Okay. Windows are out. For now.
I prowl the room, looking for potential weapons. The sitting area has a fireplace with a poker that could do some damage. The bathroom—and holy shit, that bathroom is bigger than my entire room at home—has mirrors that could be broken into nice, sharp pieces.
But first, I need to see what kind of ridiculous clothes they expect me to wear.
The closet door opens to reveal a space that boggles my brain.
It's bigger than the bedroom, rows upon rows of clothing in every style imaginable.
Gowns with unnecessary bows, laces, and puffy skirts.
Robes that flow like water. Things I don't even have names for in fabrics that probably don't exist in the human realm.
And the colors... fuck, I hate that she was right, but they're all in shades that do look good against my skin. Deep jewel tones, rich blues and purples, silver and black accents. Even the casual wear, if you can call anything in here casual, is clearly custom-tailored.
I pull out what looks like the simplest outfit I can find: flowing pants in deep sapphire and a tunic in silver. There are undergarments too, things that make what I wore at the compound look like burlap sacks.
When did they measure me for all this? The thought makes my skin crawl. While I was unconscious at the hospital, probably. Fae hands on my body while I couldn't even protest.
I strip off the hospital clothes—and yeah, now that I see actual clothing, I realize what I've been wearing is basically their version of a hospital gown, but still fancier than anything a hunter would wear—and put on the new outfit.
It fits perfectly. Why wouldn't it?
I catch sight of myself in one of the many mirrors and almost don't recognize the person staring back. The clothes transform me, make me look like I belong in this world of impossible beauty and casual cruelty. My dark hair against the silver, my pale skin given warmth by the jewel tones.
I look like an omega. A pretty, pampered pet dressed up for display.
The thought makes me want to tear it all off, but I don't. I need to play along, at least for now. Need to learn their game before I can destroy it.
Seven sharp, she said. I glance at the clock, an ornate thing that probably tells everything from the time to the optimal moment to piss, and see I have two hours before dinner.
Plenty of time to explore my new cage and start planning how to pick this lock.