Chapter 1 #2
"In case I got myself killed during heat and they had one fewer omega to choose from. I'm sure they're hoping my lot comes up. Spares them a good deal of trouble, though I suppose the bandits would come back."
"Kess—"
"It's fine. I know what I am to them." I shoulder my pack. "Come on. If we hurry, we can make it back before they start."
-
The village square is already filling when we arrive, slipping in through the back streets. Everyone's here—farmers leaving their fields, craftspeople abandoning their work, families huddled together in tight knots of whispered anxiety.
The elders stand on the raised platform wearing their ceremonial robes. Elder Torim is at the center, tall and severe, holding a leather bag that contains five stones.
Five omega families in our village. Five stones. One marked.
Simple math. Deadly odds.
I spot Phern near the front with her mother. The girl's face is white as milk, eyes too big, cheeks wan and pale. She's clutching her mother's skirt with both hands, and she's trying so hard not to cry that I can see her whole body trembling.
Something hot and sharp twists in my chest.
Elder Torim raises his hands and the crowd quiets.
"We are gathered in accordance with the treaty between our village and the dragon lord Rhystan Vhal'kar, Beast King of the Northern Territories." His voice carries across the square. "The tribute is due. One omega will be selected by lot to fulfill our obligation and bring honor to our village."
Honor. That's a nice word for a deadly sacrifice no one would choose.
"The selection will be conducted by the drawing of lots, as is tradition. Five stones. One marked. The families will draw in order of seniority."
This is how they do it. Random chance. No one's fault if your daughter is chosen.
It's bullshit, but it lets everyone sleep at night.
The first family is called forward. The oldest daughter reaches into the bag with a shaking hand and pulls out a stone.
Unmarked.
The relief on her mother's face is almost obscene.
The second family. Another omega draws.
Unmarked.
Two down. Three to go.
The third family is called, and Phern's mother has to be prompted twice before she steps forward. Phern follows like a ghost, all big eyes and trembling chin.
Her mother reaches into the bag.
Time seems to slow.
The stone comes out.
Marked.
For a second, no one moves. No one breathes.
Then Phern's mother screams.
It's not loud—more like something being torn out of her throat. Raw and broken and utterly helpless. She drops the stone and it clatters on the platform, and Phern just stands there, frozen, tears streaming down her face in silence.
The elders start the formal words: "By the laws of the treaty and the grace of the dragon lord—"
"Wait."
My voice cuts through the square like a blade.
Everyone turns to look at me. I can feel their eyes, dozens of them, all landing on me at once. I'm sure they're wondering the same thing I am: what the hell am I doing, and why the fuck am I doing it?
I step forward, ignoring Yaern's sharp intake of breath behind me.
"I volunteer," I say clearly, in a voice that doesn't shake, though my insides feel like molten lava. "To take her place."
The silence is absolute.
Then everyone is talking at once—a surge of shocked voices, questions, confusion. Elder Torim's face goes hard as stone.
"That's not how the selection works," he says.
"The treaty says one omega." I'm making this up as I go, but it sounds right. "It doesn't specify which omega. Just that one must be sent every ten years."
I can see him calculating. The other elders too, heads together, whispering urgently.
"You're not—" Torim stops himself, but I know what he was going to say. You're not a proper omega.
"I'm what the Beast King asked for," I say, letting iron creep into my voice. "An omega. Or are you saying the treaty is particular about what kind?"
Checkmate.
I can see it on his face—the moment he realizes I've given him an out.
They get rid of me, the omega who scares them, who blacks out during heat and wakes up covered in blood.
They save sweet, gentle Phern who actually fits their idea of what an omega should be.
And they can tell the Beast King that an omega volunteered, which is probably even better than sending an unwilling tribute.
Everyone wins.
Except me, of course. But that was never really in question.
The elders confer in whispers. It doesn't take long.
"Very well," Torim announces, and he can't quite hide the relief in his voice. "The tribute will be Kess."
The way he says my name—like something distasteful he has to get out of his mouth quickly. Like he's glad to be rid of me.
Phern tears herself away from her mother and runs to me, throwing her thin arms around my waist and sobbing thank-yous into my dress. I pat her head awkwardly because I've never been good at this—comfort, softness, emotions. Those aren't roles I know how to play.
But violence? Violence I understand. Rage? That's my native language.
And I'm about to teach the Beast King exactly what a wrong omega can do when she stops pretending to be what everyone wants her to be.
The crowd disperses slowly, people lingering to stare at me like I'm already a ghost. Phern's mother hugs me with tears streaming down her face, thanking me over and over until I have to gently extract myself because I'm about five seconds from snapping at her to stop.
Then they're gone, and it's just me and Yaern in the emptying square.
She doesn't say anything for a long moment. Just looks at me with those too-knowing eyes.
"You volunteered," she says finally.
"Yeah."
"You volunteered to go to the Beast King. The dragon lord who's killed forty-seven omegas in three hundred years."
"Forty-seven that we know of," I correct. "Could be more. Probably are more."
"Kess." She grabs my shoulders, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. "This is suicide."
"Probably." I don't pull away. Let her see my face, let her see that I know exactly what I'm doing. "But Phern is fourteen. She's a child. And I—" I stop. Start again. "I'm not."
"You're twenty-two."
"I'm old enough to make my own choices about how I die." The words come out harder than I intend. "And I choose this. Better than bleeding out in the forest during a heat blackout. Better than accidentally killing a person instead of a wolf. At least this way, it means something."
"It means you're dead." Her voice cracks. "It means I lose my best friend because you're too fucking noble for your own good."
"I'm not noble." I almost laugh at that.
"I'm angry. I've been angry my whole life—at the village for treating me like a rabid dog they have to tolerate, at my body for making me this way, at the Beast King for existing and demanding tribute and killing omegas for three hundred years.
And now I get to do something about it."
Yaern's eyes widen. "You're going to try to kill him."
I don't deny it. It wasn't something I really thought about, but seeing that wolf this morning—knowing that I tried to kill something that also tried to kill me—it just kinda... happened. Because it makes sense, doesn't it? Send a beast to kill a beast.
She's quiet for a long moment, emotions warring across her face. Then she nods, just once, sharp and decisive.
"Then you'll need more than anger," she says. "We have until dawn tomorrow. I'll help you prepare."
Something loosens in my chest. Of course she will. Of course Yaern—my only friend, the only person in this gods-forsaken village who sees me as more than a monster—would help me plan my own untimely death.
"Thank you," I manage past the sudden tightness in my throat.
"Don't thank me yet." She links her arm through mine and starts pulling me toward the edge of the square. "You're going up against a three-hundred-year-old dragon shifter who's killed dozens of omegas. We need to figure out how you're going to stay alive."
"I don't need to survive," I point out. "Just get close enough for long enough to put a blade through his throat."
"Kess."
"What?"
She stops walking and turns to face me, her expression fierce. "Don't say goodbye like you're not coming back."
"I'm not—"
"I don't care what you think is going to happen.
" Her grip on my arm tightens. "You're my best friend.
The sister I chose. And I'm not losing you without a fight.
So we're going to plan this properly. We're going to give you every possible advantage.
And you're going to try—actually try—to come back to me alive. Understand?"
I want to argue. Want to tell her it's pointless, that no one survives the Beast King, that hoping for anything else is just setting herself up for more pain.
But the look on her face stops me.
"Okay," I say instead. "I'll try."
It's a lie and we both know it. But she accepts it anyway, because that's what best friends do.
I have until dawn to prepare to die.
And to make sure I take him with me when I go.