“You will let me go,” I said, in that odd, two-toned voice I’d spoken with before. “Now.”
“Make me,” he taunted, laughing as his lips sucked on my skin below my ear.
I didn’t speak again. I didn’t need to. I prayed silently to the Goddess to send me the weapon I required.
My entire life, I had wanted to be anything but who I was,whatI was: an Omega. I had longed to look less beautiful, until Thorn had taught me to use that as a weapon. I had wanted to be stronger, larger, although my slender build often caused my enemies to underestimate me. I had felt betrayed by my body when I started perfuming, and then again, when my heat overcame me.
But now I saw it all for what it was. A gift, a collection of gifts loaned to me by the Goddess, to use in honor of Her will, and for my Alpha’s protection.
“Help me,” I whispered aloud. “Goddess, please, help me understand how to use the power I’ve had all along.”
I wasn’t at all surprised when She answered, a bell-like chime playing in my mind, a vision of wings made of light, stretching, flared with golden feathers.
Feathers that were razor sharp and dripping with Her light.
“Yes,” I said. “I understand.” And I closed my eyes.
KAVIN
When my father told me he had found an Omega living in Verdan, and had contracted her to be my bride, I had been ecstatic for a few seconds before I remembered to be wary of gifts from him. My first sword had been given to me at nine, only minutes before my first surprise attack, engineered by my father to test my natural ability without training. I still had the scars on my back and shoulder from that day.
Over the years, I’d learned that he gave gifts when he wanted something: to test me, or teach me a lesson, or if he was about to ask something of me that he knew I wouldn’t like.
He’d given me a new horse and a stack of rare, valuable books about Omegas right before the fateful trip to collect Roya. I had been on my guard from the moment we left Starlak. But now, hearing the Goddess I had been traveling with speak in a voice that somehow traveled into my soul and pulled my whole focus to her, my guard dropped entirely.
“You will let me go. Now,” she demanded, and my gaze flew to her.
Unfortunately, my father had his sword in mid-swing. It was only his reflexes that saved me from losing my head literally, as well as figuratively. “Son?” He raged, red-faced over his silvered beard. “What are you playing—” Then he fell silent, too. The room went still as a tomb as we all gaped at the scene before us. The blood-soaked Guildmaster held Roya in his arms, that knife at her throat. No one could reach her in time to save her.
But Roya didn’t need saving. Because she was the torch, and the blade, and so much more than any man could deserve. She closed her eyes, whispered something, then spoke softly, “Yes. I understand,” and exploded into light.
From her back, wide wings of flame and gold extended on both sides, unfolding and piercing through the Guildmaster’s arms, slicing deep. The wings weren’t corporeal, but the effect they had on the fool who continued to try and hold her was very much material. His blood spurted in great arcs away from them both, splattering the floor and ceiling. By the time the man understood what was happening, how Roya had changed, it was too late to let go; he was impaled on what looked like golden feathers of light, but were ethereal blades.
“By the Goddess,” my father sighed next to me, his sword clattering to the floor as he kneeled suddenly.
“Yes,” I answered, knowing that was exactly what we’d witnessed: the Goddess’s gift to the woman I loved. Her protection. Her glory.
Throughout the room, everyone fell to their knees in wonder, awe, and terror. Roya’s eyes were beams of light, and golden tears ran from her face as she tore herself away from the Guildmaster, who slumped to the floor, cradling his bleeding arms.
He would soon be dead; Roya was the one who needed caring for, her grief almost palpable. “Thorn,” she sobbed, taking two steps before dropping to where the assassin she loved lay in a pool of blood. Her wings flared bright when she bent over him, the feathers folding around them both like something out of a fairy tale or dream.
“That’s our Omega?” my father wondered aloud.
“No,” I said. “That’shisOmega.” I sheathed my sword and strode to her side. She had dissolved into tears, the liquid falling down her face in ribbons of gold, splashing over Thorn’s face. “Roya. Listen to me.” I shook her arm, and her eyes drifted to mine, devoid of any joy. Even the golden fire seemed to be dimming, as if she were…
I gasped. “Roya, the Guildmaster’s blade. It was poisoned?” My gaze swept the room, landing on Icarus, who was slumped against his brother, uninjured but still failing. “Roya, your blood can cure the poison in his veins. Your tears may even be able to heal his wounds. But you…” I broke off when her eyes flooded with hope.
“Thorn,” she shouted, pressing her face against his lips. She bit down hard on her lower lip, and glittering blood dripped from the wound, mixing with the tears. “Drink, Thorn. Drink!” She forced his mouth open with her hand, pressing her torn lip inside his open jaw, rubbing her tears on his tongue and teeth, working frantically to save him.
As she struggled to make him swallow, the woman who looked like a portrait of Roya in twenty years joined her, working his throat with her own blood-soaked hand. “He’ll survive, Roya,” the woman muttered, all the love in the world shining in her eyes as she held Thorn’s head as well. Her eyes sparkled almost as blue as Roya’s, but held a fiery certainty. “He won’t leave you.”
“He always planned to, Valerie,” she sobbed. “He said I wasn’t safe with him around, that the Guild will come for me if I’m his mate.”
I knew what he really feared: that if he and Roya shared the mating bite, then she would follow him into death when his past caught up with him.
Valerie scoffed. “The rest of the Guild will still come for you. Everyone will come for you, Roya.” Beneath her hand, Thorn’s head bobbled. His chest rose only the barest degree, but Roya saw it, and bit down on her lip again, kissing him until her blood spilled out the sides of their joined mouths.
“Thorn?” she rasped. Her hands were pale and trembling, and her wings wavered, as if the magical light were being consumed by the darkness.
