My fingers are too thin, too short, too warm. They don't stretch me the way I need to be stretched, don't fill the aching void that demands something thicker, harder, colder. Something that belongs to the alpha my body has already chosen.
I can barely stand upright. My legs shake constantly, muscles weak with constant arousal. My pussy throbs with each heartbeat, swollen and desperate, lips puffy and gaping slightly as if already preparing to be split open by alpha cock.
The frost patterns on the walls have grown more complex overnight, spreading across the ceiling in swirling designs that hurt to look at. They pulse with the rhythm of my heartbeat, responding to my distress like living things.
Everything smells like him now. Everything makes me think of cold hands and demanding touches and the sound of his voice when he's pleased with me. The pillow smells like pine and winter. The air itself carries his scent, as if the palace has absorbed his essence and is feeding it back to me in concentrated doses.
I hate that I want his approval. Hate that I want him, period. But wanting and needing are different things, and right now I need something I can't give myself.
I need my alpha.
The thought slips through my defenses before I can stop it, and the truth of it makes me sob. Because that's what he is, isn't it? What I've become to him. An omega in heat, desperate and empty and completely at his mercy.
Mine. The word whispers through my consciousness in his voice.You're mine, little omega. You've always been mine.
I try to eat breakfast, but everything tastes like ash. Food has no appeal when my body is focused on only one hunger—the need to be filled, claimed, knotted until I can't think of anything but the alpha who owns me.
I try to read, but the words blur together. Try to clean, but holding anything makes my hands shake with need. Every activity feels pointless when my entire existence has narrowed to one desperate want.
By midday, I'm hallucinating his presence. Catching glimpses of pale hair in my peripheral vision, hearing his footsteps in the corridor outside my room. The palace seems to echo with his voice calling my name, though I know he's not there.
"Elise. Come to me, omega. Stop fighting what you need."
The phantom voice makes my pussy clench and leak more slick, as if my body is trying to prepare itself for him even when he's not here.
By evening, I'm building a nest.
Not consciously. My body just starts gathering soft things—pillows, blankets, the fur throw from the chair. My hands move without my permission, following instincts I didn't know I had.
Arranging them in the corner of my bedroom in a rough circle, creating a safe space where an omega can present herself to her alpha. Where she can be claimed and knotted and filled until the terrible emptiness finally stops.
When I realize what I'm doing, I try to stop. Try to tear it apart. But touching the nest makes me feel better, safer, and I end up crawling into the center of it instead.
The furs are soft against my fevered skin, and the enclosed space makes me feel protected. Like I'm creating a den where my alpha can find me, where he can pin me down and take what's his without worrying about me escaping.
This is what I've become. An animal following biological programming, building a place for him to claim me. Creating the perfect setting for my own surrender.
I curl up in my nest and finally admit the truth I've been fighting for two days:
I can't do this alone. The need is too strong, the emptiness too complete. My body is demanding things only an alpha can provide—the stretch of thick cock, the weight of his body pinning me down, the bite that will mark me as claimed.
I'm going to break, and when I do, I'm going to beg him for exactly what he's always wanted to give me.
The only question is whether I'll have any pride left when it happens.
As night falls, I lie in my nest and imagine him finding me here. Imagine his eyes going dark with possession when he sees what I've built for him. Imagine the satisfaction in his voice when he realizes I've finally stopped fighting what I am.
"Good girl,"he'll say, and the phantom praise makes my pussy clench with need."My perfect little omega, finally ready to be claimed."
Tomorrow, I think. Tomorrow I won't be able to fight it anymore. Tomorrow I'll crawl to him on my hands and knees and beg him to end this torture.
Tomorrow I'll become exactly what he always said I was—his omega, completely and forever.
The frost on the walls pulses brighter, responding to my surrender. Even the magic knows what's coming.
Even the magic can't wait to watch me fall.
CHAPTER 12
