She has no answer for that. Can't argue with the evidence of her own survival.
"I'll never adjust." She glares at me with pure hatred, tears freezing on her cheeks before they can fall. "I'll fight you every step. I'll make your life hell?—"
"You'll try." I watch her beautiful rage, even as she shivers uncontrollably. "And then you'll learn. They all do, eventually."
Her eyes widen despite the cold. "There are others? Other women you've?—"
"No." The word comes out sharper than I intend, carrying more truth than I meant to reveal. "You're the first omega I've claimed in six centuries. The first potential I've pursued in... a very long time."
"Why?" She wraps her cloak tighter, though it does little good in these conditions. "Why me?"
Because you're perfect, I think but don't say. Because your fire burns bright enough to warm even someone like me. Because I've been waiting for someone strong enough to survive what I'll put them through.
"Because you're special, Elise. Your potential for transformation is stronger than any omega candidate I've seen in decades." I let her see the truth in my eyes—or at least, the portion of truth she's ready to handle. "Because I've been patient, and patience deserves reward."
She goes very still, even her shivering momentarily stopping. "Patient how long?"
"Long enough." I close my eyes, listening to the rhythm of crystal hooves on stone. "Your debut ball. Do you remember?"
I can still see it—the girl in white silk, throwing a spectacular tantrum because someone had worn the same color. The rage and fire and desperate, hollow need bleeding off her in waves that called to every predatory instinct I possessed.
"You were there?" Her voice is small, horrified.
"I was there." I open my eyes to find her staring at me in dawning understanding. "Watching. Waiting. Deciding if you were worth the trouble of claiming."
"You're sick." Her voice shakes with revulsion. "You're a predator?—"
"Yes." No point denying it. "I am. And you're prey who doesn't know she's been running toward the hunter instead of away from him."
She opens her mouth to argue. Closes it. Opens it again. No words come out because we both know I'm right. Every tantrum, every destroyed object, every moment of beautiful rage—it's all been leading to this moment.
The carriage continues climbing into mountains that shouldn't exist, carrying us away from the human world toward something ancient and terrible and perfect. Toward a place where her transformation can begin in earnest.
Toward the future she was always meant to have, whether she chooses it or not.
"I hate you," she whispers through chattering teeth.
"Good," I reply. "Hate will keep you warm. Much more useful than despair."
She turns away from me, pressing her forehead against the crystal wall despite how the contact must burn with cold. But I can hear her labored breathing, see the way her body fights to survive conditions that should be impossible.
The cold is working exactly as I intended. Breaking down her resistance, proving her nature, demonstrating how completely she depends on me now. Soon she'll be begging me to make it stop. Begging me to warm her.
Begging me to claim her and end this misery.
The bond is forming whether she wants it or not. Threads of connection weaving between us with every mile, every breath, every moment she survives the impossible. By the time we reachmy palace, she'll understand what she is. What she's always been.
What she's finally ready to become.
CHAPTER 3
ELISE
DAYS 2-4
I try everything.
The cold is brutal, seeping through my wool dress and heavy cloak like they're made of paper. My teeth chatter constantly, my fingers are numb despite my gloves, and every breath sends ice crystals into my lungs. But I'm alive—impossibly, horribly alive in conditions that should have killed me hours ago.
