Confronting the white flag rider will be dangerous for new reasons, now. Any threat, intentional or otherwise, against an omega of mine will make me falter, even if just for a second. Because I have a face to picture now.
Covering it up will be my top priority.
I glance back down. All I want to do is tell her I know what she’s doing, to watch her face flood with heat, to see those soft brown eyes widen. Then I’d growl and make her smell of slick that’smine, telling her to admit she misses me; perhaps she’d even finally purr for me.
If there’s so much as ahintthat harm is coming her way, when I’m so close to claiming her heart, I will lose control.
I can’t afford to lose control.
The white flag rider came with hardly any issues, and I refused to invite him into the Iron Castle. With or without Diana, Titan doesn’t deserve that privilege. Letting him cross my walls would make me look eager, weak.
Instead, I sent him back with a message: Titan and I can meet, face to face, in a neutral territory with the same amount of men and no weapons. If he wants to truly come to a truce, that can be discussed then. And that I’d even be willing to bring an offering of peaceno onehas gotten from me, butnoneof his men are ever welcome inside my walls.
Hopefully, he’ll get the fucking message that I know he’s sent one of his own into my terrain. Which meansIhave control, and as long as that’s perceived, I have power.
The first thing I wanted to do was to get my cold ass back to the Iron Castle, so I demand we return home immediately. There will be no stops, rotating the drivers rather than resting. We can dothatonce we’re back in our own beds and pressed against the warm bodies we choose.
One thing is certain—I need to mark Diana as soon as I can. There’s too many things in motion, and at any moment, if she catches wind of them, it could make her lose faith in me. It’s not like I’m going to sit down and tell her the entirety of Dominion’s history, what the Scarlett Offering is, or any of that. There’s nuance and context that takesyearsto understand.
No, she needs tofeelI’m sincere.
The bond will provide that.
DIANA
Four days.
That once sounded like a short amount of time, whereas just now it felt like it took about ten weeks. Kitty leaves food at the door like little offerings, and there’s always protein, carbs, vegetables, and some kind of sweet.
Well, seeing as I have a sweet tooth, you can always bet that part is gone. Sometimes, it’s the only thing I eat. Maybe because it’s the only part that feels like Judge made sure I’d have my creature comforts, because maybe,just maybe, he actually cares.
The angled glass-wall ceiling fills with light until I can’t tell if it’s heaven or if I’m inside an oven; at night, the glass turns into mirrors that reflect my every movement. The grounds below are my sole form of entertainment. Alphas and betas cross between the bikes and supply trucks, sparks flying from what I have to assume is an actual forge that always glows orange, dogs barking from the fences as it’s clear it houses one of the kennels.
I’m the ghost above it all, just like Judge said. I loathe the waiting. The sitting around and wondering. There’s no purring orpetting of my head.
I’m starting to physically feel antsy again, too. Is it still because of the transition from the suppressants? Judge’s presence really did seem to help, and with his absence coinciding with an increase in my symptoms, I have to believe that’s true.
So that means I can’t leave here until I either have suppressants secured or my body is fully weaned off of them.
Ugh.I dread the idea of actually planning to leave…
I sit at my table, looking at the stitching on my thumb. The thought of abandoning this place has lost nearly all appeal.
Am I reallythatworn down?
Would it hurt to give Judge a try? I mean, sure, it might, but Icanalways leave. I always find a way. So if that’s true, then what do I really have to fear? That I’m making a morally terrible decision?
Who’s even here to judge me about such things?
Footsteps echo on the stairwell fromhisdoor. I assume it’s Kitty, who feels like the only real sense of grounding in all of this. We don’t chat much, as she said Judge prefers if she didn’t. But her presence reminds me that I’m not forgotten up here. I straighten my back, my eyes widening when I seeJudge.
The way my breathing hitches at the sight of him, especially since he’s only in pants and a black shirt. Which usually means he plans to stay up here for a while. I almost stand to greet him, but don’t want to seemtooeager. “You’re back,” I say.
He inhales deeply, as if confirming the space has not been tampered with, before raking his gaze over me. “Hopefully I won’t have to leave again for a while.” He starts glancing around like he’s searching for something. “Where’s the black rose?”
My shoulders stiffen. “What?”
“I saw you making one.”
