Saints, I wish I could go to him, slip into his arms and draw strength from him. Instead, I stare resolutely out at the field, my thoughts racing. I dig my nails into the flesh of my palms and think about the question Dr. Spencer posed to me during my assistantship. Do I have a plan for Rad?
Saints, I’m only one omega. What can I even do?
Rad’s scent hits me before his touch does. Bitter anise and cloying orange fill my nose right before he sets his hands on my shoulders. I breathe through my mouth and do my best not to hunch my shoulders in revulsion.
“Mr. Radcliffe,” I greet, turning in my seat, a perfect demure smile on my lips. “How nice to see you.”
My father warned me that Rad hadn’t been pleased with my attitude over the summer, and Rad has warned me of far, far worse. I have to be on my best behavior tonight and tomorrow. He’ll be gone after that, and I’ll be free once more.
For how long, I can’t say.
Rad joins me, sitting in the seat beside me, and immediately covers my hand with his.
It takes every ounce of will I have not to cringe and yank my hand back from his.
“I hear my beloved has been struggling in her classes.”
I tense, my scent sharpening with my strain. “You’ve heard incorrectly.”
He arches a brow pointedly. “That’s not what my friend Alan said.”
Alan. Alan Cadigan.
Friends? The thought makes my mind reel and my skin crawl.
“It’s challenging magic,” I amend, “but I’m making progress in my casting. I believe I’ll be fully prepared for my practical exam at midterms.”
He stares me down and I duck my head, averting my eyes and giving him my neck, though it goes against every single one of my instincts to do so. It’s what he expects, and it’s how I have to behave if I don’t want to provoke him. Even disagreeing with him about my progress in Intermediate Casting was a risk I shouldn’t have taken.
“Good. It would be a shame if something you’re so fond of was taken from you. Though, you know what it’s like to be at risk of failing out, don’t you? How curious that you were able to finally call your magic last autumn after struggling for so long.”
I go completely still, prey caught in the sights of a predator. Does Rad know that my father locked my magic, that Ian unwound layers and layers of spells to give me my magic back—and that with it came my affinity? “I worked hard then, and I’m working even harder now,” I say mildly.
He considers my words with a bland smile and then turns to the game as it begins.
He holds my hand like a lover would, like our courting isn’t a total sham. Like I’mwilling. Saints, does he think I’m accepting him now, just because I’ve been pretending to be the demure omega he wants me to be? Or is it something more sinister? He must know that his touch revolts me, that it has since the first time he laid his hands on me. That I can’t suffer his touch without thinking of how he first tried to rape me, dreaming of dominating, degrading and defiling me.
I catch a sly smile from the corner of my eye and know, without a doubt, that he knows exactly what his touch does to me, that every single time he lays his hands on me is a punishment and that, if he gets his way, he’ll punish me like this until there’s nothing more left in me to break.
His grip tightens until it hurts, but I hold back my flinch, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. “You truly are a special omega,” he says, quiet enough that Marcus won’t be able to hear him. “You’re afraid of me, aren’t you? Saints, the scent of your fear is enough to drive me to frenzy.”
Frenzy.
Rad nearly went into frenzy when he cornered me in the stand of trees beside the library, when he tried to violate me. An alpha in frenzy, driven by his darkest instincts, is dangerous and unstoppable. Countless omegas have been killed by alphas in frenzy, and for Rad to suggest it so lightly only confirms what I told Willow this summer.
I can be on my best behavior, but if something drives him to frenzy, he’ll kill me.
Andrew Radcliffe is a powerful alpha and a talented mage. He wouldn’t have been Fairhaven’s golden boy, wouldn’t be society’s darling alpha, if he wasn’t. He’s instinct wrapped in refinement—a volatile and dangerous combination. It makes him difficult for others to resist. If only they knew him like I did. If only they knew what lurks behind his golden-boy smiles.
“You’re afraid, even now, aren’t you? Just sitting at my side is enough for your instincts to kick in. Your scent sharpens with fear, trying to placate me.”
I swallow hard and give him exactly what he wants: a small, tremulous nod.
I may be afraid—I’ve tensed every muscle in my body to keep from trembling—but I’m courageous, too.
That, I think, is the hallmark of true courage: to feel fear and yet find the will to act in the face of it.
I pretend to watch the game, but I delve into his thoughts as he turns his attention to the players on the field below.
