“How are you feeling? Is your heat approaching? I told Father we should have left you home to rest.”
Her question pulls me out of my thoughts. With the heat suppressant pumping through my veins, I don’t feel the symptoms I usually do in the days leading up to my heat. I’m tired, yes, and achy, but I attribute those symptoms to the affinity test I just barely survived.
“I think I might be late this time. I feel all right, all things considered. No heat symptoms, at least.”
Willow doesn’t need to know about the suppressant spell. Heats can be delayed for many reasons, including stress.
Her eyes flick over to me as we pull up outside the community center where the toy drive is being hosted. She studies me for a moment once she’s shifted the car into park, as if trying to find the right thing to say. Eventually, she squeezes my knee and then opens her handbag and draws out my scribe. She hands it to me, and I pocket it. Even though my magic doesn’t answer my call, the thin metal wand is a comfort. “Should you need it,” she says.
There’s only one reason I would need my scribe over Yule: to protect myself against Rad.
I return my sister’s careful study, wondering about the omegas, wondering if she would come to my rescue against Rad if Hawthorn can’t. Wondering if she wishes there was anything she could do to set me free.
* * *
My affinityslowly returns throughout our day at the community center, and I feel stronger with each flicker of magic that buzzes through my body. I don’t feel strong enough to cast yet, but being armed with my affinity gives me the courage I’ve been bereft of since the affinity test.
Aspen walks between the tables where his mate, Claire, and I are wrapping gifts. He studies me from the corner of his eyes, skirting my table as though evaluating my work. But his thoughts aren’t on the toy drive at all.
Familiar images flash through his thoughts, thoughts of affinitied omegas with their scribes raised, killing and rounding up their brethren. He sees me, my eyes blank, sending an omega to her knees as she clutches her head.
I look up sharply, but my eldest sibling only smiles.
I manage to catch one more of Aspen’s thoughts.
Me, dead, Rad standing over me, when I’ve worn out my usefulness. When every omega has been rounded up and thrown into death camps.
Claire catches his smile and looks over at me, an odd, far-off look in her eyes. “I can’t wait to see what the new year holds,” she says dreamily.
“There you are.” Rad’s voice cuts through the community center and I whip my head around, spotting him as he starts toward me. He wears a smile, but his thoughts are decidedly dark as he dreams of his retaliation. My punishment.
My father intercepts him, pulling him into a vigorous handshake, clapping him on the back with his other hand.
“Good to see you, Andrew. I’m glad you could join us.”
Cameras flash, capturing the moment of friendliness between my father and the mate he intends for me. I watch them, my blood icing in my veins. My father’s amiability is no show. He’s truly pleased with the progress Rad has shown with the collars, and he’s both eager and willing to hold up his end of the deal they’ve made by letting Rad mate me.
My knees shake, and I have to hold on to the table I’m standing behind to stay upright. Other than my affinity, I still have no magic with which I can defend myself, and Rad knows it.
He revels in my powerlessness as he stalks toward me. He wraps an arm around my waist and turns me until I’m facing the press photographers who have turned up to capture the affluent volunteers making a show of giving back to communities they’d much rather crush beneath their heels.
“Smile, beloved. You’re to be a mated omega soon.”
The thought makes bile churn in my gut and rise in my throat, but I force a smile for the photographers, nearly blinded by the flashes of their cameras.
I realized what a sham this tradition was last year, a chance for our family to appear charitable, for my father’s philanthropy to be captured by the press to help his company’s stock prices. It’s a farce, but this year the pageantry of it all cuts even deeper. This year, my father wants to broadcast the future union between our family and the Radcliffes.
Rad’s scent spikes as I squirm in his hold, rotting citrus and bitter anise flooding my senses. I plaster a smile on my face, aware that I’m being watched, and slip from his hold, returning to my task.
He gives my shoulder a squeeze, but it’s far from fond. It’s a warning, made plain in the way my bones grind together in his grip. But the greater warning is in the words he utters in my ear. “Leave your door unlocked tonight, or I’ll tell your father everything.”
Saints, I pray, please, please let my magic return to me.
* * *
I getno reprieve from Rad until we return to Rose Manor, and I slip into my room to change for Yule dinner. I stumble into my bathroom, splash cool water on my face, and stare at myself in the mirror.
My face is wan, drawn. Defeated. I sag against the sink, pressing the heels of my hands against my eyes, willing the ache that’s settled behind them to go away.
