Suddenly, a flash of future sight strikes me: Soldiers storming the Great Hall, hexes flying.
No, no, no. It can’t be.
I cry out, but it’s lost in the chaos as black smoke fills the air. I cower against Cassian. The Soldiers of Saint Aldous arrived at the Lunar Ball the same way last year when Trinity Wells was nearly forced to kill Grace Cassidy.
Cassian immediately draws his scribe, and I cling to him, frantically seeking out the rest of my pack and Marcus, but there are too many Soldiers, too many masks. They strike without mercy. Hexes fly, and chaos reigns. On the stage at the front of the ballroom, I can just make out the thin, curling horns of the Prince’s baleful mask. He has the headmaster at scribe point. A man, a professor judging from the cords he wears hanging from his neck, dives in front of a group of Soldiers, his scribe raised.
Baphomet’s Prince hexes him, and he falls.
“Secure the hostages!” the Prince orders.
The crowd rushes toward the doors, but they’re guarded by Soldiers. Saints, there must be a hundred Soldiers in the ballroom, and while we have the greater numbers, the Soldiers have the element of surprise—and the brutality they need to strike down anyone trying to leave.
I watch, clinging to Cassian, as an omega is trapped in an omega trap. Blood drips down her wrists, and I fear the worst. That she’ll be made to watch her pack be slaughtered before her very eyes, like I’ve seen in my visions and nightmares.
Cassian tries to lead me off the dance floor to the rest of my pack, but we’re immediately surrounded by Soldiers. I’myanked from my mate by a Soldier, his grip bruising and punishing on my upper arm.
Ian roars. Even amid the pandemonium, I hear it. He charges toward me, his energy frantic as it sizzles down our bond, but he’s restrained by Soldiers. He fights against them, but they force him to his knees and bind his hands. Luca’s bond lights up in my chest, his emotions determined and focused. He fires off a few of the combat hexes Cassian has been teaching us, taking down a few Soldiers, but it’s to no avail.
Twenty or more Soldiers surround me.
“Don’t hurt the witch. The butcher has a particular interest in this one.” They don’t cast the omega trap hex, but they bind my arms behind my back and push me along. I fight like a wild thing, trying to escape their clutches—until a scribe is put to my neck.
I cry out for my pack, feeling fear and despair in my bonds, and the scribe point digs deeper. I bow my head with a small nod. My pack can’t reach me, and I can’t fight this many Soldiers on my own, even with my affinity. I’ll comply. I’m shoved from the room along with a few other omega hostages and only just hear the Prince’s proclamation.
“The Saint Galen Consortium is mine.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
I’m thrown into a classroom with fifteen other omegas, including Bethany. I go to her the moment I see her, and she sweeps me into a tight hug. We cling to each other, tears in our eyes, as the Soldiers shut the door behind us. It bangs shut with a deafening ring of finality. A moment later, wards shimmer over the door, and I know we’re locked in.
One of the other omegas lets out a wail and runs to the door, pounding on it with both of her fists.
“Quiet in there!” a Soldier barks from outside. Saints, are we being guarded as well as contained by the wards? Any hope of escape dies in that moment. I have no scribe, and I’m armed only with my affinity. It’s not enough, no matter how much I’ve trained.
I slump down against a wall, Bethany sitting down beside me. She lets out a sniffle, and I hug her to me.
“The wife of the professor the Soldiers killed,” Bethany says quietly, nodding toward an omega slumped against the wall, her eyes staring blankly ahead, her arms wrappedaround her thin body. “He was a friend of Doug’s. We exchange Yule cards with their pack every year.”
Another omega wraps the delicate woman in a shawl, tying it tightly around her shoulders, but the professor’s mate only stares forward, her expression forlorn.
I try to take stock of our hopeless situation. We were all relieved of our scribes when captured. Some of the women in here aren’t even mages and won’t be able to fight back with magic. And even if wewereable to do anything, we’re being held deep within the consortium. There are dozens of Soldiers standing between us and any form of escape. Especially if they’re guarding the rooms where hostages are being held.
Hostages.
Did the Soldiers of Saint Aldous just take an entire ball hostage?
No, something whispers in my mind.Many were killed too.
But I saw my men alive. I saw them. They took a few hexes, but they were all alive, weren’t they? Saints, I can’t even be sure. I close my eyes and reach out with my awareness, seeking out my bonds. I’ve never tried to feel my bond mates at any great distance before, and now all I feel are whispers, like smoke, faint at the very edge of my consciousness.
“Our packs…”
Bethany turns to me, blotting at her eyes with the back of her hand. “We’re both valuable hostages,” she says in a low voice. “They’ll want to keep our packs alive to control us and vice versa.”
My stomach sinks.
Around me, the omegas weep, but fear stays my tears.
