I force myself to the corner of the study—the spot furthest from the bedroom, where his scent is slightly less overwhelming—and sink into a chair that’s much too large for me. My legs are shaking. My whole body is shaking, trembling with exhaustion and fear and rage and something else I refuse to name.
This is how it starts. I didn’t fully understand until now, but I understand it viscerally as his scent wraps around me like invisible hands. The omega transformation doesn’t begin with heat or magic or ritual. It begins withthis—the slow infiltration of an alpha’s presence into your body, rewiring your responsesbreath by breath until you can’t tell the difference between genuine desire and biological manipulation.
He’s not even in the room and he’s already changing me.
Think, I command myself.Stop feeling and think.
The blood debt binds me to him—that much is absolute. But “property” is a word, and words can mean different things. There might be rules I can exploit. Limitations I can test. Loopholes hidden in ancient law that a seven-hundred-year-old predator has never had to worry about because none of his other prey ever looked for them.
And even if there aren’t—even if I’m truly trapped here forever—I don’t have to make it easy.
He wants an omega. A willing, devoted, grateful creature who begs for his claiming and thanks him for the privilege.
He’s not going to get one.
Night falls over Stone Court, and I’m still in the chair, still thinking, still trying to ignore the way his scent makes my body ache in ways I don’t want to examine.
The door opens without warning.
I’m on my feet before I consciously decide to move, my hand reaching for a weapon that isn’t there. Old instincts, honed by eight years of being the first line of defense. But there’s nothing to grab, and even if there were, it wouldn’t help.
He fills the doorway like a wall of bronze and shadow. Eight feet of ancient muscle and molten gold eyes, his presence flooding the room more thoroughly than his scent ever could.He’s changed out of his fighting leathers into something simpler—a loose shirt that does nothing to hide the breadth of his shoulders, dark breeches that somehow make him look more dangerous than armor did.
“You’ve been busy.” His gaze sweeps over the destruction I caused, taking in the broken glass and shattered ceramics with what might be amusement. “I hope you feel better.”
“I’ll feel better when I’m free.”
“That’s not going to happen.” He steps into the room, and I force myself not to retreat. Not to show the way my heart is hammering against my ribs, the way every nerve in my body is simultaneously screamingdangerand something else entirely. “But I understand the impulse. The first night is always the hardest.”
“The first night of what? My imprisonment?”
“Your transition.” He moves to a cabinet I hadn’t noticed in my exploration—hidden in the study’s shadows, stocked with bottles and glasses that gleam in the firelight. “From what you were to what you’re becoming. Most claimed omegas experience significant distress initially. The psychological adjustment is substantial.”
“I’m not an omega.”
“Not yet.” He pours two glasses of something amber-colored, setting one on the table near my chair before settling into the seat across from me. The furniture that seemed absurdly oversized when I explored earlier is perfectly proportioned for his massive frame. “But your biology is already beginning to shift. You’ve felt it, haven’t you? The heightened sensitivity. The way your body responds to my presence. To my scent.”
I don’t answer. We both know he’s right.
“It will intensify over the coming weeks,” he continues, watching me with the patient focus of someone who has all the time in the world. Which he does. “Your senses will sharpen. Your arousal will become… persistent. And eventually, the heat will come.”
“Heat.”
“The biological imperative that completes the transformation.” His golden eyes study me with something that’s almost clinical—a scientist observing an experiment, cataloging data. “Your body will demand claiming. Proper claiming, with the full bonding that entails. Fighting it is possible, but the consequences are unpleasant.”
“Unpleasant how?”
“Pain. Fever. Eventually, madness, if left unsatisfied too long.” He sips his drink as calmly as if we were discussing trade agreements rather than my systematic destruction. “Most omegas submit within the first few days of heat onset. The ones who hold out longer tend to regret it.”
“And you’ve seen a lot of omegas go through this process?”
Something shifts in his expression—not quite discomfort, but a flicker of something I can’t read. “I’ve claimed omegas before, yes. Though none of them were like you.”
“What does that mean?”
“They came willingly.” He sets down his glass and leans forward, sudden intensity replacing his clinical detachment. “Women who sought out the Guardian for his status. His protection. His legendary prowess in bed.” The last words carry a weight that makes heat flush through me despite my fury.“They submitted before I could earn their surrender. Offered themselves before I could truly want them.”
“And I’m different because I fought?”
