She steps inside, and I feel the familiar jolt of electricity—the fated mate bond singing between us despite her attempts to dampen it. My Alpha instincts roar with possessive need. Mine. Unclaimed. Unmarked.
Her golden eyes assess the room before settling on me with the intensity of a blade at my throat. Her dark hair is woven into a braid that exposes her neck, where my marks from our last encounter have faded to faint shadows—and where her scent gland remains unmarked. The sight makes my fangs ache.
She wears layers today—a flowing outer robe of deep crimson over a simpler dress beneath. Beautiful. Dangerous. The layered clothing is practical—easier to move in should violence become necessary, with hidden pockets where I'm certain multiple daggers are concealed.
Her scent wraps around me—vanilla and magic and that maddening Omega sweetness that makes my cock hard. I have to actively retract my fangs, fighting my Alpha biology's screaming demand to bite her throat.
"Lady Seraphina ," I greet her, my voice dropping into that Alpha register that makes Omegas shiver. "How lovely you look in the color of freshly spilled blood. Did you choose it with me in mind?"
"I chose it to hide any stains should I decide to slit your throat," she replies with perfect composure, but I catch the slight tension in her shoulders.
I laugh, genuinely delighted. "Always so thoughtful. It's one of your more endearing qualities."
"Shall we begin?" I gesture toward the chairs near the fireplace. "I believe we had an agreement. Three truths from you, one from me."
Seraphina approaches with wary grace. Her eyes never leave mine as she takes the indicated seat. As she settles into the chair, I notice something curious—her eyes flick briefly to the blanket draped over the arm of my chair before snapping away. Her fingers twitch toward the fabric, then clench in her lap as if she's physically stopping herself.
That blanket carries my scent heavily; I've used it for months.
Is she... drawn to it?
The thought sends a dark thrill through me. Nesting behavior. Omegas in pre-heat instinctively seek out items carrying their Alpha's scent, gathering soft things to create a safe space for mating. If her biology is already pushing her toward nesting, her heat is closer than I estimated.
I file this observation away for later. Let her fight her instincts a little longer. The eventual surrender will be all the sweeter.
I also notice her fingers briefly check the hidden weapons throughout her clothing.
"Daggers at a truth-telling session?" I smirk, taking the seat opposite her. My shadows creep closer to her chair. "How charmingly paranoid of you."
"I find sharp objects make most conversations with you more bearable," she replies coolly, but there's heat beneath the ice—always heat with her.
I lean forward, my shadows gathering densely around us until the air itself seems to thicken. "Let's begin with truth number one, shall we? Your complete training history in the Light Court. Who taught you, what skills you possess, what missions you completed? Don't leave out any details."
She takes a deep breath. Her fingers twist the ring on her right hand.
"I was recruited at seven years old," she begins, her voice carefully measured but carrying an undercurrent of old pain. "Not as a diplomat, but as an assassin for the Order of the Silent Blade."
"Seven?" I repeat, eyebrows rising. My Alpha instincts bristle with protective fury at the thought of an Omega child being trained to kill. "The Light Court recruits Omega children for murder? How delightfully hypocritical. And here they call me the monster."
Her jaw tightens. "They identified an unusual form of light magic in me—internal rather than external. It enhances reflexes, allows me to sense magical threats before they materialize, makes me faster and more lethal than normal humans. They said my Omega biology made me naturally stealthy, naturally underestimated."
"Fascinating," I murmur, genuinely impressed. "This explains how you almost took my head off in our training session. Your body moves like liquid lightning when you fight. And who molded little Seraphina into such a killer?"
"Various masters," she replies vaguely, her scent closing off slightly.
"Names," I demand, my shadows darkening. My voice drops into that commanding register. "Our agreement was for complete truth, not half-measure crumbs."
Golden eyes flash with defiance that sends heat straight to my cock. "Master Aaron for poisons and their antidotes. Mistress Matilda for court deception and manipulation. Master Theodor for weapons and hand-to-hand combat. Master Caden for infiltration and escape techniques."
"And who," I ask, my voice dropping to a dangerous purr, "taught you the more intimate arts? The seduction tactics every good assassin needs? Did they teach an unmated Omega how to use her body as a weapon?"
Her cheeks flush with color that makes me want to trace the path of that heat with my tongue. But her voice remains steady. "Primarily Mistress Kira."
"Primarily?" I echo, catching the qualifier instantly. My Alpha senses are screaming now. "Who else participated in that particular aspect of your education, Omega?"
The bond between us pulses with sudden tension—anger, embarrassment, and something fiercely possessive that mirrors my own growing fury.
"Asher," she finally spits, and his name steals the breath from my lungs.
