Where Nalla has the same coloring as a German shepherd, the new dog is as dark as a starless night. He emerges from the shadows and walks the edge of the room, not sparing me a glance.
His owner clears his throat. “You’re right, we’re not treating you with the proper regard due. I’m our Bratva’s second, hisAvtoritet. And that means, what I say goes. A door like this”—he points at the one he came out of—“will be put in today, operational by tomorrow. You are not to leave this house until I return. These dogs will roam. They are not pets, but they will help with the hospitality you spoke of.”
His handle on English is exceptional. And the heavy Russian accent echoes like a serenade.
He looks straight through me. Disdain sharpens his features, emphasizing the deep, jagged scar marring his face. Without question, he is one of the most brutally handsome men I have seen.
I search his eyes, looking for any sign he recognizes me or senses who I am, but I get nothing. His lack of recognition should be reassuring, and in a lot of ways it is, but it also makes a part of me ache in rejection. And that part of me comes close to shoving proof of who we are to each other in his face.
I turn and walk back into my room. I’m not here to claim mates; I’m here to give my sister and Marco the best future possible. Plans of escaping and hiding are destroyed when I open my bedroom door and am faced with what that bitch did. She wasn’t being stealthy when she went through my things and stole my lingerie.
She went straight to Crazy Town, ripping every article of clothing I brought from the hangers or off shelves before shredding whatever she could get her hands on. Not content, she amped it up and made everything completely unsalvageable by emptying every fucking bottle she could get her hands on from my bathroom.
The fumes give me an instant headache. “Not just a thief, but a cunt too.”
Shoving my fists into my eyes and screaming inside my head in frustration, I turn and leave the mess for later. I refuse to cry. How stupid is it that her fucking zero-sense vindictiveness is what threatens to break me.
I walk away from my bedroom, the one place I thought would be my safe haven, and take shelter in the living room.
My intention was to do a reset and stop the threat of an atomic meltdown by having a cup of hot chocolate while giving myself the mother of all pep talks. But the reality is a lot sadder. What she did steals so much from me, I literally spend the daysitting in the room, incapable of doing anything except staring out the window with tears rolling down my face.
I’m stuck in a horrible place, and no matter how much I want to stop feeling so bad, I can’t snap out of it. Obviously, a big part of how I feel is the shock of what she did. She pretty much destroyed all the things I had brought with me, but mostly, this well of sadness is from his rejection. It’s completely irrational, going against all the things I’ve been fighting against my whole life. Damn being an Omega and being a softhearted, emotional sponge. All I want is to climb into my bed, but the reminder of her, of him, and this fucking day is still there, here.
I curl into a small ball, repeating breathing exercises and trying to think about something besides the pain eating me up. I count them off as I go. The first three cycles, I push the time limit on how long to hold my breath, needing the dizzying distraction of not getting enough air in my lungs. But I go too far, the black dots in my vision eating the view of the window, the burn in my lungs spreading until I pass out.
Passing out helps, though. I’m slightly aware I’m sleeping, but each time I start to wake, my brain pushes my awareness down until my mind is slightly healed.
It’s dark outside and the room is even darker when I sit up with a gasp, knowing, again, I’m not alone.
In front of me is the smaller of the dogs. The female, who looks like a furry German shepherd, Nalla.
Outside of the slow, deep inhale and exhale of Nalla’s snoring, there’s nothing. And the depth of the night outside is at its deepest, making me think it’s the middle of the night. Something woke me up, though. I look around, trying to figure it out, trying to hear what I heard.
The way the dog lies in sleep is a ruse. I’m sure she’s done it a few times, lulling people into a false sense of security, only to attack, defend, or protect in a flash. She proves me right when Istand up as quietly as I can, and she surges to her feet, beating me without effort or sound.
I’m not worried that she’ll follow, since, according tohim, it is her job. My damn chest burns at even thinking of him ashim.
It’s the serious lack of noise from the rest of the house that has me more concerned. The door to the room I’ve been sleeping in has been closed, though I know I left it wide open. Stepping into the corridor, I should hear something, but there’s an obvious lack of noise.
Alarm bells start going off with each step I take, because there’s still barely a sound, even in the hallway. The rooms I pass on my way to the breakfast room all look the same, and nothing stands out as I bypass even more rooms until I reach the front door.
I take a step away, thinking perhaps I should go rattle Sergey’s door to at least warn him if the house is about to be attacked, when the other dog, the large black male, steps out of the shadows in front of me.
“Jesus!” I snarl in fright before rightly directing my anger and dropping my voice to a threatening whisper. “You gave me a damn heart attack. I’m getting you a bell.”
And then he does the strangest thing. He walks away, stopping every few feet down the dark hallway to make sure I’m following. He leads me past all the luxury to the working side of the house until we stop in front of a closed door, a small glow peeking out from under it.
It feels like a setup, and I’m not sure how I feel about letting a dog do this, but he also seems intent on me opening the door. He takes a step, and unless I want him to walk over me, I have to move closer to the door. With my face nearly pressed to the door, though, I hear people talking inside. I knock, and it opens like they knew I was in the hallway waiting.
The room is a kitchen—commercial-sized—and there's a handful of people inside. None of them do more than look at me briefly before a young male, a Beta, approaches with an envelope. He hands it over, and I don’t get the chance to thank him before he turns and walks off, grabbing a package off the counter as he passes.
All the other people in the kitchen follow him as they leave the room using a door in the far corner. The last person leaves, and the door slams shut and I’m left alone again. But, this time, I think I’m really alone, not counting the dogs.
It’s very fucking weird, and damn rude.
Opening the envelope, I find a small, typed note inside that’s written with poor grammar.
Mr. Petrov in St. Petersburg with business. You do not bother him. Very bad weather coming today and roads closing.
