“Would you like some tea?” my mother offers.
“Yes, yes, that would be nice,” he says, shooing her away. As soon as she leaves, the leader’s hand slides from my cheek to the back of my neck, his fingers tangling in my hair. “I want to be the first to mark her. I want this dress stained with her blood when I claim her. A proper wedding night.”
“No,” I say, the word bursting from my lips before I can stop it. “Please don’t.”
The leader’s hand tightens in my hair, yanking my head back painfully. “You’ll do exactly as you’re told, little omega,” he growls, his face inches from mine. “Or you’ll learn exactly what happens to disobedient omegas.”
He leans in, pressing his nose against my throat, inhaling deeply. The pain in my stomach flares white-hot, and I jerk away with a cry of fear and pain.
A tense silence falls over the room. I can feel the men’s anger rising, can smell the sharp spike of aggression in their scent. I’ve just humiliated their leader, challenged his authority in front of his pack. The consequences won’t be pretty.
My mother walks back into the room smoothly, inserting herself between the men and me.
“Gentlemen, please excuse us,” she says, her voice bright with false cheer. “The tea is ready in the drawing room, and I’d like a moment alone with Anya to give her some... advice for her wedding night. Traditional omega guidance.”
The tension breaks immediately. The men exchange glances, then nod, smiles spreading across their faces.
“Of course,” the leader says, his voice once again smooth as oil.
My mother then takes my arm, steering me toward a door at the far end of the room. My legs are shaking so badly I can barely walk, each step sending fresh waves of pain through my abdomen. The men watch us go, their eyes heavy on my back.
The door closes behind us with a soft click, and I sag against the wall, my breath coming in short, panicked gasps.
“They’re going to kill me,” I whisper, tears streaming down my face. “They’re going to rape me and kill me and…”
“No,” my mother says firmly, grabbing my shoulders. “They’re not going to do anything because you’re not going to be here.”
I stare at her, not understanding.
“Come on,” she says, pulling me down a narrow hallway I hadn’t noticed before. “We don’t have much time.”
She leads me through a maze of corridors, moving with the confidence of someone who knows exactly where they’re going. We pass a kitchen where staff in whiteuniforms bustle about, then through a door that opens onto a wide stone patio.
The night air hits my face, cool and clean after the stifling heat of the house.
My mother doesn’t stop. She walks me across the patio and down a set of steps that lead to a gravel path. The path winds through what looks like formal gardens, neatly trimmed hedges, and flowering bushes, creating a maze of shadows and hidden corners.
“Where are we going?” I hiss, struggling to keep up in my ridiculous heels. The gravel bites into the thin soles, making each step agony.
“Away from here,” she says, not slowing her pace. “As far as you can get.”
We round a corner, and suddenly we’re at the edge of the forest that borders the property. My mother stops, scanning the trees with narrowed eyes.
“This way,” she says, pulling me off the path and into the underbrush. Branches scrape at my arms and face, catching in my hair and the delicate fabric of my dress. I stumble over roots and rocks, my ankles twisting painfully in the heels.
“Oh god, my shoes.”
“Take them off,” she orders, already kneeling to help me. “Hurry.”
I kick off the shoes, sighing with relief as my feet hit the cool earth. But the moment of comfort is short-lived. The pain in my stomach returns with a vengeance, worse than before, a burning, cramping sensation that makes me double over with a gasp.
“Mom,” I whisper, my voice tight with pain. “Something’s wrong. I don’t feel good.”
Her face softens with understanding. “It’s starting,” she says, her voice gentle. “Your firstheat.”
“No,” I say, shaking my head as my heart sinks with horror. “It can’t be. Not now.”
“It’s the stress,” my mother explains, brushing my hair back from my face. “I think it might’ve set you off.”
