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It’s just like at home with Father. He’s taunting me with something I desperately need, just waiting to see what I’m willing to give up for it. What I’m willing to do. What pieces of myself I’m willing to trade.

My Omega instincts scream at me to take it. To snatch it out of his hands and wrap myself in something warm and soft and safe for the first time in so, so long. I feel desperate. I don’t just want that blanket; my instincts are demanding it.

No.

I’d rather sleep on the cold stone floor for the rest of my life than give Vaelenor whatever he’s going to ask for in return. I can’t do that. I won’t.

“Here.” He extends the blanket, holding it between us with a small, expectant smile on his face.

“What do you want for it?”

His eyes widen in shock. He takes three giant strides in my direction, and I scramble back with an embarrassing squeak before I run out of room and hit the wall. My head slams against the stone, but I refuse to take my eyes off him.

I can’t.

He skids to a stop with only a few feet separating us. “Whoa! Easy. You’re going to hurt yourself.”

I brace for an attack. Prepare my legs to run if I need to. A thousand different scenarios race through my mind, each one more terrifying than the last.

Vaelenor lets out an exasperated sigh. “Omega. I’m not asking for anything in return.”

He crouches down, maybe to make himself seem less threatening, but more likely because the ceiling is slanted and he’s close to six and a half feet tall.

“I don’t want it,” I say, trying to make my voice strong. I pray he can’t hear the lie in my words.

There isn’t a lot I won’t do for that blanket, but doing that with this Alpha, no matter how gorgeous he is, is a line I refuse to cross.

“You do want it,” he argues, voice softening. “We both know you do. I’m not asking for anything from you in return.”

I nearly snort in disbelief. He can’t truly think I believe him.

I don’t trust anyone here except Caelan. Not Daxen or Silas. Not the elusive Gavran whose name is on everyone’s lips but has yet to appear in person. Definitely not Cage.

And not Vaelenor.

This is the same Alpha who watched Silas scream in my face when I first asked about Caelan. The same Alpha who stands by silently every time Daxen cuts me down.

He may not be as outwardly cruel, but in some ways, he’s worse. He’s a coward, hiding behind others’ cruelty, stepping in only when it costs him nothing.

“I don’t believe you.” My voice is barely a breath, but it seems to be enough to knock him back a step.

His fist tightens around the blanket, and I tense.

He exhales and loosens his grip. “I understand that you might not trust me, but you’re being ridiculous denying yourself something your instincts are demanding. You’ll only make things worse for yourself if you don’t take it.”

Worse for myself? How dare he act like any of this is my fault? Like, he doesn’t have anything to do with the fact that I’m forced to sleep on the ground. Like, not having clothing that fits me properly is some kind of fluke rather than an act of deliberate callousness.

How dare he act like my instincts are rebelling because of something I’ve done?

My chest warms, burning hot with indignation. It seeps through my veins and into my limbs until I’m nearly shaking with anger.

My father. These Alphas. They’re all the same.

They hurt me, then blame me for making them do it.

“You.” My voice shakes, and I don’t even have time to reconsider what I’m saying before the words flow out of me.

“You stole me from my home. And yes, I hated it there. I was beaten, starved, and scared all the time, but you still stole me from the only home I’d ever known. You brought me here, and you threw me in a cold room with nothing but that.” I jab a finger at the worthless sleeping bag that serves as my nest, “and tell me I’m making it worse for myself because I don’t want whatever strings are going to come tied to the blanket you watched your friend rip away from me not four hours ago?”