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If he’s my false mate, like I think, then it’s not entirely his fault that I went through all that.

Still, I need a way not to melt into a puddle at his feet, and thinking about how angry I am is allowing me to do just that.

Licking his lips and looking me up and down—something that I can watch him do, now that we’re face-to-face—Augustus swallows and asks again, “What the hell were you doing?”

Riding on the wave of anger, I gesture first to the open window, then to the panel above the tub that I managed to slightly dislodge. “I am trying to escape, obviously.”

He blinks at me. Surely, he didn’t expect me to come out and say it.

“You’re trying to escape,” he says, like it’s the most ridiculous prospect in the world.

“Yes,” I huff, pushing my hair out of my face again. Maybe I should wash it, but there’s something satisfying about it still being as it was the night I was taken. Maybe I go on a bathing strike while I’m here, make everyone see how bad an omega can really smell. “Of course I am. If you were kidnapped, wouldn’t you try to escape?”

He pulls his chin back so violently that it disappears into his neck for a moment. “You are not—I didn’t kidnap you. I rescued you. They were going to drop you in the lunar pool. You would have died.”

“Yes, I am very aware of that,” I snap, because every second I spend in his presence is a lesson in self-control. “And now I’ve been stuffed in yet another car, brought to yet another location, and there’s a guard standing outside my door, watching me. If it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck, then you’ve probably been kidnapped!”

We stand like this for a moment, just looking at one another. I’m aware that I’m breathing too hard. Part of it is the latent adrenaline from nearly toppling off the bathtub. The other part is the simple urge to breathe in as much of his scent as I possibly can.

Then, as though something registers behind his gaze, his eyes darken, and he steps closer to me. We’re not touching, but I can feel the space between our chests, as alive as if it were jumping with electricity.

“Mylah,” he says again, and I wonder if he understands the effect it has on me. “Do not try to escape again.”

“Why?” I laugh, the sound jumping out of me. “What do I have to lose?”

Augustus laughs, nearly incredulous, like he’s dealing with an impossible toddler. “And why would you tell your…not that I kidnapped you—I did not—but why would you tell me that you’re trying to escape?”

I step closer to him, and now the space between us is infinitesimal. Just breathing could press our chests together, which might actually make me pass out.

Just what I need—to lose consciousness, crack my head on this fine porcelain tub, and die on the very clean tile floor.

“Yesterday, I was going to be drowned to death. Or frozen, whichever happened first. What does it matter to me if I risk death by standing up to you?” I look him up and down, pray the expression on my face says so what, rather than I want you so badly, and add, “It’s better than dying a coward.”

He, mercifully, does not mention the fact that I was going to die in an old nightgown, shoe-less, trussed up like a pig and weighted down like a witch.

“You are unlike any omega I have ever met,” he says, shaking his head, a look caught somewhere between amusement and incredulity on his face.

The words are out before I can stop them. “Why did you pretend not to know me?”

His face slams shut like iron bars, part of the cage keeping me trapped here. Stormy features dark and threatening, he says, “Do not try to escape again, Mylah. Because I will just have to waste my time tracking you down, and I have far better things to do.”

With that, he rips his gaze from me, turns, and stalks out of the bathroom.

Chapter 8 - Augustus

It’s worse than I ever would have thought.

Being near her is impossible. Before, just seeing her—tasting her, with that brief kiss—and breathing in her scent, I thought that would kill me. In the club that night, it was enough to nearly drive me directly into a rut, especially after scenting her slick.

Goddesses, if I hadn’t left at that exact moment, I would have taken her right there on that dirty club floor. On one of the velvet plush couches. And once I’d had her, there would have been no way for me to resist.

At least now, I just have my imagination of how good it would be to have her. And I know it could never, never live up to the real thing.

Back then, the only thing that kept me from letting my instincts take over was the knowledge that my father never would have allowed me to take the throne, mated to a weak omega like her. I couldn’t even scent a pack on her, which likely meant she was fringe. If she had been from a far-off pack, I would have noticed. Everyone in the club would have noticed.

And now I know for sure. She is an outcast. Nothing.

The only thing omegas have in this life is their brittle social standing. From a nice family, with a stellar reputation, an omega is worth something. Can be bartered like a fine prize. But an omega like Mylah?