Bonds of Hate: A Dark Reverse Harem Omegaverse Romance, page 30
“I’ve got you, little one,” I murmur against her temple. “No one’s going to hurt you now.”
Carrying Maya back to the apartment takes twice as long as it should because of the wreckage. Her body trembles against my chest even in unconsciousness. Each tiny shiver feeds the rage building inside me.
The apartment door is locked when I reach it. I shift Maya carefully in my arms to punch in my security code, keeping her head stable against my shoulder. The panel flashes red.
“Override Epsilon-Seven-Delta,” I growl.
The door clicks open and automatically locks again behind us.
Inside, I don’t hesitate to take her straight back to my room and deposit her on the bed. I let her out of my sight just long enough to fetch a first aid kit from the bathroom before returning to her side.
Maya blinks herself awake for a few seconds, initially tensing before she recognizes me hovering over her. She releases a relieved sound that makes me want to chain her to the bed so it’s impossible for to leave it again.
The fact that I would happily fuck her while she’s unconscious and injured should probably bother me, but it absolutely doesn’t. It isn’t a conscience that compels me to act like a gentleman.
When I finally have her, I want to make sure she can feel it.
Her head wound isn’t deep and won’t require stitches, but I still take my time cleaning and bandaging it. Bruises darken her arms where someone grabbed her. Anger drawls a growl from my lips.
“Ares?” Maya’s eyes flutter open, unfocused and glazed with pain.
“I’m here.” I grab a blanket folded at the foot of the bed and tuck it around her. “You’re safe now.”
“Where is he? You have to…” She tries to rise on her elbows but sways dangerously. It takes little effort to press her back down with gentle pressure on her shoulders.
When she ineffectually pushes at my hand, still fighting to get up, I don’t hesitate to give her a command. “Stay.”
She collapses back on the bed with a pained sigh.
“You took a nasty hit to the head. Do you feel nauseous? Is your vision doubled?”
Maya shakes her head before freezing with a sound of pain. “You have to find him?”
“Who?”
“The doctor…he tried to take me.”
“The fuck? Who tried to take you?”
Maya stares up at me with eyes gone wide, her expression made up of something more than just pain. She only now seems to realize what she’s been saying. “I don’t know.”
Part of me wants to press her. She’s injured, possibly concussed, too weak to resist if I insist she tell me whatever secrets she has been hiding.
But I decide to let it go. For now.
“Shh.” I stroke her cheek, wiping away a smudge of soot. “No one’s taking you anywhere. I promise.”
Maya falls asleep again while I clean the dirt off her face. My attention lingers on the soft curve of her cheek. The slight bruise blooming there makes me want to murder someone. I set down the damp rag, fighting off a sudden urge to finish the job by licking her clean.
I sit back on my heels at the end of the bed, mulling over what to do next. Something is definitely missing.
Maybe we need food. Maya might be hungry when she wakes up. But the servants are likely still in lockdown and I can’t leave her long enough to fetch anything myself.
She huddles deeper into the bedding with a slight shiver, prompting me to go to the closet and pull out a pile of spare pillows and blankets.
I pile it all up around her haphazardly. The pillows keep falling over when I try to tuck them at her sides, so I have to roll up the smallest quilt and shove it underneath as a prop.
I just want to see her cradled, protected. I’d feel this way about any Omega in my den. In my bed.
But when I form another depression in the pile of blankets and slip into the bed beside her, it feels a bit like coming home.
“This might be the worst excuse for a nest I’ve ever seen.”
I snap awake with a painful burst of adrenaline. A quick glance reassures me that Maya is still sleeping beside me, allowing my heart rate to return to normal.
Raising one hand to shield my eyes from the bright light, I have to squint to make out the figure standing at the end of the bed.
Cillian smirks down at me, looking entirely unruffled even though he still wears the same clothes he had on last night.
“The fuck would you know about it?” I grouse, collapsing back against the pillows.
“I know the Omega is supposed to be the one to make it.”
“Yeah, well, it’s my bed and I’ll do what I want in it.”
His gaze passes over Maya’s prone form and I resist the urge to clutch to her my chest like a stuffed animal. “Does she need a doctor?”
“Nope.”
“Then she should be back in the harem. The King has tasked Logan to oversee the clean-up and repair of the east wing.”
I pull a pillow over my head. Now that I’m fully awake, my sleepiness has evaporated. But that doesn’t mean I have any intention of leaving this bed. “Sounds like you should be talking to Logan, then.”
“I did. He told me to get you.”
The familiar pull to follow orders tingles between my shoulder blades. Fucking pack hierarchy. “Where’s Poe?”
“On an adventure, apparently.” Cillian’s tone is sardonic. “Last time he checked in, he said he was hunting down one of the attackers that might have escaped.”
Which probably means someone will have to die bloody before Poe finally makes his way back.
I push up on my elbows with a groan. Jostling the bed makes Maya shift slightly. She lets out the cutest snuffling sound before burying herself further in the blankets. Her scent has lost its edge of anxiety, leaving the soft scent of fizzing cherry suffused in the bedding.
“Logan is waiting,” Cillian prods.
“You can’t expect me to leave her here alone. The palace was just attacked.”
“We’ve already installed biometric locks on the door and assigned vetted guards. She’ll be fine.”
“She needs food for when she wakes up.”
With a sigh, Cillian makes a few taps on his tablet. “I’ll have something sent up.”
I glare at him. “You could at least pretend like you care.”
He raises a questioning eyebrow. “Why would I do that?”
I drag myself out of bed, careful not to disturb Maya. My muscles protest after spending the last few hours in an awkward position to avoid crushing her smaller frame.
“Fine. But I’m coming right back after we deal with whatever Logan needs.”
“Of course you are.” Cillian’s tone drips with sarcasm.
I grab a fresh shirt from my dresser, pulling it over my head as I follow him to the door. The fabric catches on my stubble, reminding me I need to shave.
“You know, you could try being less of an asshole about this.” I pause at the threshold, casting one last look at Maya’s sleeping form. “She’s pack now, whether you like it or not.”
“She really is not.” Cillian strides down the hallway, forcing me to jog to catch up. “And the sooner you accept that, the better.”
“Logan has done everything short of claiming her in front of the entire court.”
“Logan is playing politics.” His shoes click against the marble floor in a steady rhythm. “Once he secures his position as heir, she’ll be gone faster than you can say ‘mating contract.’”
The growl builds in my chest before I can stop it. “You don’t know that.”
“I know Logan.” Cillian stops at the elevator, jabbing the call button with more force than necessary. “And I know you’re getting attached to something that isn’t yours to keep, especially if you’re waiting for him to have a change of heart.”
My fists clench at my sides. The urge to slam him into the wall wars with years of pack loyalty. “Maybe you just don’t like her having influence over him. Logan has never voiced any of our suggestions in a council meeting.”
Cillian just shakes his head derisively. “Maybe you should focus more on your job and less on playing house.”
The elevator arrives with a soft ding, saving me from having to respond. We ride down in tense silence, the air thick with unspoken accusations.
“Must be nice living life as a beta. Never having to manage your biological impulses. You have no idea what it’s like for Alphas and Omegas.”
“How true.” Glacial eyes rise to meet mine. “So maybe you should stop managing your impulses.”
I freeze, staring at him. “Meaning what?”
“You want the Omega so badly? Then claim her for yourself.”
The elevator doors open and Cillian doesn’t wait for my response from me as he strides away.
I stalk after Cillian, my blood boiling at his suggestion. The very idea of betraying Logan like that makes my skin crawl, even if Maya is appealing enough that the idea stays rooted in my mind.
We round the corner to find Logan directing a team of workers who are clearing debris from one of the damaged corridors. Dust and sweat mars his usual perfect appearance, sleeves rolled up as he points out weak spots in the ceiling to a structural engineer.
“About time,” Logan snaps when he spots us. “Where the hell have you been?”
“Watching over Maya,” I reply, crossing my arms. “You know, the Omega who was nearly kidnapped last night?”
Logan’s jaw tightens. “She’s fine now. I need you here.”
“She’s not fine. She was terrified and babbling about some doctor before she passed out.”
“A doctor?” Cillian’s head snaps up, suddenly interested.
“Yeah, she kept saying the doctor is here or something before she fell asleep.” I frown at Cillian’s intense expression. “Why?”
“Did she say anything else?” Logan demands, waving away the engineer.
“No, she was pretty out of it.” I look between their tense faces. “What am I missing?”
Logan ignores my question. “I need you to coordinate with palace security. We’re instituting new protocols, and I want you to oversee the training.”
“But Maya—”
“Is no longer your concern.” Logan’s voice carries that edge of Alpha command that makes my spine straighten automatically. “Focus on your actual duties.”
“Sure, boss.” I clench my jaw, fighting the urge to argue. The memory of Maya’s trembling form in my arms makes my chest ache. “Whatever you say.”
Pack hierarchy is pack hierarchy.
Just until it isn’t anymore.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
MAYA
Ijolt awake, my heart hammering against my ribs as I feel the familiar bite of restraints around my wrists and ankles. Nylon straps chafe against my skin, rather than the cold metal that is more common in my memory. The clinical smell of antiseptic fills my nostrils.
My eyes snap open and lock onto a scalpel glinting in the dim light. The blade hovers inches from my face, making my muscles tense in anticipation of that so familiar pain.
No, no, no. This can’t be happening. The rescue was real. I remember Poe finding me…carrying me. I remember being enveloped in Ares’s scent, cradled by soft cotton.
This can’t be real…
“Stay still,” Poe stares down at me with an expressionless face. “One wrong move and I might accidentally slip.”
I feel a surge of relief at the sound of his voice. But that relief is immediately followed by icy fingers of dread tipping up my spine when I realize I didn’t imagine the fact that I’m tied down.
I also wasn’t imagining the scalpel in his hand.
“Poe…what are you doing?”
“Talking is almost as dangerous as moving,” he replies, dark eyes narrowed in concentration. He holds up an empty syringe between two fingers. “I’ve already given you the anesthetic, but I can’t promise this will remain pain free if you keep distracting me.”
My mind sticks to the fact that he is about to do something that could be painful.
A familiar burning sensation spreads through my chest, the first stirrings of genuine panic. But I force all the words out, anyway. “Please, tell me what you’re doing.”
“I’m doing what I should have done from the very beginning.” His face hovers over mine, blocking out the harsh overhead light. His sea salt scent mingles with the antiseptic, making my stomach roll. “The moment you walked back into the palace, I knew trouble would follow. To be fair, you still surprised me with just how much trouble it would be.”
My lips part to argue, but the words die in my throat as the cold metal of the scalpel presses against my skin. The familiar position, the clinical smell, the bite of restraint.
“Please,” I whisper, hating how weak my voice sounds. “Poe, please don’t—“
“Shhh. I told you about talking.”
I watch the scalpel press into the tense bulge of my upper arm. As promised, I don’t feel any pain, but the anesthetic does nothing to prevent a wash of nausea as blood beads on my skin.
Poe makes an incision barely the length of a fingernail before setting down the scalpel. He uses a pair of tweezers to pick up a tiny metal disc between the tips and holds it close enough for me to see.
“This is a tracking device, one of the most advanced available.” He says it conversationally, like this situation is entirely commonplace and not a gross violation of my body. “As long as you’re still in its range, say about a hundred miles, I’ll be able to pinpoint your location to within a few feet.”
When I pull at the nylon straps holding down my wrists, the movement tenses the muscle enough that the wound in my arm fills with bright red blood. Poe gives me a chastising look as he blots the cut with a piece of gauze.
My fear has faded somewhat, if just because he was telling the truth about the lack of pain.
“Why am I tied down?” I demand.
His eyebrow quirks. “You actually expect me to believe that you would sit still for this just because I asked?”
The answer to that is obvious, so I don’t bother saying it out loud.
I have to turn away when the tracking device pushes gently under my skin, fighting back the urge to vomit. He sutures the slight wound neatly enough that this can’t be the first time he’s done it. After wiping away a few errant drops of blood, he sits back and stares for a long moment.
“Should come in handy the next time someone tries to fucking kidnap you.”
It’s only then that I realize the cold distance in his demeanor is the easiest mask he can conjure for his rage.
Poe is angry. Possibly even angrier than I’ve ever seen him before. His eyes glitter with barely contained fury, just waiting for a chance to be unleashed.
I pitch my voice to something softer, like I’m not terrified out of my mind. “You didn’t find him.”
It isn’t a question.
He regards me with a gaze full of dark promise. “I will.”
I pull at the restraints again until a light twinge of pain arrests my movement. Guess the anesthetic is wearing off. “You can untie me now.”
Poe shifts closer on the bed, looming over me as he studies my face. He makes no move to undo the nylon straps.
The receding edge of my anxiety rears back as a pregnant silence grows between us.
“I have questions,” he says finally.
I pull at the restraints again, harder this time despite the way the movement pulls at my new sutures. “Let me go first.”
“I like you the way you are for now.” His fingers gently trace the pulse in my wrist, just below the stiff nylon wrapped around my wrist. “Who knows when I’ll get an opportunity like this again?”
“I’ll scream,” I threaten.
“Wouldn’t blame you. Unfortunately, no one will hear it.” He jerks his head toward the closed door I can only presume is also locked. “Everyone is busy with the clean-up effort. They won’t be back for hours.”
“Poe…”
He picks up the scalpel and taps it gently against the nightstand. “Now, about those questions.”
The blade glinting in Poe’s hand becomes the only thing I can focus on. It doesn’t matter that I’m nearly positive it’s an empty threat, that he has no intention of using it to hurt me. If he wanted me in physical pain, then he wouldn’t have bothered to use an anesthetic.
But the terrified animal part of me doesn’t care. My hindbrain is alight with remembered fear and anxiety.
My chest constricts as memories flood back. The cold metal table, the doctor’s emotionless voice, the endless cuts and experiments. The restraints bite into my skin just like before.
“No, no, please...” My breath comes in short gasps. The room spins as panic claws up my throat. “I can’t…I can’t do this again.”
“Maya?” Poe’s voice sounds distant through the roaring in my ears. “It’s just me. You’re safe.”
But I’m not safe. I’m never safe. The doctor would always reassure me too, right before he’d cut into me, laughing at my naïve belief that mercy would ever come. My body thrashes against the restraints as terror takes over completely.
“Let me go!” I shriek, yanking so hard the bed frame rattles. Electric pain shoots from the wound in my arm, but I barely feel it. “Please, I’ll do anything. Just let me go!”
“Shit.” Poe drops the scalpel with a clatter. His hands hover uncertainly over my shoulders. “Maya, breathe. You need to breathe.”
I can’t breathe. My lungs refuse to expand properly as sobs wrack my body. Black spots dance at the edges of my vision.
“I don’t want any more experiments,” I choke out between gasps. “Please don’t cut me open again.”
“What experiments? Maya, look at me.” Poe’s face swims in my blurring vision. The clinical smell of antiseptic makes bile rise in my throat. “No one’s experimenting on you. I was just putting in a tracker.”
But his words don’t penetrate the fog of panic. All I can see is the doctor’s wintry smile, feel the bite of scalpels, hear my own screams echoing off sterile walls.
