Page 83 of Hell's Secret Omega

The bowl clatters to the table and the King doubles over with a grunt. He coughs deeply, a hand over his mouth, and for a moment it looks like he might collapse. When he straightens, black ichor stains his lips. He chuckles wetly.

“I taste the power. It’s almost ready.” He pushes the bowl back to the middle of the table clumsily. Another drop falls from the ceiling and spatters in its hollow. His black eyes gleam. “You brought a tagalong.”

Cyrus steps out from behind him. “I came to make sure you keep your promise to him.”

“Ahah.” The King’s brow comes down sharply. “You’ve mated. I smell it. Couldn’t hold back, could you, Mezor? I expected you, of all people, to exercise restraint.”

“Our bond isn’t your concern,” Cyrus says, his voice rising.

Selfishly, Mezor wishes he would stay his courage for a beat. “The bond will break when Cyrus enters the Hellspring.”

“No, it won’t,” Cyrus says loudly.

Mezor turns back, surprised.

The King laughs. “Priceless! He doesn’t know.”

“Know what…?” Mezor feels control of the situation slipping away.

“Your power—allyour power—was part of the deal,” the King says sharply, ignoring his question. “Now you’ve diluted it. I can see pieces of it inside him.”

His gaze flickers over Cyrus coldly, and Mezor’s heart turns to stone. He steps in front of Cyrus.

“I won’t let you touch him. Let him go to the Hellspring—his duty is done.”

“You’re already under his thrall.” Branok’s lip twitches into a sneer. “Tell your mate the truth, my little spy.”

“I’m not afraid of the truth,” Cyrus says, but through the bond Mezor senses fear.

“You don’t have to tell me anything.”

“Tell him!” Branok roars, suddenly seeming bigger, shadows swirling at his feet.Hollows. An icy chill rises.

Mezor looks between his vergis and the King. Cyrus bares his teeth.

“I can’t enter the Hellspring now that he’s poisoned it. That’s how General Leuther died.”

The King shakes with laughter. “Good riddance to that traitor!”

“He lied to me,” Cyrus hisses, gaze flickering between Mezor and the King. “It’s been poisoned since before the coup.”

The words cut the ground out from under him. Ice shards enter his veins. Cyrus will remain a vergis.

Alone.

A vergis without his mate.

The King’s laughter dies as Mezor’s primus rises in his blood and his scent swells to fill the suffocating room. Their eyes meet. All the hairs on Mezor’s arms rise. For a moment, he wonders what it would be like to dig his claws into that face.

He could kill Branok so easily.

The King looks away. The moment is broken. “Hah. I won’t touch him. How much power can a little vergis steal, anyway?”

Mezor tenses. “Wait?—”

He hardly registers the King’s red hand moving until Branok’s claws sink into his muscle. Fire erupts across his chestand he chokes on his words. Over the roar of blood to his ears Cyrus is shouting. The bond flares bright with fear.

“Stop—” Mezor grunts, gripping the King’s wrist.Not in front of him. Not yet.But his strength is already draining away, and he can only stagger backward as the King drives him into the wall.

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