Page 62 of Fallen Omega

She shrugs. “I’m not privy to their plans or thoughts on you. But…I’d make up my mind. Fast.”

When she goes, I let my mind trail over what she said, follow the paths. But I know deep down this is the same as being forced to be some old alpha’s mate. A prisoner’s a prisoner, no matter what it’s called.

I eat slowly, deliberately. What I want to do is cram the food in, fast. But I take it slow to let my body get used to it after those few days of not eating—my last meal was the soup and sandwich, the last thing I could eat before the heat took me down its twisted rabbit hole.

When I’m done, I stand, feeling stronger, more centered. Calmer.

Last time I checked for a way to escape, I was half mindless. This time… This time I’m awake. I’m over my heat and recovered.

I want out.

Who could blame me, anyway? I search the room, checking behind the large painting of some beach at sunset—a weirdly generic and benign thing for the Unholy Trinity to have in their underground lair.

They don’t want me to stay, surely, not after what I did.

I look around, under and behind everything for a secret control panel or something that’ll open up and let me go free. Surely they’re the types to have secret tunnels so they can escape in a moment’s notice.

There are no CCTV cameras, no telltale little hidden nanny cams in the lamps or on the TV. With a breath held tight and burning in my lungs, I go to the door.

I try the handle. It rattles but the stupid thing’s locked.

A small cry breaks free.

Christ, still stuck here, under lock and key. I mean, I remember Darcy pointing out I couldn’t leave even if I escaped the room, so why lock the door?

What? Am I going to walk in on them all having some kind of pack orgy?

I place a shaking hand to my mouth. My knowledge of packs is very sketchy. Dad told me bare bone basics, but we kept to the outsiders, the shunned, those who weren’t registered.

The Unholy Trinity can’t want me here, they can’t. Not after I tried to hump two of them. Those memories swing into the front of my brain under bright lights randomly now I’m back to normal.

Those memories fueled fantasies when I was out of my mind with my heat. And even with the O-blockers they gave me, I still had fevered dreams.

Of course, then there was the kiss.

Not long ago with that delicious and gorgeous Knight.

I smile, a little dreamy with the happy feeling wafting through my limbs. Knight’s the perfect name. He saved me, gave me untold pleasure I’d never even thought could happen, and he kisses like a dream. He really is a knight.

“Woah.” I slam on the thought breaks. What am I doing? My first kiss and orgasm when on the cusp of heat and I think I’mcrushing hard.

Dimples and curling hair and a mouth made for pleasure and sin isn’t worth shit when Mr. Dimples is one of my captors. Nothing more and everything less.

There’s nothing to read in here, and I don’t want to watch TV. The news depresses me and stupid shows and movies really aren’t going to hold my attention.

“And why do they care about who Dad is?” I close my eyes. “Was.”

The name, Elias Enver, still sticks in my throat. The thread of betrayal winding tight around me when that horrible, hot and dangerous Dante treated me like dirt, dismissed me as a nuisance and a drunk, asked about him is still there. Even if Elias was Dad’s real name—and I’m more than aware it makes perfect sense why Dad didn’t tell me or that he had a different name to the one I grew up with—why was Dante interested?

The questions threaten to add to the frustration and anger in me and crush me into the floor. I make myself breathe.

“Dad would tell you to leave all that behind for later. He’d tell you to deal with your current problem. This room.”

I’m locked in here. No way out, except through the door.

If I can get out of the room, I'll have a better chance of planning my next move.

I’m not strong, but I’m smart.

---