Page 88 of Psycho Pack

Toobeautiful.

And the prettiest things can hide the ugliest truths.

I press closer to Wraith's chest, earning a wary rumble. His heartbeat thunders against my ear, steady and strong.

At least I'm not the only one who feels out of place here.

We're led down a corridor lined with private compartments, each door carved with equally delicate floral motifs. Our guide stops before an especially elaborate door at the end of the car.

"Your accommodations," she says with a slight bow. "Please make yourselves comfortable. We'll be departing shortly."

Whiskey snorts. "Hopefully not the dead kind of departing," he says under his breath as the door closes behind us.

Thane rounds on Plague. "What the fuck is going on?" he demands in a harsh whisper. "How did you arrange this?"

Plague's face is a mask of cool indifference. "Don't worry about it."

"Bullshit," Whiskey growls. "Spill it, Doc. What aren't you telling us?"

I watch the exchange with growing unease. Plague's usual clinical demeanor has been replaced by something... colder. More distant. He won't meet any of our eyes as he moves tostand by the window, his back to us and his arms folded over his chest.

"It doesn't matter," he says flatly. "We're here. We're safe. Isn't that enough?"

"No, it fucking isn't," Thane snaps. "Not when you're acting shady as hell. What did you promise them?"

Plague's shoulders tense, but he doesn't turn around. "Nothing we can't afford to give."

A chill runs down my spine at his words. What does that mean? What could he possibly have offered that would make them not only allow us passage, but treat us like honored guests?

But before Thane can press Plague further, a soft knock at the door interrupts us. We all freeze, exchanging wary glances. After a moment's hesitation, Thane moves to open it.

A young beta in a flowing white gown glides into the compartment, pushing an ornate brass cart laden with covered silver trays. The scent of spices and freshly baked bread fills the air, making my mouth water despite my anxiety.

"Refreshments for your journey," she says sweetly, gulping audibly when she glimpses Wraith. I narrow my eyes at her. "And… warm clothes for your omega."

She reaches beneath the cart and pulls out a stack of white folded fabric. She turns to me, her eyes lingering on me and her head tilted in curiosity, as if she doesn't know what to make of me. Whatever's going through her mind, it doesn't last long. She offers me a shy smile and holds out the stack of fabric.

"Thanks," I murmur, taking it carefully. I'm still on edge, but my tension softens somewhat when I feel how warm the fabric is. I unfold it, revealing a luxurious plush robe thicker and softer than anything I've ever felt in my life.

"I can stand," I say to Wraith.

He sets me down reluctantly and I flex my toes against the padded cream carpet. It's so plush, my feet sink into it,instantly warmed. I pull the robe over my borrowed clothes and start undressing beneath it since it's huge on me and I don't particularly want to be naked in front of a stranger.

Wraith holds out his hand and helps take the clothes from me as the beta beings setting out the trays on the table. The wooden beads of her necklace click against each other as she moves. A gilded pendant in the shape of an ibis skull with a third eye hangs from the center.

Interesting.

She catches me looking at it and gives me another shy smile, touching the pendant reverently. Maybe it's not just a necklace. I didn't think anyone was religious these days, but the small wooden balls are spaced out and separated with intricate knots like prayer beads.

As she begins setting out the trays on the small tables scattered throughout the compartment and pouring glasses of wine from an alabaster jug, I can't help but study her. Her movements are graceful, almost dance-like. The golden beads adorning her veil chime softly with each motion.

Once she's finished arranging everything, she bows deeply. "Please enjoy. We will depart shortly." With that, she glides out of the compartment as silently as she entered.

For a long moment, no one moves. The rich aromas wafting from the uncovered dishes are tempting, but suspicion keeps us all rooted in place.

Finally, Whiskey breaks the silence with a snort. "Fuck it," he declares, reaching for a glass of wine. "If they're poisoning us, we have bigger problems on our hands." He holds it up in a toast, eyes locking on Plague. "To… whatever the fuck this is."

"Whiskey, don't—" Thane starts, but it's too late. The big alpha has already taken a long swig.

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