Page 11 of The Omega Trials: Part One

Pretend I’m not being bathed and pampered for the pleasure of my new owner.

Pretend I wasn’t sold like cattle. Pretend that I know exactly what comes next.

But most of all, I can pretend that I’m not afraid.

The attendant massages shampoo into my scalp, her fingers deft and soothing. I lift my hand out of the water and look at my own fingers. It was three days before I was able to use a torn strip of fabric to tie my smashed finger to its neighbor. That was all it took for the bone to set crooked and never straighten.

I try to tell myself that whatever they will do to me can’t be worse than what I did to myself. But it’s a feeble argument. The lack of choice makes any pain infinitely worse.

“That’s a pretty ring.” It’s the first time the attendant has spoken. Her voice is soft but not comforting. It’s quiet and meek, like she’s trying to shrink herself or hide from something bigger and scarier. “What type of flower is that?”

The question makes me stiffen. Even though I don’t detect any pretense in her question, I still try to nonchalantly cover my ring and change the subject. “I’m not sure actually. So, what can you tell me about the men who bought me?”

When Vincent loaded me into a sleek sedan this evening, I wasn’t given any information other than that I’d been sold and my debt transferred. I knew better than to ask questions. I wouldn’t get any answers anyway.

After overhearing the conversation with the masked men the night before, I can only assume it’s them who bought me. I tried to discreetly ask Vincent’s other girls if they knew who they were but came up with nothing helpful.

My stomach knots when I wonder if the three young alphas will be with them again. I remember the cruel, icy stare of the big, burly one and my blood chills.

She hums as if trying to decipher my question. “I believe it’s the Ceruleans who paid your tribute.”

Shivering as if a bucket of ice water were dumped over me, my voice shakes. “TheCeruleans?”

“Yes, I believe so, Omega.”

Omega. Cerulean.

The room spins; my heart gallops. I can’t breathe.

“I-I’m not an omega.” My voice is scratchy, hollow, and distant to my own ears. “I’m undesignated. I’mundesignated,”I repeat as if it will break me out of this horrible dream.

“Oh, um . . . I just assumed—”

“Seventeen!” An older woman pops her head in the bathroom and shouts, “Get her out of that damn tub! The ceremony is happening in minutes!”

My hands grip the edge of the claw-foot tub, but I'm shaking too much to lift myself.

“Let me help you.” The attendant wraps both hands around one of mine, gently peeling it off the rim. As she stands, she removes one hand to grab my bicep and lifts.

I’m floating among the steam. Looking down on my broken body slowly rising from the water.Why am I standing? Why am I letting her guide me to my feet?

The questions come and go like puffs of smoke. Answers swallowed by one resounding thought:

The Echelon.

They own me.

Titus

I’m looking down at my hands, fingers intertwined in a tight ball as I try to avoid pacing in the small vestibule outside the Great Hall.God,I really need some coping mechanisms other than clenching my fists and pacing.

All the other families are already inside with their omegas, waiting for the ceremony to begin. Waiting fills me with anticipation, apprehension, and straight-up anxiety.

I watch Ecker tap his foot, the sole of his loafer beating a tattoo on the marble floors. I know if I look up, he’ll be tracing his teeth with his tongue lazily and laxly drooping his shoulders. He’s mastered the “I’m bored, so why don’t you come entertainme” look and it works just as flawlessly for picking up clients as it does hiding his emotions.

The door to the corridor opens, a stream of light cutting across Ecker’s bouncing foot.1

The first thing I notice is her bare feet. My eyes drag up her silky, ivory legs and my stomach somersaults with what I think are my first ever butterflies. I relax my fists as my gaze catches on the sheer black dress that hangs to midthigh but hides absolutely nothing.

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