Page 16 of The Omega Trials: Part One

Each step closer makes my panic grow. The water feels heavier, a weight bearing down on me, trapping me. Here. With them.

I give up any pretense of keeping my cool and plead, “I’m naked—please, haven’t you taken enough from me already?”

Not that my dress hid much, but the thought of all of them seeing me so bare and vulnerable makes me want to cry. They don’t have a right toallof me.

The blond one laughs, and the sound is like ice down my back. “I don’t think you get it, Omega. Seeing you naked is the least we can do.”

The alpha wearing his dark curls in a bun is tense, his jaw clenched. He blinks rapidly, flashing streaks of gold.

No, god, please don’t go into rut.

He squeezes his eyes shut, inhaling and exhaling like he’s in pain. When he reopens his eyes, they are back to a beautiful hazel. His features relax when he looks at me. I doubt he resisted the rut for me, but wistfully, I think that I might have an ally in him one day.

“I don’t care if you hate us. We’re not your biggest fans either. It doesn’t matter that I don’t trust you. That ceremony made you ours.” Titus wraps his big hands around the lip of the other end of the tub. “We get you naked or dressed up like a queen.” My throat tightens as he slowly prowls around the edge of the tub, walking his hands along the rim. “We can take and take and never give. We can do anything we like . . .”

His arm shoots out so quickly, I don’t even register what is happening until I’m plunged under the water. My body slides down the basin and my limbs splash violently.

My scalp stings as his fist in my hair yanks me up. I’m sputtering, frantically wiping water from my eyes when I hear him say, “Even drown you, if we please.”

I’m forced back under again, longer this time. I claw at his hand on the top of my head, but it’s like pawing at a tree, immovable. His cold and cruel face distorts under the water.

I’m pulled up just long enough to fully inhale before being shoved under again. I try to think through the panic, my racing adrenaline and fight-or-flight system making it hard to do anything but fight to survive.

A fate worse than death.

The thought occurs to me that I was wishing for this exact thing minutes ago. I laugh underwater, wasting precious breath.

This time, when he yanks on my hair, I grip the edges of the tub and fight against him, straightening my legs and sliding to the bottom of the tub.

The pressure on my head disappears, and instead I’m ripped to a sitting position by hands like vices under my arms.

I laugh, but it sounds more like wheezing as I catch my breath. Looking over my shoulder, I say, “Aww, why’d you stop? Dying sounds pretty good to me right about now.”

I don’t think I actually want to die, but I also don’t think they will kill me. For better or worse, they need me, and if I don’t fear death, what can they do to me?

He drops his hands, and I cross my arms defensively over my breasts. The three of them look at each other conspiratorially, some silent conversation passing between them. The sudden loss of their attention puts me even more on edge. It’s obvious how incredibly in sync they are.

“Are you gonna drown me or what, because the water’s getting cold,” I quip, but my heart tells on me, thumping wildly in my chest. Despite laughing, tears well in my eyes, threatening to spill.

“Worse . . .” Titus traces his teeth with his tongue and cants his head smugly to the side. “I’m going to make you beg.”

Puzzled, I mirror his tilted head and get my first good look at him. Everything about him is masculine and hard, from his brow to his cheekbones to the stubble covering his jaw. His nose looks like it’s been broken several times and small scars are scattered on his face, thicker ones at the corner of his eyebrows like a boxer. His eyes are deep gray storm clouds.

I track the corner of his mouth as it tugs in something close to but not quite a smirk. I can’t picture him ever smiling.

The other two move in unison, grabbing my arms and lifting me out of the tub.

“Hey—”I protest, then exhale anoofwhen my back hits the bathroom wall. The plaster feels cold after the heat of the bath, and I can’t peel my shoulders more than an inch off the wall with the way they have me pinned.

The blond removes one hand to brush my wet hair off my neck. I take slow, measured breaths through my nose as his darkbrown-green eyes take in my scar. I shiver when he continues to lift my hair with the back of his hand off my shoulders, to follow the scar around my neck. His lip twitches with a grimace.

He drops my hair, and I’m instantly comforted by the small veil it provides. As I’m pinned to the wall like a cross with my arms outstretched, water sluicing down my naked body, I latch onto any illusion of a shield.

I turn my head to look at him and he flicks his chin. “Who did this to you?” He has the audacity to sound more protective than curious, a low growl laced through his words.

I gather saliva on the tip of my tongue, then spit in his face to show him what I think of his concern. He rears back just in time so it lands at his feet.

Titus, now standing in front of me, roughly clasps my chin. His patience—if he had any to begin with—is clearly worn thin by the look on his face. He pitches forward, tugging my face toward his.

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