Page 41 of The Omega Trials: Part One

I swallow deeply. It’s all too easy to imagine an omega’s unanswered pleas of mercy and screams dampened by layers and layers of earth and stone.

“I have to leave you now, but I will be waiting to take you to your seat after the pack is introduced.” Seventeen touches my shoulder, and I say goodbye.

She disappears around a curve in the tunnel, and Ecker sounds as petulant as Yves when he says, “Well, I hope you’re happy—thanks to you, Titus is going into tonight not able to fucking move without pain, let alone fight.”

A list of everything they’ve put me through is on the tip of my tongue, but his utter lack of acknowledgment oftheirrole in this has me fuming. If justoneof them stood up for me at breakfast, maybe none of this would have happened.Just one!

I’m so riled up, I’m not thinking clearly and end up revealing something I intended to keep secret. “I’d be happier if Bishopwasn’t the only one that drank my tea this morning. You all deserve to be doubled over in pain.”

“You did this?” Bishop turns his face toward me with a look of genuine hurt. His voice is extra raspy and frayed from vomiting due to the larkspur flowers I steeped with the tea.

“No,” I fight back. “You did this to yourself, all of you, treating me the way you have.”

Titus growls low and deadly, lunging at me like he doesn’t feel any pain. His big hand wraps around my neck as he slams me against the dirt wall. His eyes flicker with gold and rage as his grip tightens around my airway.

I feel my head beginning to swim, my lungs frantically trying to inflate. But despite all that, I’m determined to spend my last seconds of consciousness returning his glowering, furious snarl with a victorious smile.

I laugh in his face with my remaining breath, and the crease between his brows deepens, his lip curling. Gold colors more and more of his irises as he lifts my feet off the ground. Black dots speckle my vision, but I keep smiling, keep laughing.

Just when my eyelids start fluttering, a horn blares, traveling through the tunnels like a ricocheting bullet. He releases me with a growl, and I fall onto the dirt. Air and my senses come rushing back. My heart beats wildly, flooding with adrenaline.

“We have to go,” I hear Bishop say, clear anger in his clipped tone.

I look up to see Titus still glaring down at me like he can’t decide if he’s going to step on me or not. Bishop repeats himself and tugs on his shoulder.

Titus shakes his hand off and snarls before leaving. “You better hope I’m not left standing at the end of this.”2

The Trial pack members meet at the mouth of the tunnel. All the omegas are in the same dress, and I can’t help but think we look like sacrificial virgins. The men are shirtless in simple black boxing shorts with a wide strip of color down the sides. Each pack’s stripe is a different shade of blue, representing their family name.

There’s a crackling energy as we all huddle together at the tunnel gate. It’s not quite anxious or eager. Maybe a combination of both.

Maybe it’s bloodthirst.

The gate rises with loud metal creaking. Through the noise, I can hear someone’s voice amplified around the arena, introducing the new alphas as they enter. It’s met with a roaring welcome that I can feel vibrate down through the stone to us.

Two male attendants are waiting on the other side of the gate with bronze bowls in their hands. The omegas hang back so that before entering the arena, the alphas can first go to one of them and have a black charcoal-like mixture swiped across their faces. The attendant dips his hand into the bowl and uses his fingers to brush a wide streak across each alpha’s forehead and eyes.

I get a better look at the crowd now and realize the paint must serve as a mask of sorts. The arena is not nearly as big as the Colosseum in Rome, but still a few hundred people fill the seats. There’s no way all these people are part of the Echelon.

In fact, only one section, less than a quarter of the seats, is filled with people in the Echelon’s distinctive gold masks.

Our bare feet shuffle in the sand as we’re paraded around the arena with our packs like show ponies to a disembodied voice introducing us. I walk next to Ecker with Titus and Bishop on either side of us and slightly behind. Titus’s presence at my back is like a cracking whip, never quite striking me but making me constantly aware that he could.

Ecker’s chiseled angles are made haunting with the black paint, and every time our eyes meet, there’s a promise in them.

The promise of hard stone, cutting shackles, and no one to care about my screams.

When introductions are over, I meet Seventeen with the other omegas and their attendants at the base of the stairs. We’re led to a balcony with five throne-like chairs. I look around for their occupants.

The other omegas begin filling them, and Seventeen holds out her palm. “Your seat, Omega.”

“Who are all these people?” I ask while I sit, looking out at all the people.

Standing behind me, she speaks quietly over my shoulder. “The worst of the worst.”

“What does that mean?”

“Imagine the type of person that not only wants to watch people fight to the death but is willing to pay a small fortune to do so.”

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