Page 67 of The Omega Trials: Part One

Want

Titus

The gas lamp on the library table provides just enough light to read, except for the really old texts where the ink is faded and the paper is yellowed. Then, I have to hold the book up, angling the pages to decipher what it says. So far, nothing important.

I’m telling myself that the reason I’ve been holed up in the Estate’s library for the last couple days is because of what Ferdinand Beryll said at the dinner party. I tell myself I’m just trying to give us the best chance to succeed. The Elders keep us in the dark about most of the Trials. If I can figure out what Beryll meant about Sinclair being an asset for the Intelligence Trial, we will be one step ahead of them.

That’s what I tell myself.

But I know it’s a goddamn lie.

The real reason I’m spending hours pouring over page after page is because here, I know where I stand. I’m a Cerulean alpha competing in the Trials.

One identity, one goal. It’s safe. It’s what I know.

But everything changes as soon as I walk into our wing. I’m a brother, a pack leader, but I’m also an outsider. She’s made me an outsider within my only family.

It rankles because I know it’s my own doing, but I don’t regret the decisions I’ve made. I stand by my actions no matter how fucked up they might be, and I’m not going to feign remorse just to get some pussy.

I laugh to myself in the empty library. If only it was as simple as chasing pussy.

I rest my elbows on the table and push the heels of my palms into my eyes. Sometimes, I feel like I’m the only one who hasn’t lost my goddamn mind in this godforsaken place.

The flame in the lamp gets smaller and smaller until finally it dies completely, running out of oil. The library is one of the few places in the Estate that hasn’t been updated to electricity. The space goes from cast in orange light to dark save the silvery moonlight cutting through the window.

Rather than hunt down another lamp or more oil, I pack up the book I’m in the middle of and head out. I didn’t check the time, but the halls are quiet, and I hope this means our wing will be too.

The incident with the Cyans yesterday morning snapped Sinclair out of her bond lust, so last night was the first night since the games I was able to sleep through the night.

That’s another lie I like to tell myself.

That the only reason listening to them fuck all night pissed me off was because it messed with my sleep, potentiallydisadvantaging my physical and mental performance for any upcoming Trials.

I scoff to myself. Yeah, that’s the only reason.

Something feels different as soon as I step into the common room.1 Different,not off. It’s eerily quiet, but I expected that. Sweeping my gaze around the room, I realize everyone’s bedroom doors are closed. Which doesn’t necessarily mean anything, but lately, whoever’s room the three of them are sleeping in that night is the only one closed.

I set my backpack on the couch and find my heart rate accelerating as I approach my room. Anticipation swirls in my chest as something pulls to me from the other side of the door. Goose bumps run down my arms as my hand twists the knob, opening the door. I reach for the switchblade in my pocket, but as soon as my hand wraps around the cool metal, I release it.

Like moonlight streaming through the window, her silver hair lays across my pillow.Mypillow. Inmybed.

My feet stutter, and I unconsciously hold my breath to not wake her. I wait for the feeling of a trap to tug at my senses, but it never comes. She doesn’t stir when I close the door or when I walk slowly around the bed, even looking under it for signs of a trick.

Finding none, I think about the pull I felt before I even knew she was in here. It was visceral, a tugging string in my gut, like I was compelled by something other than habit. It must have been her somehow calling to me, drawing me. To her.

Vexed, I carefully peel the covers back, revealing her small body drowning in a big T-shirt . . .myT-shirt.

I expect my mind to race to make sense of this, but somehow the understanding is innate. I’m so uncharacteristically calm that it barely feels like a realization, more like a correction. Correcting what was always meant to be this way.

She’s ready. Not just to be theirs, but ours.Mine.

My hand hesitates, hovering over her bare leg. It could still be a trap, but with unwarranted confidence, I lower my hand to touch her skin.

I feel nothing.

Well, not nothing. My stomach flutters. My entire body seems to rise ten degrees. My skin tingles and desire flares to life in my chest. But there’s no pain. None. Even when I let my hand linger for several breaths, I feel none of the bone-splitting, mind-breaking pain I did last time I touched her for a mere half second.

I remove my hand to undo my belt. I watch her fastidiously for signs of waking, but her breathing remains even the entire time I undress. Leaving my clothes in a pile on the floor, I walk to the foot of the bed and pull the covers all the way down before slowly climbing onto it.

---