Page 49 of The Omega Trials: Part Two

I know the Echelon is full of two-faced hypocrites, but somehow I’m still surprised every time they show it.

Or maybe I’m amazed at how blatant their double standards and backward morals are. Yesterday was the most shocking example: the Cyans getting away with drugging and brutally attacking our omega without consequences or retaliation.

“By now, all of the omegas have been mated to one or more alpha within the Trial packs. The resulting alpha aversion is quite severe among nobles. A fact we were reminded of at the last brotherhood night.” The Cyan Elder doesn’t even try to be subtle as he cuts his gaze under his mask to the Cobalt pack.

I was sickened, but unfortunately not surprised, when I heard what happened at the brotherhood night with the Cobalt omega after we left.

The Cobalt omega puts on a brave face, lifting her chin stoically, but pain weighs down her features. Sinclair, on the other hand, doesn’t bother hiding her feelings on the situation with the most repulsed look on hers.

Though I may not always agree with her methods, the girl has a fiery passion for justice that is admirable.

“If courage and fortitude, intelligence and vigilance are the bricks that make up our foundation, loyalty is the mortar,” Azurite projects as if giving a campaign speech, polished and strong.

“To test your loyalty, we will ask one thing of each of you.”1 My heart pounds as he draws out the final instructions. Ecker and Bishop are tense and ready next to me, Sinclair tucked protectively between them. “Give us permission.”

The doors under the balcony open, and more Elders in gold masks and black cloaks like for the ceremony come out. TwoElders from the four families create an imposing row behind the Azurites and Cyans.

My stomach churns at the insinuation of all ten of them lined up, only to be confirmed when the Cyan says, “All of us.”

“Jesus Christ . . .” I exhale, and similar hushed sentiments of shock murmur through the packs.

Sinclair turns to Bishop, genuine horror in her eyes. He shakes his head assuredly. “Not a fucking chance.”

“Will the aspiring Cyan alphas please step forward with your omega,” Azurite summons.

Yves and the other two move to the front to face the Elders. Merigold trails slightly behind. Eric grabs her arm and drags her in front of them, and her eyes fall to the floor and there’s a nervous shake to her hands.

“Yves and Eric Cyan, as the bonded mates of this omega, do you grant us permission and unconditional access to enjoy the pleasures of your omega?”

“I’m gonna be sick,” Sinclair hisses under her breath. If it wasn’t such a vast room, it would probably be audible in the dead silence.

Yves rolls his shoulders back and sniffs before saying without hesitation, “We do.”

A collective gasp leaves the crowd, and waves of aggression and protectiveness emit from the other alphas.

“Very well then.” The Cyan Elder holds out his hand to Merigold with a lecherous grin curving under the golden beak. “Come with me, dearie.”

This is utter insanity.

My blood heats and my pulse thrums, adrenaline already pouring into my bloodstream.

Merigold takes the Elder’s hand and hesitantly lets him pull her away from her alphas, hermates.

“How can they do that?” Ecker balks as Merigold looks over her shoulder at them, fear and heartache in her eyes. None of her alphas move a muscle.

Merigold and the ten masked Elders disappear into the room under the balcony.

Twenty minutes later, the sound of the opening door instantly silences the hushed clusters of conversations that broke out since they went in.2

The Cyan Elder walks out, straightening his tie, while the Azurite smooths his tucked in shirt. He and the Cyan are the only two not in black cloaks, and I’m sure the fact they waited to make these adjustments until they were in full view was wholly intentional. It’s these subtle shows of power that the Echelon is so good at wielding. Small but constant reminders to make sure you never forget whose heel you are under.

Merigold is next to walk out. My stomach sinks upon seeing her state. Her normally high and tight ponytail is loose with strands falling out. The left strap of her dress is frayed and barely staying together. Mascara streaks from her eyes, and a fresh red handprint lights up her cheek.

She walks to her alphas with her shoulders curled in and rubbing her wrist. Angry red stripes wrap around her wrist and ankles where they must have held her down, already turning to bruises in some places.

Yves tries to wrap his arm around her shoulders when they step back to join the rest of the packs, but she pushes him away and rubs her teary eyes.

“This issofucked,” I scoff in disbelief.

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