Page 22 of The Omega Trials: Part Three

The ceremony was even worse than I expected. Bradford was so rough, I wanted to cry. He tore through my virginity like a brute and now my wrists are all black and blue from where Joshua and Nathanial held me down. I thought going into heat would make it hurt less, but it didn’t. And it did nothing for the terrible, searing pain of the carving. It truly felt like being gouged by a knife and branded with a hot iron at the same time.

Four ran a hot bath for me afterward, but I couldn’t stay in it more than a few minutes. All I wanted to do was curl into a ball in bed, hide under the covers, and pretend the day never happened.

When I woke up this morning, my body ached and I was so sore between legs that I knew it had.

Sinclair doesn’t turn the page or close the notebook. She just sets the diary on the dresser and takes a step back. “I shouldn’t be reading this.”

“Why not?” I ask.

“Because she never showed it to me before. If she wanted me to know about it, she would have . . . right?” She looks at me with uncertainty.

Selfishly, I wonder if the answers to our exile will be in there. But even if I knew they weren’t, my answer would still be the same. I go to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear but end up just lightly twirling it around my finger. “I think whatever is in this journal is part of your story too, and you have every right to know what that story is.”

Her ancestor’s words burn up at us, and I can’t stop my gaze from dropping to the place where her carvings hide behind her shirt. “Did it really hurt that bad?” I regret the words as soon as they leave my mouth. Did it hurt? Did the scarcarvedinto your skinhurt?I shake my head. “I’m sorry—”

I stop when she touches the neck of my tee shirt. Her fingers gently pull it down and trace the fresh cut above my collarbone. I mirror her action, placing two fingers on her sternum.

“Some scars are worth the pain. And some . . .” She lifts my hand, bringing my fingers to her mouth. My stomach somersaults at the soft flutter of her lips against my fingertips. My breath gets trapped in my throat as she then takes my hand to cup her cheek. “You wear more proudly because of that pain.”

She leans into my palm and the tumbling in my stomach doesn’t stop. When I think of all the ways we hurt her . . . I can hardly take it. I clench my jaw, just to bear the guilt of it all.

“How’s it going in here—oh . . .am I interrupting something?” Ecker swaggers in with a shit-eating grin.

Sinclair presses a quick kiss to my palm before turning around. “Is Bishop back?” She holds up the diary. “’Cause you’re both gonna want to see this.”

Entry #2

I am living in hell. I am sure of it. I feel like a hollow corpse, just a sack of flesh and bone. My alphas are determined to break me. And after last night, they have done just that. For three days prior to the Games, they kept me tied to one of their beds and took turns raping me again and again. It was horrible, their sweaty bodies and burning gold eyes. Every time they triggered my heat, I felt crazed and feverish. I acted in wanton ways that I cannot even write here. Only for it to end. When they were finished, I would be left with their seed leaking out of me and shame so crushing, I was certain it would break me in two.

Last night was the Games and the first time I was allowed out of our wing since the ceremony, and I felt like a ghost disguised among all the people, just a shell of a human. I should have known it would only get worse.

The Victor’s Prize was created by Satan himself. Only the devil would give a pack of bloodthirsty alphas in rut a sacrilegious altar and an omega to desecrate.

They violated me every which way. They took and took until I was crying and bleeding. My heat didn’t last nearly as long as their ruts. Morethan once, I almost lost consciousness. Nothing I said would make them stop. In fact, the more I screamed and begged, the more vicious they were. They are nothing but heartless, merciless monsters.

Entry #3

I am with child. One of those monsters’ child.

Tear drops mar the paper.

Entry #4

I sat on the dock all night in nothing but my nightgown. The wind must have been bitter cold, but I couldn’t feel it. I couldn’t feel anything. I am nothing but numb.

I sat on the dock with coils of heavy steel chain, trying to convince myself to tie them to my ankles. I sat there until the sun rose, eventually leaving those chains on the dock, untouched. Perhaps if I had the courage when the Trials first began, I would have been successful. But now, I am too numb to even care whether I live or die.

Entry #5

I felt her kick today. She is a strong little one.

I must be strong for her.

Entry #6

Tonight’s the night. My hand shakes as I write this. Nerves, both excited and anxious, consume me. I am doing everything I can to stay away from the alphas tonight. Not that I ever make an effort to be near them, but I am terrified I will give something away. Little one is quite restless too. She tosses and turns in my belly.

Of course, I owe it all to Tormund Cerulean. He heard there might be dried dusk daisies being stored in the vault. He risked everything, breaking in to get them for me. I am equally terrified for the Ceruleans if anyone finds out they’ve helped me.

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