Page 127 of Bonds of Hate

Impotent anger spikes in me. This might not be entirely a dead-end, but I still didn’t find the information we wanted. And the need to have an actual crime scene processed means I won’t be the one following the next thread of this investigation.

I hate that I wasted the time to come out here.

The dead woman on the table seems to stare at us accusingly through clouded eyes. I imagine her eyes following meas I circle the examination table. Something about her features, the delicate bone structure and slight build, triggers a horrifying flash of recognition. In my mind’s eye, it’s Maya’s purple hair fanning across the steel surface. Her chest cavity split open like a piece of rotten fruit. All of her inner parts spread and catalogued around her.

My stomach lurches. Maybe this is what would have happened if I hadn’t stopped that hooded bastard from taking her. Maya would have ended up as another specimen on this butcher’s table, just another set of labeled samples in some sick experiment.

Premonition tightens the muscles of my shoulders and has me casting about for a threat as we emerge into the empty night. All I can think about is Maya, potentially alone in the palace because Logan is too selfish, and Cillian too apathetic, to prioritize protecting her.

Something is very wrong here.

“We need to get back.” My voice comes out rougher than intended. “Now.”

I have no reason to think she isn’t safe, but that doesn’t stop me from red lining the throttle on our way back to the palace.

Chapter Thirty

MAYA

Packing a bag is more difficult than I thought it would be. I find plenty of my new clothing in Ares’s closet, but none of it is appropriate for absconding into the night. A girl in a ballgown is going to be pretty damn conspicuous.

Anger fuels me as grab what I can and shove it in a duffel bag I find under the bed. Enough anger to keep most of the fear at bay.

Now that I recognize the impending signs of heat, it’s easier to gauge how much time I have before the symptoms are fully blown. A few hours, maybe. Hopefully, enough time to get out of the palace and spend the dangerous days of my fertility cycle somewhere safe.

I know there are underground shelters, places where Omegas who don’t welcome Alpha attention can go when they’re in heat. Finding one won’t be easy and being out of the streets in the early stages of heat is very dangerous, but I don’t really have a choice.

I can’t stay here surrounded by people I can’t trust. I won’t.

I just wish there was time to confront Cillian and maybe get one of his balls as a consolation prize.

Instead, I slip the necklace of Midale’s that Poe gave me into the bag. I won’t pawn it if I don’t have to, but I have no idea what it might cost me to find safe shelter.

The apartment is empty and quiet as I slip into the hallway with the duffel bag slung over my back. My footsteps are nearly silent on the marble floor, but I wince with every squeak.

I come to a sudden stop in the doorway of the living room. The duffel bag suddenly feels like it weighs a thousand pounds on my shoulder.

The lamp beside the couch casts a dim glow across Logan’s sprawled form. An empty bottle of bourbon lies tipped over on the coffee table next to him.

Logan’s head lolls toward me, his golden eyes glazed.

I freeze in place as we both silently stare at each other. Lamplight casts half of his face in a sick yellow shade of light that forcibly reminds me of the fake suppressant I took.

Muscles clench low in my belly, and I have to resist the urge to vomit.

“C’mere.” He pats the couch beside him, missing the cushion entirely.

My heart pounds against my ribs as I take a careful step backward. I’ve never seen him this drunk before. “I should really…”

“That’s an order.” The words come out thick, but the Alpha command still rings clear. “Here. Now.”

Another wave of warmth rolls through me. Proximity to any Alpha, even one who is already claimed, is a bad idea as my heat threatens. I’m significantly more susceptible to any suggestion right now. For all I know, Logan doesn’t even intend to compel me with his voice, but the swimming hormones in my brain make it too hard to resist any direct order from an Alpha.

My feet move of their own accord, dragging me closer to him. I have enough presence of mind to let the duffel bag silently fall behind one of the armchairs as I approach. If he notices that I have bag packed, Logan doesn’t comment on it as I perch on the edge of the couch next to him.

“You smell different.” He leans in, nose brushing my neck. He grips my shoulder when I instinctively lean away. “Sweet. Like... candy. Cherry-flavored sugar.”

I try to edge away, but his grip tightens. “Logan, you’re drunk.”

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