Page 2 of Bonds of Hate

His nostrils flare in awareness. His gaze moves from my flushed face and downward to my lap, as if he can see the little pool of slick gathering under the ruffled tulle of my skirt.

I resist the urge to cringe away in embarrassment.

Good omegas control their urges. They know better than to leap over luncheon tables to climb an Alpha like a tree, no matter how good he smells. Or how deadly his good looks.

Logan leans in closer, lips brushing the delicate shell of my ear. “You smell better than these strawberries, so much sweeter.”

Metal creaks as Charlotte shifts in her chair, breaking the spell I’ve fallen under. I lean away from the prince,needing to put some distance between us before I choke on a cloud of bitter clove and my own shame.

If I looked her way, I’m sure she would be on the very edge of her seat, watching this scene play out like a championship handball match going into overtime.

The only thing more frightening than an Alpha in a rage is a social-climbing beta mother on a mission.

Charlotte was the one who ordered my courting dresses two sizes smaller than what I normally wear. I had no choice but to spend the last month basically starving myself in order to squeeze into them.

Alphas like their Omegas tiny and light. All the better for tossing them around like rag dolls when in a rut, as Charlottes likes to say.

I always pretend not to hear the note of envy in her voice under the derision.

Every little girl dreams of becoming an Omega when she grows up. Eventually being claimed by an Alpha biologically compelled to coddle and adore her.

At least, that’s the story they always sell at the Enclave, the government-run training center for Omegas that Charlotte shipped me off to when I hit puberty and presented. For my own good, she always insists, though I’m sure the generous stipend she received in exchange for signing over legal custody of me didn’t hurt.

At twenty, the typical age for graduating from the Enclave, I’ve spent the better part of my life being told what it means to be an Omega. Cajoled and coerced into fitting the very specific mold that is supposed to be both a birthright and an obligation. Omegas are rare. Omegas are dying out. We have an obligation to reproduce.

It’s hard to know if you actually want something, no matter how attractive it is, when no one has ever offered you any other options.

Charlotte might like to think that she can see through all the Alpha posturing, but that doesn’t stop her from taking advantage of it. Wrapping me up like a pretty present and gifting me to one of the highest-ranking Alphas in the country is the best way to secure her own future. If he turns out to be a perfect scent-match for me, then that’s just a nice, though unnecessary, bonus.

The money from my stipend had been enough to buy her way into an apartment near the city center and to purchase the expensive scent-mimickers that rich beta women often wear to attract Alpha mates. No Alpha with even half a brain falls for it, but the illusion is enough. Especially when real Omegas are so scarce.

Now her Omega daughter has a chance at one of the royal princes, the final piece of a puzzle she worked her whole life to put together. If I balk now, she will never forgive me.

I can’t even really blame her for it, not when I know what alternative awaits a woman in this world without some kind of protection.

Just like that, as it always happens when I’m least prepared for it, I think of my father.

Memories are hazy. It’s been so long, but I remember enough of him. Strong. Caring. Beta, but still a perfect provider until the day he died when I was five.

Tears don’t fall. Enough years have passed for me to learn that much self-control. But some fleeting sadness must show on my face before I can hideit.

Prince Logan immediately senses the change in me.He leans away, a frown forming on those full lips and turning down the elegant curve of his brow.

An edge of warning shades his voice. “Is there a problem?”

The softly murmured question is still sharp as a knife-blade.

“Of course not!”Charlotte lurches toward the prince, obviously intending to smooth over my social gaffe.

The movement triggers an immediate reaction from the previously stoic guards stationed at three different corners of the room. They don’t draw weapons, but well-oiled holsters creak against metal as they shift into ready positions. Relaxing again, only when she settles back in her seat with a look of consternation on her face.

I almost forgot that Charlotte wasn’t our only audience for this meeting. Her research efforts had been exhaustive, so I know almost as much about his pack as I do about the prince himself.

Ares leans against a pillar, which does nothing to hide his impressive bulk. The light-brown curls spiraling off his crown might be the only soft thing about him. Alphas are always big, but he looks like he could bench-presseveryone in the room at the same time without even breaking a sweat. The pack enforcer who seems every inch the part. From the look in his eye, he is always just waiting for an opportunity to show off his strength.

Poe stands the closest, as if he is little more than the prince’s shadow. If gossip is to be believed, Poe is the one Logan sends when he wants to deliver the sort of message not officially sanctioned by the crown. Anassassin, maybe. Or just a son-of-a-bitch with a mean streak. Dark, watchful eyes haven’t missed a single movement of anyone in the room. From the all-black uniform he wears to the shadowed lines of his face, he seems perpetually cloaked in a veil of darkness.

Cillian, the pack’s beta, is the one I know least about. His shock of pale hair, so white that he must bleach it, obscures eyes I know are the barely blue of ice chips. His eyes narrow as our gazes meet, whipcord-thin body tightening with tension until I force myself to look away. It’s him who takes a threatening step forward, glaring until Charlotte bows her head in an obvious expression of submission.

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