Page 3 of Bonds of Hate

Otherwise known as Pack Logan.

Once convinced danger isn’t actually imminent, Charlotte hurries again to make excuses.

Manicured nails dig into my bare shoulder, but her voice practically oozes deference as she addresses the prince. “There is absolutely no problem at all, your highness.” “Please forgive my daughter if her mannerisms are not entirely pleasing. You know how temperamental Omegas can be. But without those pesky hormones, they wouldn’t be all that they are.” Charlotte rushes to add, as if she knows anything more about me than what she gathered from the annual reports my instructors write and an occasional day visit. “Maya is top of her class at the Enclave, so you can be assured she is well-trained in all manner of Omega responsibilities and has been kept safe from outside influences. She is almost entirely innocent.”

Innocent.

The word brings a renewed smile to the prince’s face,even as his eyes narrow in obvious contemplation as he studies me.

“I would like to speak with the Omega alone for a moment,” he drawls lazily, tearing his gaze from me to give Charlotte a nod of dismissal. “You may leave us.”

It takes a beat for Charlotte to realize that the prince has just ordered her out of the room. Her hands shake slightly as she squeezes my shoulder hard once before releasing me.

“Be respectful of the prince and his pack, Maya. You represent our entire family here.” Her twitchy fingers run through my hair, fluffing and arranging it unnecessarily as a show of her own nerves. “I’ll be just outside.”

The prince gestures at Poe, who shoves himself off the wall to escort Charlotte to the heavy wooden doors. Those same doors had seemed practically impenetrable when they initially shut behind us upon entering the room. But the room’s high ceilings and patterned walls seem much closer now that I’m alone with four men.

I risk a glance at Charlotte’s face before she turns away. The look she gives me says precisely what I expect it to.

Do not fuck this up.

Both of us are worried about what will happen next, just for very different reasons.

Logan takes a lock of my hair between his own fingers as her footsteps recede.

“This is lovely,” he murmurs, so softly that I wonder if he is talking to himself.

The hair in layers of violet so dark it’s nearly black, streaked with indigo and plum, cascading down my back is my most striking feature. Visible evidence of whatever genetic mutation makes me an Omega.

Not all of us have such an obvious physical marker, but most Omegas do. Hair that naturally grows in impossible colors, eyes more commonly seen in exotic animals or bone structure so impossibly bird-hollow and delicate that it shouldn’t be possible to remain upright. No two Omegas are exactly the same, all of us distinct in our own ways.

We would probably be treated like freaks of nature if Alphas didn’t want us so much.

I want to thank him for the compliment, but the words catch on my tongue as our gazes once again meet.

The previous warmth has disappeared from his expression, replaced by a calculating coldness.

“Time to drop the act, Omega.”

I may understand the words, but their meaning is lost on me. My mouth opens, but I can’t think of anything to say out of it, making a slight gasping sound that sounds like a baby bird who has just fallen out of its nest.

Logan leans closer. “What sort of game are you playing here?”

“I don’t think I’ve heard her say anything since she walked in.” Ares sidles closer, a cruel smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “She a mute, you think?”

“Might as well be.” Cillian’s voice is almost musically resonant. The sound of it would hypnotize if not for the obvious derision in his tone. “She hasn’t made much more than a peep since she walked in.”

Heavy doors slam shut, making me jump and punctuating Poe’s silent return as he returns to stand behind the prince.

Ares takes a deep swig of Logan’s champagne, shamelessly watching me over the rim of the glass. “I don’t knowabout peeps, but I sure liked those little purrs she was making before. What do you think we’ll hear if you offer her something better than a strawberry to put in her mouth?”

Pure lewdness colors his tone and the heated once-over he gives me, enough that even I’m not innocent enough to miss it.

“Those certainly weren’t the moans of an innocent miss, now were they?” Instead of being bothered by the inappropriate remark, Prince Logan only seems pensive. His tone becomes unyielding when he again addresses me. “I’m not in the habit of being ignored or repeating myself, Omega. I asked you a question.”

He did? What question? Anxious butterflies turn hard to drop like stones in the pit of my stomach.

A good Omega is seen more than she is heard.

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