Page 63 of Bonds of Hate

Maya is a problem, but she isn’t even our biggest one right now. Not with Ander’s death investigation looming and Cillian acting so strangely.

The hallway stretches empty before me, no sign of our wayward Omega. But tracking her scent makes it fairly easy to follow her trail through the apartment. She didn’t go for the main door, I note with some surprise. This isn’t an escape attempt then, but the desperate flight of a frightened animal, too panicked to realize they’re moving closer to danger rather than away from it.

I peek into the sitting room where her scent seems most concentrated, but don’t see her. It takes me almost ten full minutes to finally locate her, my annoyance mounting with each passing second. I’ve searched almost the entire second floor before I realize she has gone out onto the long balcony that connects all the bedrooms on this side of the apartment.

Maya stands at the railing, delicate hands gripping the wrought iron bar like she holds her only lifeline. Her back is to me, but I don’t miss the tense set of her shoulders and the way her body curves into itself, as if holding a weight too heavy for her.

“Thinking about jumping?” I ask in a mocking drawl.

Maya doesn’t startle, though her fingers tighten on the metal railing. She speaks without turning to look at me. “Not yet. Give it a little more time if you’re hoping, though.”

The mix of sarcasm and melancholy in her tone tempers some of my annoyance. Eventually, curiosity wins out. “How did you know it was me?”

“Your scent, mostly.” She sniffs once, as if clearing a runny nose. “You smell like the ocean.”

Melilla is land-locked, the nearest shore hundreds of miles away and entirely inaccessible to an unbonded Omega. “How the fuck would you know what the ocean smells like?”

She gives an annoyed shake of her head, still not looking at me. “You smell how I imagine it, then. Happy?”

“Not in recent memory,” I quip. There is something about talking to the back of her head, without having to meet the doll-round eyes that see way too fucking much for comfort. That we’re outside alone with the peace of the palace gardens under the bright sun as a backdrop only further loosens my tongue. “You smell like cherries and champagne. The whole damn apartment already reeks of it. I don’t want to think about how overpowering it’ll be if you stay here long term.”

She shifts from one foot to the other, as iffighting the urge to turn and look at me. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“It is,” I reply without heat.

She sighs. “I didn’t come here to cause problems.”

“Doesn’t change the fact that you have.” I keep my footsteps deliberately loud as I move closer, giving her the chance to shy away. She doesn’t move so much as an inch. “Our discussion isn’t finished. Logan wants you back in there.”

Her voice carries a bitter edge. “Logan doesn’t know what he wants.”

I’m too loyal to admit that I agree with her. “Doesn’t matter. Logan is a prince. Royalty always has the luxury of making demands. It’s our job to meet them.”

“Even if it’s a problem?”

“Even if,” I reply.

“I’m not the enemy, you know.” Her head tilts back ever so slightly to face the sun, violet hair tangling in the wind so that is obscures her features. She sounds exhausted and wary, as if she hasn’t slept in days and recognizes the faculties needed to protect herself are hopelessly impaired. “I have every intention of upholding my end of this deal.”

Voice soft as the wind, I press this unexpected advantage. “Tell me why you came back here. What do you want from us?”

She hesitates for long enough that I assume she won’t answer. Lips part on an exhale, making the scent of delicate fruit fizz in my nostrils.

“The palace is safe, maybe the safest place in Melilla.”

I feel an inexplicable urge to comfort her. I easily dismiss it. Her sorrow could be real, if she isn’t simply aglorious actress, but that doesn’t make this any less of a manipulation.

“What about us?” I ask.

She finally turns to face me, revealing the tracks of dried tears on her cheeks and eyes bright with the ones still unshed. “You’re the devils I know.”

Her words taste like the truth, but in a way that’s incomplete. A perfume missing its top note. “There’s more to the story than that. Tell me the real reason you came back here, the one you’re hiding. Tell me your secret.”

Maya wavers, fingers clenching and eyes squeezing shut as she wars with herself. But when those eyes the color of deadly nightshade meet mine again, the expression in them is resolute. “You first.”

“Meaning what?” I ask evasively.

“You can focus on me all you want, but we both know I’m not your biggest problem,” she declares boldly. “Something is going on between all of you, some secret pack business. I want to know what it is.”

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