Page 64 of Bonds of Hate

She is smarter than she looks.

“Politics,” is the simplest and least dangerous explanation I can conjure up without outright lying. “You put your piece on the board at a very dangerous time in the game.”

Maya studies me for a long moment before nodding to herself. “I know there’s more to it than that, but I’ll take it for now.”

“Your turn.” I hold up a single finger and poke her once in forehead. “Are you here for revenge?”

She chokes out a surprised laugh. “No.”

“Are you dangerous to us in any way?”

“How could I be?”she scoffs.

“Fine.” I acknowledge that for the ridiculous premise it is. “Will you tell me where you’ve been for the last year.”

“Eventually, I will.” She licks her lips nervously, seeming surprised at her own response to the question. “Maybe I’ll be ready to do that when you’ve got more to say about whatever political game we’re playing. When we can trust each other.”

She gives me a tiny smile so genuine that it leaves a burn like acid in my chest.

Distantly, I wonder where my anger has gone. The all too familiar emotion has ebbed away like the tide. I’m not sure what to make of that. I’d planned to stomp out here and drag her back inside by her hair like the caveman.

But the absence of my comfortable rage has led to a surprising realization.

It’s obvious from the tension coiling through her body like a snake that Maya expected a fight. Probably still waiting for this interaction to turn as abruptly violent as our last one did.

The well-founded fear that adds a sour note to her otherwise glorious scent hasn’t gone away. But that hasn’t stopped her from giving me more information than she has at any other point.

A little softness and a dash of truth. Could something so simple be all that it takes to conquer her?

I thought we needed to shatter her, break that protective shell around her psyche into pieces to get at the secrets underneath. It never occurred to me there was a path that leads to her giving herself up willingly, baring her own soul like the petals of a flower furling open in the direction of whatever sunlight it can get. All it took to weaken herresistance was the smallest touch of warmth, paling in comparison to anything real.

Now I’m seeing the error of my ways.

This girl is starved. For attention. For belonging. For the safety she foolishly thinks can be found here.

Any loyalty she develops for us will be compelled by desperation. It won’t ever be real. And her allegiance won’t last because an Omega’s loyalty never does.

But fuck.

I can work with this.

“I think I can solve at least one of our problems right now,” I say.

“Which problem is that?” she asks.

“You said that you need a dress that makes a statement for the gala tonight, right?”

Maya leans back against the railing. The loose fabric of her plain shift tightens along the front of her body, highlighting curves that look good even in a completely shapeless garment. “Ideally.”

“I know where to find one.”

“The gala is only a few hours away,” she replies with an air of disbelief. “So I’ll believe this miracle when I see it.”

But she can’t hide the quick flash of relief in her gaze as she allows herself to hope. Or the gratitude that she definitely doesn’t want me to see.

I’ll enjoy it while it lasts.

Eventually, she’ll figure out that no one here is ever going to save her.

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