Page 69 of Bonds of Hate

Poe is the oldest member of the pack, though you wouldn’t know it to look at him, an adolescent when Logan was born.

I can imagine it as vividly as watching a scene play out in front of me. Queen Midale approaching the youngest and most inexperienced member of the guard once they were alone, pressing herself against him before he had time to react.

“Why didn’t you…” I let myself trail off, not wanting to put into words what sounds too much like blame.

An accusation of complicity.

“Run? Fight? Tell?” He drawls out each word like he is savoring the taste of them. “Is that what you meant to ask?”

“Yes,” I whisper.

He acknowledges my honesty with a humorless smile. “I was stronger and bigger than her from the beginning, even given my age when it started. The queen was still an Omega, after all. But I couldn’t risk hurting her, even accidentally, so I didn’t have a choice about fighting her off. I was as helpless against her as you are now against me, just for different reasons.”

I want to tell him it isn’t the same, or doesn’t have to be. But I stay silent, unsure what is more likely to set him off, reproach or sympathy. The look in his eye is too far away, as if he isn’t seeing the entirety of reality as it is in the here and now. Any word or gesture from me could be the trigger that shoves him completely back into the trauma of his past.

I’m not sure I would survive it if that happens.

His fingers coast along the cinched waist of Midale’s gown, the tickling sensation enough to make me shudder.

“She would always find moments after big events, when the king was otherwise occupied. Most of my memories are of the queen in her finest gowns. After she kissed me, she would pull up these decadent skirts andcommand me to my knees.” He strokes his hand down my cheek, chasing the path of a single tear. He gathers that wetness on the tip of his finger and licks it clean. “If I made her ask twice, she would find a way to punish me for it.”

I sink to my knees without waiting for a command, my hands instinctively clutching at his hips to maintain my balance.

His eyes briefly widen in surprise before he catches himself. “What the fuck are you doing?”

My vision blurs with unshed tears as I force myself to meet his gaze, hoping my expression looks more determined than frightened.

I wish I could look at him and go back to only feeling hate and fear. Even as I feel disgust for the man he became, my heart aches for the little abused boy unable to protect himself. Being an Alpha must have only made the shame of what happened to him worse.

Because he could have fought. He was more than physically capable of defending himself.

But he didn’t.

A choice that likely torments him to this day.

Poe may not have intended for me to become a cypher of the dead queen, but being in her old apartments has obviously triggered the worst sort of walk down memory lane.

If I can turn this terrible thing into something good, then maybe we can both make it out of this room with some of our dignity still intact.

A breath catches in my throat, but I force out the words. “Tell me what the queen would do next.”

His surprise morphs into something darker, a watchfulness heavy with challenge.

“Take me out,” he commands.

I’m surprised that my hands don’t tremble as I reach for the fly of his pants. Or maybe my entire body is shaking, so my hands seem fairly steady by comparison.

His dick is already hard enough that I have trouble finding give in the fabric to undo the buttons. He shifts his hips slightly when I pull at his waistband, but provides no other help.

When the hard thickness of him is fully revealed, my next breath rushes out of me in an involuntary exhale. All Alphas are huge and Poe is no exception. But he is also impressively formed. Long, straight and wide. Velvet skin wrapped in steel, almost as thick at the tip as he is at the base, without a single flaw.

Without waiting to be told, my fingers brush along the thick shaft. The skin is even softer than I imagined. As I watch, a single drop of clear fluid beads at the tip.

Poe lets out a low groan. The sound skitters down my spine like a physical caress.

When I risk a glance at his face, a dark and unblinking gaze meets mine. Some emotion flares in the depths of his eyes, strong as an approaching thunderstorm. On anyone else, it would look like a plea. Or a prayer.

A surge of mental strength washes over me.

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