Page 74 of Bonds of Hate

Physically holding onto something is all that keeps me anchored to myself as I walk back alone through the palace hallways. If I pass anyone, I have no memory of them. I won’t be able to repeat whatever path I take back to the harem. My body is officially in auto-piloting mode while my brain takes a much-needed, and unfortunately temporary, vacation from reality.

All I can picture is the expression on Poe’s face as he came. Enraptured, with no hint of the normal animosity usually oozing from every pore. Dark eyes, normally watchful and suspicious, filled with genuine emotion, like the sun finally breaking through clouds after a storm. Something light hides behind all that darkness. For a moment, I could almost imagine what sort of Alpha hewould have made without that history of trauma further exacerbated by Logan’s toxic influence.

Strong, but vulnerable. Obsessive in his caring. An Alpha who would stab his own heart before hurting the Omega he loved.

Even squeezing my eyes shut and forcing myself to think about literally anything else is no help. A slight bruise on my forehead from colliding with a wall is all I get for my efforts to suppress the memory.

I focus on the gown, still warm from my body even through the nylon and mesh of the dress bag. Body heat means I’m still alive. My heart is still beating. I survived another encounter with Poe where, by the end, he seemed torn between warring desires to either fuck me into the ground or bury me there.

Perkins’s keen attention lands on me the moment the harem guard closes the doors behind me. Her eyes narrow in contemplation as she surveys me, mouth twisting with concern.

She shuffles up and wraps a motherly arm around my shoulders. I don’t even realize how weak my knees have become until the bulk of her body takes some of my weight.

“You look a bit worse for the wear, dear.”

Even to my own ears, my voice sounds mechanical as I reply, “I’m fine, thank you.”

“You certainly are not. There just isn’t a damn thing either of us can do about it.” Her gentle hand cups my elbow, guiding me forward. “I’ve already received marching orders from that damn beta. The dressing room is all prepared for you, and I’ll send someone to assist with your hair and makeup. Apparently, no detail is to be overlookedin your preparation for the gala and we have precious little time.”

I let her lead me away because there is no use in fighting. I’ll need what little strength I have left for tonight.

The dressing room assault is a complete assault on the senses. Shiny mirrors line both walls above marble countertops. Dozens of bright bulb lights circle each individual mirror, practically blinding me until my eyes adjust. There are at least a dozen rotating salon chairs lined up on either side, practically enough for every beta in the harem to be in here at the same time. For now, the room is empty.

Perkins gently guides me to a chair and patiently undoes my death-grip on the dress bag before taking it from me. She hangs the dress on a nearby rack without removing it from the bag and hustles out with an assurance that “someone will be along shortly” tossed over her shoulder.

I avoid my reflection in the mirror, eyes darting around the room for a safe place to land before settling on the clenched fingers curled in my lap. If I get one good look at what I know is a haunted expression on my face, I might just break down entirely.

Except now there isn’t any distraction from what’s inside of my head.

Poe.

Fucking Poe should have been the easiest of them to resist. He isn’t a wolf in golden retriever’s clothing like Ares. Or my unwilling, but still frustratingly compelling, scent match like Logan. He doesn’t have Cillian’s unearthly beauty.

Poe is the one who shoved his fingers so far inside me he could play my cervix like a finger-puppet.

Ishould hate him.

I do hate him.

And I hate how connected I feel to that sad, lost little boy he used to be…

The door swings open, crashing with enough force to rattle the mirrors mounted on the walls.

Saffron strides in with the relative speed and impact of a wildfire. “Well, look who it is.”

There’s embarrassment and then there is whatever horrible thing I feel as the flame-haired Omega hefts a bag almost as large as she is onto the counter. I want to dissolve into a puddle on the floor and absorb into the tile.

Saffron is already dressed and ready for the gala, with not so much as a single hair out of place. Her gown is blazing red, a nearly perfect match for the hair cascading over her shoulders in delicate ringlets. Her lips are also painted red, but a darker shade reminiscent of black cherries. The color scheme should be too much, enough to make her look like an overgrown crab. But the end result is alluring while remaining graceful.

Thanks for the help,” she scoffs, brushing off her hands. “That thing weighs about forty pounds.”

I force words out through the sudden stricture in my throat. “What are you doing here?”

“Charming as always, I see.” She rolls her eyes. “I’m here to save you from yourself, apparently. Not that I expect a thank you, or anything.”

“I don’t need your help.” The words come out sharper than intended, my nerves still raw from everything with Poe.

“Oh honey.” Saffron’s perfectly manicured hands unzip her massive bag. “You absolutely do.”

---