Page 97 of Bonds of Hate

I draw a card and flip it over. A queen stares back at me with knowing eyes.

“How appropriate. Queen means questions,” Logan explains, his speech obviously slurred. “You ask someone a question. They have to answer with another question. First person who makes a statement or repeats a question drinks.”

I turn to Cillian, who’s been oddly subdued. Despite keeping the same pace, he seems noticeably less intoxicated than the others.

“Why do you smell like flowers today?” I ask him.

His ice-chip eyes narrow. “What makes you think you can ask me that?”

“Are you wearing perfume?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Why does that matter to you?”

“Are you going to answer yes or no?”

“Will you give me a reason I should?”

The corner of my mouth lifts in a slight smile. “Should I be concerned about what the smell really is?”

Cillian’s jaw tightens. He lifts his glass and drinks deeply, ending the round.

Logan’s arm tenses behind me. He leans forward to refill our glasses, spilling several times before he accomplishes the task. “Who’s next?”

Ares is the first to pass out, his massive frame slumped over the chair arm like a felled tree. Two rounds later, Poe falls off his chair and then stomps off to bed before anyone can laugh at him.

Cillian drains his glass and sets it down with a decisive clink. “I think the party is over.”

Logan regards me with glassy eyes. For a terrifying moment, I think he is about to tell me to stay here for the night.

Instead, Logan lurches to his feet, swaying dangerously. “Time for bed.”

I practically leap up from the couch, eager to escape before he changes his mind. I’m almost at the door when Cillian’s hand closes around my arm. “I’ll escort you back.”

“I can find my own way,” I insist, but his grip doesn’t loosen.

“Palace rules. No Omega walks alone after dark.”

Logan waves a dismissive hand from where he isstruggling to navigate around the furniture without tripping over it. “Make sure she gets there safely.”

The palace corridors are empty and silent because of the lateness of the hour. I get the feeling Cillian has something he wants to say, and he doesn’t disappoint me.

“You seem remarkably steady considering how much you drank.”

“I didn’t dump it all in a plant when no one was looking, if that’s what you’re implying.” I wave my hand at his own balanced stride as we walk. “You seemed to do okay yourself, considering.”

He frowns. “I’m bigger than you.”

I chuckle. “Ares is twice your size, and he’s sleeping under a table right now.”

“They were already wasted when we showed up.”

I worry at the edge of my nail with my teeth, choosing my next words carefully. “Omegas have a pretty high tolerance for alcohol. Nobody seems to know the biological reason for it, but it’s basically impossible for us to get drunk.”

He blanches. “I didn’t know that.”

“It’s not really common knowledge outside of the Enclave, I guess. The first time we managed to get a bottle of vodka smuggled in, it was gone in about ten minutes.”

The rest of our walk is made in silence, but Cillian grabs my arm to stop me short as we reach the doors of the harem. Two guards are posted, but they stare straight ahead without acknowledging us. He spares a glance for them, assessing.

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