Page 21 of Daisy
The sound hits me like ice water in my veins. High, desperate, the kind of screaming that means something terrible is happening. My hands convulse so violently I drop the book, pages fluttering as it hits the floor.
I run to my door on unsteady legs, pressing my ear against the wood. My breath comes in short, sharp gasps. Footsteps thunder down the hallway… running, not walking. Voices shout over each other, high and panicked. I catch some words, "back entrance" and "where are the alpha guards?"
Where are the alpha guards? The question echoes in my head, and my stomach drops.
Another explosion, closer this time. The floor beneath my feet trembles, and dust rains down from the ceiling. I stumble, catching myself against the wall as my knees threaten to give out. The wallpaper with its delicate roses seems to mock me now. This beautiful prison is falling apart around us, and there's nowhere to run.
My fingers tremor as I turn the door handle. I know I should stay in my room, lock the door, wait for someone to come get me. But the screaming is getting louder, and I can smell smoke seeping under my door.
What if no one comes? What if they forget about me?
The thought makes panic crawl up my throat like acid.
The hallway is chaos.
Omegas in silk nightgowns run past me, their faces white with terror. Some clutch jewelry boxes or precious belongings with trembling hands. Others just run, bare feet slapping against marble that's now cracked and uneven. The emergency lighting has kicked in, casting everything in an eerie red glow that makes it look like we're already in hell.
"Daisy!" Camelia appears beside me, tears streaming down her face. At sixteen, she looks even younger now, like a child lost in a nightmare. "What's happening? Where are we supposed to go?"
"I don't know," I whisper, because it's the truth and the truth is horrifying. No one ever told us what to do if the walls came down. We were taught to be perfect, obedient, beautiful. Not how to survive.
My chest feels tight, like there's not enough air in the world.
That's when we hear it. The sound that makes my blood turn to ice.
Male voices. Deep, rough, shouting orders. But not the controlled tones of our guards or the smooth authority of administrators. These voices are wild, hungry, violent. They're coming from the direction of the main corridor, getting closer with every heartbeat.
"Hide," I breathe, grabbing Camelia's arm with numb fingers. "We have to hide."
But where? The main entrance is blocked by the mob outside, and those voices are coming from that direction anyway. The voices are getting closer, along with heavy footsteps that make the floor vibrate under our feet.
"You take the east wing, I'll take the west!" one of them shouts, and nausea hits me like a punch to the gut. They're coordinating. This isn't random chaos… they are hunting us.
Camelia and I duck into an alcove, pressing ourselves against the wall behind a marble statue. My heart pounds so hard I'm sure they'll hear it echoing off the walls. I try to slow my breathing the way Ms. Harlow taught us for presentations, but each inhale is too shallow, too quick, making me lightheaded.
Stay calm. Stay quiet. Stay invisible.
But calm is impossible when my whole body feels like it's coming apart. Sweat beads on my forehead despite the cold fear coursing through me.
Please, I think desperately. Let them pass by. Let this be a nightmare I can wake up from.
Footsteps echo down our hallway. Heavy boots, not the soft-soled shoes of our guards. Each step makes my pulse skip and race faster. A man appears in the red emergency lighting, and every instinct I have screams danger so loudly I almost whimper.
He's big, probably mid-thirties, with the kind of build that comes from hard labor and harder living. His clothes are torn and stained with something dark that could be mud or could be worse. But it's his scent that makes bile rise in my throat andburn. Aggressive musk mixed with alcohol and something sour and rotten that speaks of unwashed skin and twisted intentions.
The smell alone makes my omega instincts recoil in revulsion. This isn't the controlled dominance of trained alphas. This is something broken and twisted, something that takes pleasure in causing pain.
His eyes scan the hallway like a predator searching for prey, and I know with horrible certainty that if he finds us, we're dead.
"Come out, come out, little omegas," he calls in a sing-song voice that makes my skin crawl. "We know you're here. Daddy just wants to play."
The way he says 'play' makes every hair on my body stand up. Camelia whimpers beside me, a tiny sound that seems deafeningly loud in the red-lit silence. I press my palm over her mouth, pulling her deeper into the shadows.
The alpha moves past our hiding spot, and for one blessed moment I think we're safe. But then another set of footsteps echoes from the other direction, and my heart stops completely.
We're trapped.
"Find anything good?" the second alpha calls, his voice just as rough, just as hungry.
