“Hold still, you’re flushed.” My mother paused in her work, studying me with those sharp eyes. “Are you feeling well?”
“Just nervous,” I repeated, forcing my breathing to steady.
She continued applying makeup, but I could feel her watching me more carefully. Neva Thornback hadn’t survived twenty-five years as an omega in pack politics by missing details. But whatever she saw, she kept to herself. There would be time for questions after we survived tonight.
The dress clung in ways that made me uncomfortable, the silk heavy against my overheated flesh. Every brush of fabric sent little sparks across my skin, like static electricity but warmer. I shifted in my seat, trying to find a position that didn’t make me want to crawl out of my own body.
“Almost done,” my mother said, applying the final touches of lipstick. She stepped back to survey her work. “There. You look presentable. Beautiful, even, if you can manage not to scowl all evening.”
I looked at myself in the vanity mirror. The woman staring back bore little resemblance to the fevered, exhausted girl who’dwoken up an hour ago. My mother’s skill with cosmetics had hidden most of the evidence of my restless nights and strange symptoms. Only the too-bright gleam in my eyes gave away that something was wrong.
“Thank you,” I managed, standing carefully. The room spun for just a moment before settling.
“Rhea.” My mother’s voice stopped me at the door. “I know this is difficult. I know you hate the games we have to play. But tonight is crucial. Your father has worked too hard to lose everything now. We all have.”
The reminder of everything at stake helped center me. This wasn’t just about me and my discomfort. My family’s entire future hung in the balance of tonight’s ceremony. I could endure a few hours of political theater for that.
“I understand, Mother. I won’t disappoint you.”
Something softened in her expression. “I know you won’t. You’re a Thornback. We survive.”
Downstairs, my father waited in his best formal wear, the omega spokesperson badge gleaming on his lapel. Magnus Thornback cut an impressive figure for an omega, tall and distinguished with silver just beginning to thread through his dark hair. He’d aged well, carrying himself with the quiet dignity that had earned him respect in a world that wanted to dismiss him for his designation.
“You look lovely,” he said, though his eyes held the same concern as my mother’s. “Are you feeling alright?”
“I’m fine,” I said for what felt like the hundredth time. “Just ready to get this over with.”
He nodded, understanding the sentiment even if he couldn’t approve of it publicly. “The car is ready. We should leave soon to account for the security protocols.”
The security protocols. Because nothing said celebration like treating every guest as a potential threat. But then, considering the number of enemies an Lycan King accumulated, perhaps the paranoia was justified. Damon’s paranoia or perhaps his efficiency, depending on who you asked.
We made our way to the car, my parents flanking me like guards. Or perhaps like handlers, making sure their investment didn’t bolt at the last minute. The thought was uncharitable but not entirely wrong. I was an investment. An unmated omega daughter of the right age and breeding, a potential alliance waiting to be made. The fact that I had my own thoughts and ambitions mattered less than my potential value to the right alpha.
The Thornback car joined the procession heading toward the Kildare estate. Through tinted windows, I watched familiar streets transform into something else. Security checkpoints had been erected at every major intersection, guards checking invitations and scanning vehicles. The new protocols spoke volumes about what kind of leader Damon would be. His father had ruled through charm and strategic alliances. The son seemed to prefer walls and weapons.
Either way, the compound looks like a fortress preparing for war rather than a celebration. Guard towers that hadn’t beenstaffed in years now bristled with activity. The aesthetic spoke of function over form, security over comfort. A new age indeed.
“They’ve tripled the guard since Dominic’s funeral,” my father observed, his tone carefully neutral. “Damon seems to be taking no chances.”
“Can you blame him?” my mother responded. “His father died under mysterious circumstances. Some say poison, though the official report claims natural causes.”
“Neva.” My father’s warning was gentle but clear. We didn’t speculate about such things. Not out loud, not even in the privacy of our own car. Walls had ears in pack politics. Sometimes literally.
I tried to focus on their conversation, on the political implications of the heightened security, on anything except the way my body felt like it was slowly catching fire from the inside out. Each mile closer to the compound made it worse. My skin prickled with awareness, every nerve ending hypersensitive.
“Be careful when you interact with the Kildare. Especially Laziel,” Magnus said, breaking the tense silence that had fallen. His tone carried careful neutrality, but I heard the warning underneath. “He’s always been... fond. We don’t want anybody to get a wrong impression of your friendship. It could be dangerous for you.”
Fond. Such a careful word for the way the younger Kildare brother looked at me. We were friends, that was it. We were closer in age than his older brother. And Laziel was easy, kinder and sweet. Where Damon ignored my existence entirely, Lazielseemed determined to claim my notice at every opportunity. Two extremes.
“I’ll be polite,” I managed, though another wave of heat rolling through me made it hard to focus on words. The ache that had been building all morning intensified, settling low in my belly like a living thing.
I bit back the urge to say I’d been navigating pack politics since I could walk. That I knew how to play the game even if I hated every second of it. But the fever was making me irritable, and irritability led to the kind of sharp responses my mother worried about.
“I’ve survived twenty-five years of their politics, Father,” I said instead, trying to be reassuring. “I can manage one more night.”
But even as the words left my mouth, I wondered if they were true. This burning grows worse with each mile closer to our destination. The pounding in my skull had spread down my neck, into my shoulders. My breasts ached inside the new lingerie, nipples hard and sensitive against the lace. And between my legs… No. I wouldn’t think about that. Wouldn’t acknowledge the empty ache that made me want to squirm in my seat. This was stress. Nothing more.
The final security checkpoint required us to exit the vehicle for inspection. I stood on shaking legs while guards ran mirrors under the car and dogs sniffed for explosives or contraband. The October evening air should have been cool, but I felt like I was standing in front of an open furnace. Every breath brought new scents, pine from the forest surrounding the compound, expensive perfumes from other arriving guests, and underneath it all, something muskier that made my stomach clench.
