Page 230 of Filthy Royal

While she had no idea if using her gift sped up the process of cell degeneration, it damned well felt like the opposite.

Energy pulsed through her, swirls of color and slashes of black splattering the walls with every step she took.

Perhaps it was wishful thinking, but she’d only ever felt this alive when with Damien.

She made it as far as the next corner before four more guards appeared.

This time, her gift was more surgical. As if it was learning. As if the more she acknowledged it, respected it, and gave it its due, the more it allowed itself to be focused and molded.

Scarlett stepped over the downed guards and kept going.

In one of the shiny hallway panels, she caught a glimpse of her reflection. Hair floating. Eyes glittering gold. She was exactly the force the Skolov omegas believed she could be.

At the next set of space locks, she took out six more guards.

The alarms blared.

Someone had noticed.

The shuttle rumbled, its engines firing up.

Scarlett reached the cockpit.

She couldn’t kill Darvish. At least not until she learned where he was hiding Zaya. But she could use her gift to ground the shuttle until help arrived.

Gift primed, she pressed her fingertips to the door panel.

The door slid open, and she stuttered to a halt.

“Come in, pet.” Darvish stood in front of a flashing console with a huge monitor at its center. Andor Stormhart loomed by his side. A pilot, frantically pressing buttons as the engines rumbled, sat in an ergonomic swivel chair at the far end of the room while at least twenty guards ringed the room, a curved bay of windows just beyond.

And, just as significant, off to the side was a portable vid storage unit someone had secured to the wall for transport. A storage unit full, no doubt, of the incriminating vids from Darvish’s private headquarters. Theexactvids Scarlett wanted.

She couldn’t even begin to imagine how many souls might be freed from under Darvish’s blackmailing thumb if she could destroy that storage unit.

Determination whipped through her.

“It would seem you’ve been causing trouble.” Darvish was still talking. “But that ends now.”

He gestured toward the monitor, and Scarlett received another surprise. A beautiful, young, dark-haired omega sat framed within—a dainty version of Maddox Skolov. Her neck bent, she pored over a document.

It was obvious the female was unaware of being recorded. The space around her—four walls of crystal that revealed a night sky and a simple table and chair—gave nothing away, but the female herself seemed in good health: her skin and hair healthy, her body lean but well-fed. Besides the slight, studious V between her brows, she seemed untroubled.

That was a relief.

Until the recording panned out, and the tip of a laser barrel pointed directly at the female came into view.

“No!” Scarlett lurched forward.

“Meet Zaya.” Darvish nodded at the monitor. “She has no idea of the danger she’s in, but you do. You want her to live? Behave.”

43

SCARLETT

“You bastard.” Scarlett’s rage surged higher.

“You’ll be punished for that insult later.” Darvish stroked the curled tip of his single horn, his tone smug. “Right now, I think you know as well as I that this little rebellion of yours has come to an end.”

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