Page 65 of Sweetheart: Part One

Then I slipped down the hallway and into his room, the one place I’d been forbidden from. I was here to bait him, to draw him out of his shell and force him to make a choice about me.

I had a wild idea of how I might do that.

Ebony had tried to scare me off since the moment we’d met, and the daring part of me—the part that trusted in this scent match—believed he was running from the draw he felt toward me. And if I was wrong, and it wasn’t that, well, I was fucked anyway.

I’d tried to piece together a picture of Ebony, both from my experience, and from what I’d managed to get from Drake.

I’d only found one solid conclusion: Ebony liked a challenge.

So here I was, staring around his room and running on pure instinct. I was his omega—hismate. I should be able to figure this out.

Each step I took into the room was tense, my hairs standing on end at the thought of him returning from the gym early. I was poking a bear—that was fully decided—but when I did, this web of a plan had to be fully formed.

His room was immaculate, and eerily empty. If I thought Love’s room had been clinical, it was nothing to this.

My bare feet pressed to cool marble as I stared around the space designed with darks and neutrals.

Twilight grass rose in the air, a whispered warning that I was in Ebony’s territory. For a moment, I fought an insane urge to scent mark everything in reach. I couldn’t, not with the scent blockers I was on—and that wasn’t the kind of instinct I needed right now.

There was a kitchenette similar to the one in the living room outside, which neither Rook nor Love’s room had hosted. Blackout curtains were tugged aside to reveal a balcony beyond which faced the drive. There was a simple patio set out there, though it was empty of decor. Within was the same cove of couches and wall-mounted TV every bedroom seemed to have. I spotted a set of night clothes folded neatly on the perfectly made bed, and there was an empty record player beside a large set of drawers made of dark wood.

Everything in here was simple and clean. The marble was swept—though Drake had told me no cleaner was allowed in.

I entered the bathroom to find it was the same. Counters were almost bare, only the minimum outside drawers or shelves.

As a polar opposite to Rook, Ebony’s organisation was clearly important to him.

Finally, I felt an instinct rising, one that—I hoped—was pointing me in the right direction.

Ebony had rejected me from the instant he’d met me. I couldn’t scream the truth at him and make him see me for what I was—someone who should matter. Instead, I was trapped between vicious commands, and a mate determined to make me feel like nothing.

With perhaps all too much vindictive satisfaction, I wrecked it all.

I ripped records and books from the shelves, and scattered them upon the marble floor. I found his walk-in wardrobe as disturbingly perfect as the rest of the space, with drawers of wrist watches and cufflinks, and iron straight outfits, all hung in coloured order. It was cathartic, tearing his clothing free and redecorating his room with the contents. I made my way to the bathroom, finding delight in destroying what was his.

Last, I grabbed the blankets from his bed and left them strewn them across the floor. I stopped at last, when I opened the drawer beside his bed, finding it full of the strangest set of objects I’d ever seen.

A blade of dark wood and metal.

A crumpled, fading train ticket.

A broken cassette.

A USB.

But my eye was drawn to one thing in particular.

The most important thing in the room, the omega side of me knew it soul deep. The object that caught my eye was the rusting length of metal. I recognised the strangely shaped head.

That… was fucked up.

It was a cleaving iron.

It was a tool alphas used if they wanted to drop out of their pack, named after the act of cleaving. It involved an iron like this, but white hot and pressed against flesh to sever the bonds to pack mates. The head was an intricately decorated triangle. Three times, an alpha would press it to their flesh to shatter their pack bonds, and it was an act that could be deadly.

I examined it, something cold coiling in my chest. From any picture I’d seen, the iron was smooth metal, but this one looked worn, silver marred with black—a sign that it had been used.

What did it mean that Ebony had something like this in his room?

---