3. Jasmine

Sensation comes rushing back through my limbs like ant bites. It's the prickling ache of a deep, unmoving sleep, and the only possible explanation is that Volk stuck me with a needle while I was swooning in his arms. Or the asshole commanded me while I was out of it. Not just to fall at his feet, but to sleep like the dead on this insanely comfortable mattress when I should be running for my life.

But just the idea of running hurts. Based on the light coming through the thick drapes, I've slept for longer than I have in months, but I still feel tired down to my bones.

At least I missed my bonding ceremony.

I give a sour smile as I push back the covers and look around the room. It's clearly been designed with an omega in mind. There are lots of soft edges and delicate fabrics, with a color scheme that reminds me of oatmeal and lightly toasted bread. Personally, I like bold furniture and bright colors. A room that looks like it's jam-packed with life, not a sanatorium from the last century.

But as far as prisons go, I have to admit it's a comfortable one. Volk clearly expects me to be lulled into a passive state by all the Egyptian cotton and velvet tassels, but I have news for him. Life has taught me that when you're at your most relaxed, shit is on its way to a violent confrontation with the fan.

I force myself out of the bed with a sigh. Not a nest – no round edges or silky drapes – but I still feel a bit like a baby bird as I take a few wobbly steps towards the door. I catch sight of myself in the vanity mirror and bite back a bark of alarm. My blonde curls look like violent corkscrews, and the mascara tracks from my crocodile tears are smeared across my pale cheeks. I'm still wearing the bodysuit, but the fabric feels like I've been stuffed into a sausage skin and left to slow boil.

Escape, shower, and burn this bodysuit.

Clear goals are the only way I can operate in times of stress, and I keep them in mind as I press my ear to the door. I don't expect to hear anything, and I'm not surprised when the doorknob fails to turn.

The Alpha Club is one of the oldest, most traditional buildings in the city. A Georgian design, it's an ash-gray stone square, all solid and symmetrical. Masculine in every way, it has minimal flourishes, which means no balconies or helpful trellises for young ladies wishing to make a hasty exit. If I want to leave, it's going to have to be by the door in front of me.

I scan the room, relieved to find my purse on the nightstand. I open it suspiciously, but the broken phone is still there, along with the butter knife I filched from the breakfast cart. I wriggle my fingers into the lining, satisfaction washing through me as I feel the little metal picks. To the uniformed eye they probably look like bobby pins, but they're literally the key to breaking out and making my escape.

It only takes a few minutes to coax the old pins to play nice before the door clicks open. I steel myself as I peek into the hallway, but it's empty. Even better, there are no cameras as far as I can see, and a staircase at the end of the corridor. Tucking my purse under my arm, I slip through the door, my body on high alert. But I've only taken a couple of steps when I hear the rumble of voices from the stairs.

Oh, shit.

I lunge for the nearest door, but it's locked. Same for the next couple, but I can smell something like minty apples through the door at the end of the hall. As I fumble for my picks, I wonder if I'm making a huge mistake. It has to be omega perfume coming from the other side, which means Volk must make a habit of locking up omegas. This whole floor could be a prison, with an omega held captive in every suite.

Hide in plain sight.

It's one of the lessons my father drummed into me from an early age. You can't always find a way out, so camouflage is your only option. When Volk finds my room empty, he's more likely to assume I left the building than locked myself away in another prison cell. And with the omega's scent potent enough to register through a door, he shouldn't be able to sniff me out, either.

My hands are slippery with sweat by the time I get the lock open. I hurry inside, casting just enough of a glance around to realize I'm in a library. I relock the door, then turn to face the room, searching for the source of the sweet perfume. There's only one lamp burning, right beside a comfortable-looking armchair, but my nose takes me in the other direction.

The room is divided in half by a pair of ornately carved bookshelves. It's the perfect obstacle to duck behind as I tiptoe after the alluring scent. When I reach the opening, I find the omega sitting on the floor, long legs pulled up and his back propped against the wall.

He's managed to squeeze himself between a desk and a bookcase, and there's just enough light from the lamp in the corner to illuminate his face. His eyes are shut, but he has high cheekbones and a soft, pretty mouth. I drag my eyes down his body, relieved to see he's fit and strong under his jeans and long-sleeved tee. So many omegas are pampered, falling apart at the first sign of trouble. But this guy has broad shoulders and a strong jaw. If I tell him to stand and fight, he might actually follow through.

"Hey," I whisper, bobbing down and touching his shoulder. I feel warm muscle through his shirt and get another mouthful of that sweet apple scent. "You need to wake up."

"Not asleep," he murmurs back in a deep, rich voice. "I'm communing with angels."

I stare at him until I realize he has earbuds in. They're mostly hidden by his hair, which is as black and silky as a raven's wing. "Well, ask them if they have an easy way out of this prison."

He smirks but doesn't open his eyes. "Didn't a clever person once say the only real prison is your mind?"

I huff, then nudge him with my foot. "Yeah, well, I'm breaking out of this one, so if you want to come, you should get up now."

He finally cracks an eye open an inch. "You sound a little stressed." He pats the floor next to him. "Why don't you sit with me? I'll share my music."

I shake my head, wondering exactly how he expects me to squeeze myself under the desk. But maybe he's on drugs, too. I can't see his pupils in the dim light, but it would make sense. Drug up your omegas and put them in a dark room with only music for company. A great way to keep your prisoners docile and afraid.

"I'll look for a weapon. If you want to escape, be ready to move."

He makes a soft sound but doesn't peel himself off the floor, and I grit my teeth. He's too big to drag out of here, but the idea of leaving him with Volk makes my stomach clench. He might be fit and strong, but there's something fragile about him beyond his silky hair and soft mouth. And now I'm up close, there's a burned sugar note in his scent. He's hurting, even if he's trying not to show it.

I prowl around the room, hoping I'll trip on a nice heavy candlestick or a letter opener with a wicked blade. But there's not even a poker in the fireplace, which I guess makes sense if they regularly lock omegas up in here.

"Fine. So, my butter knife will have to do it," I mutter, rounding the edge of a bookcase and stopping dead. "Oh, fuck."

The man in front of me couldn't be more different to the guy on the floor. For one thing, he's an alpha, his body thick slabs of muscle stacked tightly on a massive frame. He's wearing worn cargos, a dark henley, and heavy desert boots, and it's pretty obvious they're not just a fashion choice. I'd bet my butter knife the guy is military, with close-cropped hair and a calculating stare that pins me in place.

But that's not the worst of it.

Fucking eyeshine.

That silvery reflection from the lamp is a dead giveaway. Even if I couldn't smell him – like spiced meat on a hot grill – those animal eyes would tell me he's an uber. "No knives," he says quietly.

But I'm already scratching in my purse, a sweaty palm wrapping around the hilt of the blade. I'm not thinking anymore. It's all instinct as I pull it free, dropping my purse and waving the knife in his direction. His eerie gaze doesn't move from mine, and I hiss over my shoulder, "Chopin! If you want to live, you'll come with me."

I'm not sure what I said that gets such a reaction, but the omega is off the floor in a flash. But instead of running to the door, he squeezes past me and parks his body between us. Right in the path of my goddamn knife. "Move!" I snarl. "He's right behind you!"

"Of course he is," he replies in a soothing voice. "This is Erik. AKA my shadow. He's been sitting in the corner the whole time."

I gape at him. "Bullshit."

The omega waves in the general vicinity of the lamp. "Right there. He's good at keeping a low profile."

I refuse to look at the hulking beast behind him. "Is he your shadow or your guard?"

"Both. But in a good way, I promise." He flicks his black hair out of his eyes and I realize he's staring right past me. Gooseflesh prickles under my bodysuit at his empty gaze. What the hell is he looking at?

I flick a quick glance over my shoulder, half expecting Erik's twin to be looming behind me. There's no one there, but now I'm really spooked. My instincts are usually razor sharp, but I didn't smell Erik, even though he's been right here the whole time.

An uber alpha, watching me from the shadows while I locked myself in with him…

Shit. Even if I run, I'll have to unpick the door. I swallow hard, feeling the first real wave of panic since I woke up.

"You're safe, okay?" The omega says in that same soothing tone. "You don't have to fight anyone, Jasmine."

I gape at the guy. Not only does he know my name, but he appears to be trying to talk me down. Although, I note he refuses to look at my knife. In fact, he's staring at nothing, his lashes half lowered. Is he drugged? Compelled? Or is he just a shitty liar and knows his gaze will give him away?

I wish I could just turn and leave, but that burned sugar smell is getting stronger. I know it only too well, and it's triggering my protective instincts. No matter how much my brain red flags this whole situation, I can't get my feet to move. "Fuck. Alright. I'm putting down the knife."

I give the uber alpha a careful look, but his face is unreadable in the dim light. No doubt he's smirking on the inside, amused as hell by my pitiful threats. I mean, what would a butter knife really do against a slab of meat like Erik, AKA The Shadow, anyway?

I place it on the bookshelf beside me and hold my hands up. I expect cuffs, maybe a command to hit my knees, not the long, cool fingers that grope their way down my arm to lace with mine. "I'm Casper, not Chopin." A smile flickers over the omega's soft lips, but then he's frowning. "Jesus, you're freezing." He tilts his head but doesn't look over his shoulder. "Erik, can you light us a fire? And maybe get some food sent up here?"

The uber alpha is staring at Casper, a stunned look on his face. "Yeah," he says after a long pause. "I'll get right on it."

I expect sarcasm, maybe a slap to the back of the head for daring to give him orders. But his voice is hesitant, his eyes sliding to me with something that looks like gratitude.

What the hell is going on here?

I don't get time to ask, because Casper is on the move, his free hand trailing across the spines of the books next to us as he starts down the aisle. I try to hold him back, but he gives me a little tug. "Come sit with me," he coaxes, tightening his grip. "Erik, is the sofa still in front of the fireplace?"

Erik is on his knees feeding kindling, but he jumps up, moving a small table aside and grabbing a blanket off the arm of the sofa. It's terrifying to see such a huge guy move so quickly, and I hang back, my heart racing. But Casper gives me another tug, bumping into Erik as he settles on the chair. With the death grip he has on my hand, I don't have much choice but to sit down next to him. When Erik carefully drapes the blanket across our knees, I feel hysterical laughter burn in my chest. What's next? Hot chocolate and cookies?

"I'll just call the kitchen," Erik murmurs like he's read my mind, and then he's pulling out a phone and ordering enough food to feed us twice over.

Casper ignores him, leaning his head back on the sofa and closing his eyes. "Hearing you're safe and knowing it are two different things," he says quietly under his breath. "I get that. But what can I say to make you stop shaking so hard?"

I gulp, realizing my entire body is quivering. Shock, probably, the way a rabbit trembles when it's surrounded by snapping wolves.

"I need to leave. Can you convince Erik to let me do that?"

I keep my voice low, because while the big alpha is still growling instructions into his phone, I don't doubt he can multitask. And he probably has the super keen hearing to go with his predatory physique.

"If that's what you want," Casper says slowly, "but are you sure you're safer out there? I don't know your full story, obviously, but Xavier told Erik it's bad."

I frown, wondering when this info exchange took place. "It's not the best. But you know where we are, right? This is The Alpha Club in midtown. There's nothing safe about this place for omegas."

He waves a hand, his gaze now trained on the snapping flames. It's ridiculously cozy, the elegant room with the velvet sofa and the marble fireplace, a blanket over our knees and our fingers laced together. In another world, this would be the place I'd summon in that moment before sleep. The happy memory to guard your thoughts against the worst that happened in your day.

My happy place.

Have I ever had one of those?

"I was performing at an alpha club in Boston," he says suddenly, breaking me out of my churning thoughts. "They keep omegas in the basement there, trotting them out to entertain their members. I screwed up. Not the performance, but I pushed an alpha who groped me. He retaliated, and I fell. My head hit the stage and the lights literally went out." He reaches up with his free hand and touches his temple, like he can feel the injury under the skin. "Blunt ocular trauma, which basically means I've scrambled the wiring between my eyes and my brain."

"Jesus." My fingers are now curled into claws. No wonder I thought he was fragile. I can't even imagine waking up from a brutal attack to find my sight gone.

"But that's what I'm saying, Casper!" I hiss as I glance over at Erik and find him watching us, his arms folded over his massive chest. "These clubs are all the same." Oh, yeah. It doesn't take much to picture him smashing that giant fist into the side of someone's head. "Alphas are all the same."

"No." Casper sounds firm, hard even. He turns to look at me and I can see it now, the faint sheen in his eyes and the disconnected stare. But he's shaking his head, his hand still clutching mine. "That's not true. Alphas hurt me, but they rescued me as well. I know you're having a hard time believing it, but things are different here."

I can almost feel Erik twitching behind us, but I keep my gaze on Casper. It takes a moment to get myself under control, but I swallow down the acid in my throat. If he wants to pretend like this is a normal conversation, I can try to fake it for a while. "You said you were performing. Are you a musician?"

His lips quirk, his shoulders relaxing an inch. "Was Chopin just a lucky guess?"

I can't help but smile. "I was being snarky. I figured you were listening to death metal or something."

He gives a slight shudder. "I'm blind, not deaf."

I widen my eyes, but Erik is on the move, and I tense up again. I twist, watching him head to the door, but he just takes a tray off someone and comes back. He sets it on the side table, then takes a key from his pocket and places it beside one of the glasses of juice. "For you," he tells me, that bottomless stare pinning me to the sofa. "You're not a prisoner here, but you can't go wandering around. If you want to leave, tell Casper. He'll get me, and I'll show you out."

It"s on the tip of my tongue to tell him to just step the hell aside right now, but I hesitate, and then he's striding for the door. I wait until he's gone, then look down at the tray. Bowls of steaming chicken soup, sandwiches cut up in quarters, slices of strawberry cheesecake, and freshly squeezed orange juice. It's simple food, but it's artistically presented, I can tell it's made with the best ingredients. It definitely beats the breakfast tray back at the hotel, and my stomach growls.

"You can eat." Casper picks up a sandwich, smirking around the edge. "I've had plenty of meals, and they haven't poisoned me yet."

I look at him curiously. "How long have you been here?"

"Four months." His sandwich is gone in three bites, and when he reaches cautiously for his soup spoon, I grab it and press it into his hand. "Thanks. I was in hospital for a few weeks before that, but once I was fully conscious, Erik brought me here."

"And he's a Volk?" I think of Xavier, and while the two men look completely different, there's no forgetting they're both ubers. "He and Xavier are part of the same pack?"

"Yes. Erik was born a Volk. They're an ancient bloodline, and he's like the pack alpha. Xavier manages the club, but he's also a lawyer. And then there's Declan." His lips curve up. "Did you meet him yet?"

"No." I pick up a sandwich and try not to moan as I take a bite. I can taste crab meat, lettuce, and some kind of dill and mustard dressing. It's fresh, slightly tangy, and I realize I'm going to struggle not to lick my fingers. "What does he do?"

"He's a singer. He performs in the club some nights and goes to all the society parties. He calls himself the light relief."

The soldier, the lawyer, and the playboy.

I grunt, trying to picture their dynamic. Three is small for a pack, since some go as high as six to ten members. Although, from what I've seen, those packs are more like gangs than bonded mates.

That gets me thinking about the Sawyer pack, and I'm not really surprised Kayden wants to recruit fresh blood. He has plenty of underlings, but not many people he trusts. And if he's really going to make his mark at places like this club, he's going to need more than his moronic minions by his side.

"What about you?" Casper asks, sucking a drop of soup off his thumb. "I heard Xavier say you're connected to the Sawyer Pack. What are they like?"

The question surprises me until I remember he's from Boston. Maybe Kayden's loathsome reputation hasn't spread that far yet. "They're not going around rescuing anyone, that's for sure," I reply flatly.

"Oh." Casper fiddles with his spoon. "I'm sorry."

I sigh, leaning back and staring into the flames. "Would you believe it was supposed to be my bonding ceremony this morning? Right here, down in the ballroom."

His brows lift in surprise. "Really? You don't sound too disappointed that you missed it."

I think about giving him the safest answer, but I'm tired of lying about the Sawyers. And it's not like Xavier didn't already guess my ruse. "I played along for months, but I was never going to go through with it. I always planned to run."

"Wow, that's really gutsy." Casper smiles, his face streaked with firelight as he stares at me. His irises are a light blue, and with his dark hair and pale skin, he's incredibly striking. Having all that admiration turned my way makes me sit up a little straighter. "And now you're here. It must be fate."

I don't believe in anything but the power of ruthless men. But when I shrug, I remember he can't see me. I lean forward, determined to make him understand what's at stake. "The only way this works is if everyone thinks I was kidnapped, possibly killed. I set my hotel room up to look like I was snatched during breakfast and there was some kind of struggle before I was taken. If Kayden doesn't buy that - if there's any doubt I was a victim in this - the whole ruse will unravel, and he will hunt me down."

I shudder to think what that will look like. Kayden dragging me out by my hair, for starters. But it's not just me in the firing line. If my father thinks I've deliberately ruined his deal, there will be hell to pay.

"Talk to Erik," Casper says into the heavy silence. "I know you have no reason to trust him yet, but he's one of the good ones. If you need help, he'll work something out."

There's so much sincerity in his voice I can't help but squeeze his hand. "I'm glad you're safe, but my situation is a mess. And no alpha is going to want to get mixed up in it."

Not when he has all the facts, at least.

"Well, what about somewhere to hide out for a couple of days?" Casper waves a hand around, although his eyes stay fixed on my face. "None of the members can get up to this floor, and there's plenty of room to spread out. Plus, I'd really like the company."

I stare at the key next to my glass of juice. Could it really be that easy? The cynical part of me says I'm so deep in a trap, I can't even see the cage anymore. But one thing I'm good at is reading people, and there's nothing but sincerity in Casper's scent. "A couple of days?"

"If that's what you need."

I nod. I need a lot of things, but I'll get none of them by running through the city in the middle of the night. "Then thanks for the invitation."