10. The Azurites and the Ceruleans

The Azurites and the Ceruleans

Ecker

We make it halfway back to our wing before Sinclair seems to shake out from her shocked state. She shrugs out from under my arm now draped over her shoulder. I'm hit with the urge to pull her back.

Comforting her comforted me. Soothed the dull yet grating ache in my chest that has been a constant ever since she seemed so appalled I would ask her name. Like a monster shouldn't care about such trivial things.

I wish I could strip away the alpha inside me that cares what she thinks, cares if she's hurting.

It's a goddamn inconvenience.

I trust her even less than I did before that joke of a meeting.

I can't help but think that it's all part of their plan. Plant their little omega spy in our pack and use our alpha instincts against us.

If we're not careful, she will become the center of our world. Our sun, our moon, even gravity itself. It's simple biology, but there is nothing simple about the games the Echelon plays.

It's been less than twenty-four hours since the ceremony, and she's already got Bishop all fucked up. He hasn't brought it up, but I know him better than I know myself. He's spent his entire life hating his father, everything the man was and everything he did. But last night, consumed by the rut, he acted just like him. Now, he's turning all that hate inward.

And Titus . . . Well, Titus is Titus. Constantly on the verge of madness, never knowing if he wants to fuck her or kill her. Perhaps one then the other.

Bishop and Ti reach our quarters first. They enter the common room and don't bother holding the door for us. It's swinging shut when we reach it, and Sinclair's hand shoots out to catch it. Her palm slaps the wooden surface and instantly I notice one of her fingers is all crooked and fucked up. Staring at its mangled shape, my eyes catch on the sparkling green stone in her ring—

"What is this?" I grab her wrist and pull her hand closer to my face for a better look.

"A ring— Jesus christ, let me go!"

She yanks hopelessly in my grip as I drag her into the room, slamming her palm down on a side table next to a dark-green mohair couch. Using one hand to keep hers flat, I turn on the table lamp with the other. It illuminates all the dust floating in the air and the silver in the strip of hair that's hanging across her face, having fallen out from behind her ear.

I notice these small details like all my senses are turned up to one hundred as my mind reels, connecting dots.

I whip out my pocketknife. She attempts to pull back as I flip open the blade and bring it to her finger.

"Okay, okay," she talks rapidly. "You can have it. Is that what you want? My ring? You can have it." Her voice rises the closer and closer to her skin I get.

"What is this?" I ask again, ignoring her stammering, and tap the stone with the tip of the knife. It looks like it's been painted over with nail polish or something.

She sounds more confused than worried as she says slowly, "A ring . . . ?"

"No, no." I shake my head, my thoughts going a mile a minute. Her ring didn't look like this yesterday . . . . It was clear . . . . There was a flower. I'm an idiot for not recognizing it earlier.

Hurriedly, I scratch at the shiny green with the edge of my blade. As I suspected, the color chips away like the paint on our doors, revealing just what I remember: a small, pressed blue and white bud under a dome of glass.

I lift my eyes from the delicate flower to her panicked gaze, noticing how the pale blue of the petals match the color of her eyes. The others have come to look over our shoulders. "Bishop, you remember what a Dusk Daisy looks like?"

"Just like that," he says slowly on a heavy exhale.

I release her and walk back. "Well played." I clap, slow and patronizing. "Well. Fucking. Played."

She clutches her hand to her chest defensively. "What are you talking about?"

Her eyes slice across the room, assessing us like an animal backed into a corner. She swallows deeply, her face straightening, and I realize she's no longer looking for a way out. She's calculating how much longer she has to live.

"How do you know about my ring?"

"Because that ring . . ." Titus can't finish his sentence, his voice shaking with rage.

"That ring is the reason our family was exiled," I finish for him.

She takes a tentative step back and speaks with forced calmness. "Listen, I don't know what you think this ring is, but it's been in my family for generations—"

"For, let me guess, four generations," I scoff.

She perks up at this, a curious spark replacing some of the wariness in her eyes. "Yeah . . . How do you know that?"

I roll my eyes. Okay, so we're gonna play it like this, huh? Fine.

"Your great-great-grandma decided to walk away from her responsibilities—"

"Responsibilities?" She scoffs incredulously. Furiously, she continues, "I think you mean life as a sex slave. She was twenty times braver than all you fuckwads combined and figured out a way to not only escape herself, but protect her family for generations."

"And threw us to the wolves in the process!" Titus shouts.

Sinclair closes the distance between them with determined strides. She has to tilt her head back to meet his eyes and spews spitefully, "It looks like you landed on your feet just fine."

He jabs a finger in her face and growls, "You have no idea—"

"Alright, alright." Bishop surprises me by stepping between them, pushing them apart. He looks at Titus and points to the far corner of the room. "Go cool off, Ti."

He doesn't look happy about it, but he does it anyway, his heavy footsteps crossing the room. Sinclair snickers and shouts after him, "Yeah, calm your tits, Titty."

"And you." Bishop spins on her, and his words seem to dry up the moment he meets her eyes. I can tell by his terse expression he's as stunned as I am about this whole situation, but being this close to her is testing his restraint.

"Stop antagonizing him," I step in for him. I point to the couch then fall back in the armchair next to it. "If you insist on playing dumb, just shut up and listen."

Her eyes narrow, a retort on the tip of her tongue, but I reemphasize my gesture to the couch and alpha growl, "Sit."

Like a petulant child, she crosses her arms and scowls but sits her ass down. Fucking finally.

I exhale. "When your great-great-grandma ran off, no one knew how she did it, but she must have had help. There were rumors of a ring or pendant or something with a Dusk Daisy to suppress her noble nature. So, when the Elders began looking for her accomplices, that was the lead they followed."

"And your great-great-grandbitch," Titus continues while pacing by the big, arched window, "set up the Ceruleans' pack by stashing a small bundle of dried Dusk Daisies in their wing. Maybe somewhere in this very room." He looks around bitterly.

"Apparently, that was all the evidence they needed to prove collusion, and as punishment, the entire Cerulean family was exiled from the Echelon for three generations. And now, when we finally have a chance to claw our way back"—I flick my gaze over her in disdain—"we end up with the descendant of the very person responsible for our exile. Did I leave anything out, Sinclair Azurite?"

There's a heavy silence as she breathes deeply in and out. Her eyes flit like she's trying to process something too big to comprehend.

My skin feels uncomfortably tight as I wait for her to say something. My legs itch to jump out of this chair and take to pacing like Titus.

When she finally speaks, I don't expect what she says.

"You can't tell them. Please, don't tell the Elders I'm an Azurite heir," she pleads solemnly, flat and devoid of emotion, yet somehow still full of desperation. Something about it twists a spike in my chest because it's . . . genuine.

"Are you saying they don't already know?" Bishop asks, standing on the other side of the coffee table in front of her.

She raises her eyebrows skeptically. "Were we not in the same meeting?"

I don't believe her, and I can tell Bishop doesn't either, but I play along, leaning forward on my elbows. "Why don't you want them to know? Azurites are the most powerful family in the Echelon. As a recognized member, you'd have more power than any of us." I nod toward my brothers.

She sits up, more animated than before. "I'm happy to be the no-name, illegitimate daughter of a whore. The less value I have to them, the better chance I have of getting out of here." I'm surprised by her honesty. If it's authentic . . . "You guys don't like me? Imagine how I fucking feel. For generations, my family sacrificed everything so I wouldn't end up—" Her voice cracks and she quickly swallows, eyes flicking to the ceiling. The shimmer of tears in her eyes is gone when she looks back at us. "So I wouldn't end up in this exact position."

No one speaks for a while. The air in the room is suffocating with answers that only lead to more questions.

I have no idea what's the truth, a half-truth, or full-out deception. Trust feels impossible, but when I meet her heavy eyes, I want to believe her.

"If you care about your grandma at all, you better forget any pipe dream of getting out," Titus says coldly but collected, his emotions regulated and his head clear again.

Sinclair whips her head toward him and asks accusatorily, "What do you know about my grandma?"

He leans against the windowsill, backlit, and crosses his arms and ankles. "Only that she's the biggest piece of leverage the Echelon has on you or else he wouldn't have mentioned her at all." We all know he's referring to the Azurite Elder when we were leaving the meeting. "If you even think about running away, you'll be signing her death warrant. That swinging corpse before the ceremony wasn't just for show. It was a message, and you'd be a fool not to listen."