7. What Comes Next

What Comes Next

Sinclair

Ihiss as I lower myself into the tub, feeling dirtier now than after anything I experienced at the Doll House. The fresh carving on my sternum stings as it makes contact with the hot water. It's nothing like the crude mark left by the collar. The lines of a blooming larkspur are neat and clean.

It may be prettier, but a brand is still brand. No amount of floral details will change that.

While Titus—if what the other alpha called him is his name—was raping me in that fucked-up ritual, a terrible slicing sensation burned my chest. It felt like I was being shallowly cut with a dull scalpel, a fine point that had to tear rather than slice its way through my flesh.

I wish that were the worst of it, but what happened after the magical marking was more excruciating than any physical pain could ever be.

My head slips under the surface of the water.

Being on display while getting raped and branded is without a doubt humiliating, but the humiliation isn't even the worst part.

It's the shame.

The shame I feel for pushing back into him, my pussy drenched. Shame for the way I came on his cock, mewled and ground down for more.

Still holding my breath underwater, I try uselessly to tug the ring—this backstabbing fucking ring—off my finger. It's impossible. I know that. My bone is too fucked to ever let it come off.

I try to process how this could happen, how the Dusk Daisy could suppress my omega nature for so long and then fail me. My body reacted to the pack of alphas, and they triggered my first ever heat. The omega equivalent to an alpha's rut. Where theirs can be triggered by lust or aggression and cause burning desire to fuck and dominate, an omega's heat makes her desperate for release that can only come from submission. Both can rage for as long as it takes for the urges to be satisfied.

Despite everything in me protesting, I still found myself presenting. I didn't want to, but my body was a marionette being manipulated outside my control.

The physical pleasure was unholy, every molecule in my body searching out his. My ability to breathe seemed to depend on every thrust of his hips. I was desperate—so fucking desperate—for more. Like I might actually die if he wasn't inside me.

But my brain didn't get the message. Maybe the ring wasn't strong enough to resist a noble-blooded alpha's rut but was still able to stop the heat from reaching my mind. I acutely felt every spike of pleasure, knowing I didn't want it.

I was aware my body was betraying me, but I could do nothing to stop it.

For the duration of the heat, I was trapped in the body of an omega without the matching psyche, mentally hating every second of pleasure.

I scream, bubbles streaming from my mouth and the faded sound in my ears. I scream and scream until I have no breaths left. I wish I were strong enough to stay under, to let darkness take me away. But my traitorous body fights for survival yet again. I shoot up, gulping down air.

Leaning back against the porcelain, I remember the sight of the white silk after the ritual, blemished with red in two spots. One where my freshly cut chest dripped and one where Titus—I grimace even saying his name in my head— wiped my blood off his dick. Despite his cum dripping down my leg, he was still hard. He looked at me like he wanted to strangle me. Part of me wanted to let him.

A fate worse than death . . .

But before he could, all the young alphas were called away and attendants led every family's omega back to our quarters. As soon as I got here, I sent my attendant away and drew a bath, tearing off the dress that smelled like them. A smell that while utterly repulsive, still made my pussy clench with want.

My head snaps up at the sound of the twisting knob of the bathroom door. My lungs seize. I draw my knees protectively into my chest as the locked door rattles in its frame.

"A locked door isn't going to keep us out, Omega." Titus's voice spits the word omega, thick with distrust.

I frantically look around for anything I can use as a weapon. I'm too vulnerable to risk getting out of the tub without knowing what I'm going for.

I recognize the blond alpha's voice next. "Just kick it in, Ti."

Something about the casual nickname makes me want to gag. Monsters don't get affectionate little names.

I scream in surprise as a huge fist smashes through the wood right above the knob. The hand reaches into the hole and swiftly disengages the lock.

"Get out, get out!" I yell, curling in on myself to hide as much of my nudity as possible.1

The door swings open. The three of them stand there like Cerberus keeping dead souls from escaping the underworld.

Well, if this is a fate worse than death, then maybe I am already dead.

"The Elders have called us to their council room tomorrow morning," Titus says with a threatening cock of his head while stepping across the threshold.

I steel my voice and point toward the door, locking my elbow so it doesn't shake. "Get. Out."

Ignoring me completely, he hulks closer, the other two following behind him. "I want to know what game you're playing now. I won't be made a fool in front of them again."

Each step closer makes my panic grow. The water feels heavier, a weight bearing down on me, trapping me. Here. With them.

I give up any pretense of keeping my cool and plead, "I'm naked—please, haven't you taken enough from me already?"

Not that my dress hid much, but the thought of all of them seeing me so bare and vulnerable makes me want to cry. They don't have a right to all of me.

The blond one laughs, and the sound is like ice down my back. "I don't think you get it, Omega. Seeing you naked is the least we can do."

The alpha wearing his dark curls in a bun is tense, his jaw clenched. He blinks rapidly, flashing streaks of gold.

No, god, please don't go into rut.

He squeezes his eyes shut, inhaling and exhaling like he's in pain. When he reopens his eyes, they are back to a beautiful hazel. His features relax when he looks at me. I doubt he resisted the rut for me, but wistfully, I think that I might have an ally in him one day.

"I don't care if you hate us. We're not your biggest fans either. It doesn't matter that I don't trust you. That ceremony made you ours." Titus wraps his big hands around the lip of the other end of the tub. "We get you naked or dressed up like a queen." My throat tightens as he slowly prowls around the edge of the tub, walking his hands along the rim. "We can take and take and never give. We can do anything we like . . ."

His arm shoots out so quickly, I don't even register what is happening until I'm plunged under the water. My body slides down the basin and my limbs splash violently.

My scalp stings as his fist in my hair yanks me up. I'm sputtering, frantically wiping water from my eyes when I hear him say, "Even drown you, if we please."

I'm forced back under again, longer this time. I claw at his hand on the top of my head, but it's like pawing at a tree, immovable. His cold and cruel face distorts under the water.

I'm pulled up just long enough to fully inhale before being shoved under again. I try to think through the panic, my racing adrenaline and fight-or-flight system making it hard to do anything but fight to survive.

A fate worse than death.

The thought occurs to me that I was wishing for this exact thing minutes ago. I laugh underwater, wasting precious breath.

This time, when he yanks on my hair, I grip the edges of the tub and fight against him, straightening my legs and sliding to the bottom of the tub.

The pressure on my head disappears, and instead I'm ripped to a sitting position by hands like vices under my arms.

I laugh, but it sounds more like wheezing as I catch my breath. Looking over my shoulder, I say, "Aww, why'd you stop? Dying sounds pretty good to me right about now."

I don't think I actually want to die, but I also don't think they will kill me. For better or worse, they need me, and if I don't fear death, what can they do to me?

He drops his hands, and I cross my arms defensively over my breasts. The three of them look at each other conspiratorially, some silent conversation passing between them. The sudden loss of their attention puts me even more on edge. It's obvious how incredibly in sync they are.

"Are you gonna drown me or what, because the water's getting cold," I quip, but my heart tells on me, thumping wildly in my chest. Despite laughing, tears well in my eyes, threatening to spill.

"Worse . . ." Titus traces his teeth with his tongue and cants his head smugly to the side. "I'm going to make you beg."

Puzzled, I mirror his tilted head and get my first good look at him. Everything about him is masculine and hard, from his brow to his cheekbones to the stubble covering his jaw. His nose looks like it's been broken several times and small scars are scattered on his face, thicker ones at the corner of his eyebrows like a boxer. His eyes are deep gray storm clouds.

I track the corner of his mouth as it tugs in something close to but not quite a smirk. I can't picture him ever smiling.

The other two move in unison, grabbing my arms and lifting me out of the tub.

"Hey—" I protest, then exhale an oof when my back hits the bathroom wall. The plaster feels cold after the heat of the bath, and I can't peel my shoulders more than an inch off the wall with the way they have me pinned.

The blond removes one hand to brush my wet hair off my neck. I take slow, measured breaths through my nose as his dark brown-green eyes take in my scar. I shiver when he continues to lift my hair with the back of his hand off my shoulders, to follow the scar around my neck. His lip twitches with a grimace.

He drops my hair, and I'm instantly comforted by the small veil it provides. As I'm pinned to the wall like a cross with my arms outstretched, water sluicing down my naked body, I latch onto any illusion of a shield.

I turn my head to look at him and he flicks his chin. "Who did this to you?" He has the audacity to sound more protective than curious, a low growl laced through his words.

I gather saliva on the tip of my tongue, then spit in his face to show him what I think of his concern. He rears back just in time so it lands at his feet.

Titus, now standing in front of me, roughly clasps my chin. His patience—if he had any to begin with—is clearly worn thin by the look on his face. He pitches forward, tugging my face toward his.

"Ecker asked you a question, and that is not how you answer your alpha."

His voice is like gravel, barely constrained lust or anger I can't tell, but it doesn't matter. His nose is mere inches from mine. I can smell his heady musk, like sweat and sandalwood.

Now that my omega nature has manifested, his scent isn't just a smell. It's a wave that rocks my stomach and makes me want to squeeze my legs together. I can even feel the wetness pool between them. Even more embarrassing than the reaction itself is knowing they will all be able to scent my arousal.

His eyes shutter closed as he works his jaw and inhales tediously, like he's praying for strength. The fingers gripping my chin tighten. He opens his eyes slowly, like the sun rising over the horizon, and says coolly, "Lick it up."

"Okay," I say submissively enough that they all let go of me. "As soon as you go fuck yourself." They're clearly going to keep torturing me no matter how much I plead. So why should I just roll over and take it?

Unamused, his face is hard as stone as he repeats, "Lick. It. Up."

His words don't sound different this time, maybe a little deeper, but they feel different.

Almost against my will, I fold, my knees bending. I only feel relief from this inexplicable pressure once I'm on the floor. The cold tile is uncomfortable but somehow welcome, like this is where I'm meant to be.

Fuck, he must have used his alpha command.

Cowing to it is just another way my body betrays me.

They stand above me expectantly. My skin feels too tight, my equilibrium off balance the longer I resist the order. Again, my body obeys without my mental consent. I lower my chest and bitterly outstretch my tongue.

"That's better," Ecker mocks above me, and I want with all my heart to straighten my spine, but my tongue only gets closer and closer to the floor. My saliva is small, barely discernible bubbles among the spilled bathwater.

My stomach churns as I swipe my tongue against the marble, licking up my spit. As soon as I do, I jump to my feet. Disgusted with myself, I offer no resistance when they pull me back against the wall.

Titus holds out his palm wordlessly. I look at it for a beat before somehow intrinsically knowing what he wants. I spit the ball of saliva I've been too repulsed to swallow into it.

I gasp as my back is flattened against the wall by the men pressing on my shoulders. At the same time, Titus's hand with my spit dips between my legs, vulgarly cupping my pussy.

I suck in a breath as he leans forward to whisper in my ear, his cotton shirt rough against my sensitive nipples. "Ready to beg?"

I can hear the smirk in his voice as his breath feathers over my skin. A finger delves between my labia, and he works it up and down my slit. The throaty whimper I make is more humiliating than the way my hips rock unconsciously into his touch.

Tears prick my eyes as I realize where this is going. I defeatedly realize I may be begging them to stop sooner than I'd hoped.

"Wait, please don't—I'm sore from the ceremony," I try. It's certainly an excuse but also not wholly untrue. Though I suspect this ache in my core has less to do with my virginity and more to do with the way I'm burning for him to fill me again, even though my words and thoughts plead the opposite.

"We can all smell you." I'm not expecting the alpha whose name I still don't know to speak, but he does through gritted teeth. "You're so aroused right now, I bet you could take two of us."

Horror that they might do just that has me shutting my mouth. Titus laughs without smiling, his steely eyes growing hooded. "Don't worry. Even though Bishop's probably right, I have other plans for you."

He keeps his darkening gaze firmly on mine as he lowers to one knee. His palm cups my inner thigh as if he's going to lift my leg, but he pauses. "Though, feel free to beg for otherwise."

Ecker chuckles in my ear, and I twist away from him only to be met by Bishop on the other side, nostrils flared and eyes flecked with gold. With no better options, I look down at the alpha between my legs as he lifts my thigh and holds me open.

He has that same ravenous look in his eyes as he did the first time I saw him. The intensity is like a magnet. I'm unable to look away as his tongue flicks out and flattens. My skin buzzes, every nerve ending tingling as I hang in unbearable anticipation, waiting for him to make contact.

It feels like my lungs seize when he finally does with one excruciatingly slow lick. I nearly whine when he pulls away so soon, but the arrogance on his face when he looks up at me is enough to make me bite my tongue. "Breathe, Omega. You can't beg if you're passed out."

"I hate you."

"I bet." His mouth ticks in a half-smirk before he dives back between my thighs.

My teeth dig into my lip. It's the worst kind of torture. The flames licking at my senses are in sync with the flicks of his tongue. He's slow and deliberate with heavy, wide strokes over my clit.

I end up squeezing my eyes shut because the sight of his fingers digging into my thigh and his broad shoulders between my legs is too much. Unfortunately, it doesn't stop my pitiful moans and breathy pants.

My nerves wind tighter and tighter. I can't hold back the desire and need from flooding my system. There's an explosion of warmth in my chest that spreads like a bright light through my limbs as I go into heat for the second time today.

It feels unbelievably good to finally cry out, "Fuck . . . fuck!"

The alphas on either side of me growl low and hungry. The sound reverberates through me like shockwaves to my core. My standing leg trembles uncontrollably. I feel so tight, so close, I could burst. Like the heat is too much for my body to contain.

"Oh god . . ." I moan with both lust and defeat. I want to fight the way my pelvis grinds into his mouth, but I can't. I'm a marionette again, the heat my puppeteer, his tongue the strings.

It's like he can sense my desperation, my surrender. Titus pulls back, his mouth glistening with evidence of my betrayal. "Ready to beg yet?"

I could end this right now with a few words.

Please stop.

Two little words. Maybe three more if they insist.

I beg you.

Five words. It would be so easy . . .

"No," I say as strongly as I can, despite my weary spirit.

"Okay," Titus says, oddly calm, "but let me be clear: I will not let you come until I hear you beg."

The revelation is like a bomb detonating in the ruins of my defenses.

They never intended for me to beg them to stop.

They want me to beg to come.

I don't know what gives me the strength to say with confidence I do not feel, "Your rules, so don't blame me tomorrow when your jaw is too sore to speak at tomorrow's meeting."

Ecker laughs. "She got you there."

Titus sneers before returning with a fervor that would knock me off my feet if I wasn't being held. I can hardly breathe through the way he expertly works his tongue in defined movements, never relenting. When he delves two fingers into my pussy, I give up any attempt to control my response.

I moan without inhibition or care. Unapologetically rocking and grinding into him until Bishop's grip on me turns bruising.

I yelp, whipping my head to look at him. "You're hurting—"

The shocking glow of his eyes swallows the rest of my words. They are brilliant and rich with metallic layers. Some so dark they are almost coppery and others so light they could be stars.

"Nothing compared to how I'm hurting, Omega." His voice is raw and gritty, deeper than I've ever heard it. It scares me.

Unexpectedly, Bishop shoves me off the wall and out of Ecker's hold. Titus falls back, catching himself with his hands to avoid being walked on. It takes half a second for Bishop to bend me over the bathroom vanity across the room. With his hand still firmly planted on my shoulder, he wrenches my arm behind my back by the wrist.

"Like hell I was going to let you come anywhere but on my cock," he says menacingly. Then he adds frantically, as if speaking his frenzied thoughts out loud, "I need to be inside— Fuck, I need you."

His hand temporarily leaves my shoulder just long enough to undo his pants and free his cock. The silky, hard length slaps on top of my ass and a sinking sensation overtakes me. I can't tell if it's fear or this same indescribable need he's spewing about.

"Oh, yes." I sigh with unbidden relief when I feel the thick head of his cock push against my entrance.

"What was that?" His hand from my shoulder twists in my hair at the nape of my neck and forces my gaze up to the mirror.

My mouth hangs open but no words come out, as I'm mesmerized by the look of our bodies together in the reflection. His warm brown skin contrasts dramatically against my own, having been starved of sunlight for too long.

"What was that?" he asks again sharply.

I snip, "Nothing." Just fuck me.

His face hardens, his brows bunching together. His hand in my hair tightens painfully. Then he thrusts.

"Ah!" My back arches. I exhale as he withdraws part way.

He punches forward again, and I claw at the counter edges.

He does it again, and my eyes roll back.

Again, and every muscle of my core quivers.

Again, and pain from the hard edge of the counter digging into my hips morphs into pleasure, every sensation heightened from the heat.

I watch my breasts bounce in the mirror with each thrust like they belong to someone else and I just happen to feel everything this other person feels.

"Fuck, fuck—" He pants hot and wet in my ear. My body relishes the closeness while mentally I squirm at the gross, humid feel.

At the sound of husky groans, my eyes scan the reflection and find Titus and Ecker stroking their cocks. I expect nausea to churn my stomach. Instead, I watch their strong, corded forearms flex as they fuck their fists while their glazed over, golden-streaked eyes watch me.

"Goddamn," Bishop curses roughly then looks at the others through the mirror. "She fucking soaks my cock watching you two . . . fuuck . . ."

My cheeks burn because it's true. I force my eyes closed, squeezing them tight.

"Uh-uh." Bishop reaches around to pinch my chin and shakes my head side to side. My eyes flash open. "Look at them. I want you milking my cock when I come." Then he murmurs as if talking to himself again, "I wish this were the ceremony so I could feel your blood making your pussy even wetter. I'd leave you with my cum and take your blood with me."

I'm momentarily speechless. But not for long.

"You sick fuck." I twist and thrash. Bishop slams my body back down, and a shock of pain rocks my elbows as they hit the hard stone counter.

"Don't you know not to fight an alpha in rut?" Ecker says, suddenly next to Bishop, with a wicked amusement in his voice.

"Not only are we stronger . . ." Titus flanks Bishop's other side. I watch their reflections jerk off, popping up like a perverted house of mirrors.

"But it only makes us harder." Bishop concludes their point by slamming into me so deep my cervix contracts, and I bite down at the pain.

I feel his cock swell inside me. I fight against the way my pussy clenches, some fucked-up part of my omega nature getting more and more turned on by the prospect of his cum inside me.

"Fuck, that's it. Come like a good omega whore and let me fill your pussy up." His voice is hoarse, as rough as his punishing thrusts.

"Shit, do you smell that?" Ecker exclaims. "She's about to come . . . I can . . . scent . . . it," he says in choppy breaths before one continuous moan sounds as he comes. I'm repulsed by the feel of his hot cum on my back and ass, but at the same time, it makes me burn impossibly hotter.

Titus is next. I close my eyes so I don't have to watch him paint me with cum and humiliation.

"Watch, watch," Bishop pants desperately, and despite screaming at my body to disobey, I still open them.

His head rocks back, and he bites hard into his lip, a growl escaping through his teeth. His final thrust ignites a series of fireworks inside me. My orgasm pulses in my clit, then my pussy, then my entire pelvis—muscles I didn't know existed—my abdomen and legs.

I've never felt something so terrifyingly consuming.

When his cock stops twitching, he sighs an exhausted, "Fuck."

There's almost a sad quality to it that makes me meet his gaze. The gold is quickly fading from his eyes. He blinks once and they're back to hazel. He immediately tears his gaze away and gracelessly pulls out. With him, he takes the lingering whispers of my omega heat, which have been fading along with my orgasm.

Confused, I watch him push his fingers into his hair as he storms away. They get stopped by his bun, and he rips his hand out. "Goddamn," he yells and punches the wall by the door, leaving a crater. Chunks of drywall and dust litter the floor.

I'm frozen, shocked, staring at the now empty doorway. I flinch at the feel of something on my back. I whip around, my defenses up now that the heat is gone.

Ecker drops the towel he's draped over my shoulder and raises his hands in surrender. Behind him, Titus walks out.

"So, what's your name?" Ecker asks casually, if not a little awkward.

I bob my head. "What?" That was the last thing I expected to come out of his mouth.

"Your name. What is it?"

"Sinclair."

He sucks on his teeth with a click then turns away, nodding. "Sinclair."

As he leaves, he repeats, "Sinclair." As if testing the sound of my name on his tongue.

At last, I'm left alone.

I open the towel, facing the mirror. I look at the red and raw carving of a flower on my sternum and think about all the things these men did to me.

All without knowing my name.

That night, despite being more tired than I can ever remember being, I can't sleep. I drift off but wake every time the ancient building creaks or the wind outside my window whistles against the glass. Even my own breathing feels too loud.

I'm jumpy and skittish. My pulse can't seem to find a steady rhythm.

The king-sized bed is way more than I need. Something that is supposed to provide comfort feels monstrous in this place. I sit against the headboard, feeling like a small fleck of dirt on the expansive mattress and luxurious down comforter.

I'm tempted to check the lock on the bedroom door again, but I know it won't provide any sense of security. They've more than shown they can get to me no matter what. There's not a door or lock in the country that could keep them out.

I wonder if that's the real reason they busted the bathroom door, just to show me that they could. To make me feel as insignificant as the splinters of wood left discarded on the floor.

As alphas, especially noble alphas, they're fueled by the dominance they can exert over others. My fear right now is just another power they hold over me, even when they're not here, and I hate it.

I hate this feeling and I hate them.

I hate them so fucking much.

I let this brewing hate turn my fear into resolve.

They can dominate my body, but that takes nothing more than brute strength and biology. True dominance comes from one's submission, putting claim to their soul as well as their body.

The ring blocked the heat from ravaging my mind. It didn't fail me; it saved me.

They can have my body, but they will never have my soul.

1. Play "Spooky Girls" by Devil's Music, The Black Reaper