9. More Games

More Games

Ecker

The next morning, Titus knocks on her bedroom door for the third time. His knuckles rap on the cracked and faded paint coloring the blooming delphinium etched into the wood, not unlike the flower etched into her— Sinclair's—chest. There were similar carvings of bear heads on our bedroom doors with lackluster, gilded paint that flakes away each time the door opens and closes.

I'd bet my left nut the doors in the other families' wings are polished and gleaming. Apparently, no one felt it necessary, after years of neglect, to give ours a little extra attention before we arrived.

Huffing in frustration, Titus goes to knock again. "It's like she doesn't know how to turn a fucking knob—"

The door finally swings open. His fist hangs in the air, mid-knock. The nervous attendant that brought Sinclair to the ceremony stands sheepishly in the doorway. Titus towers over her, and standing right behind him, we aren't much shorter. She opens her mouth, but nothing comes out.

"Don't worry, Seventeen." Sinclair appears and places a hand on her shoulder, stepping in front of her with renewed confidence that is a one-eighty from where I left her last night in the bathroom.

"He won't hurt you." Her lip curls ever so slightly, and her icy blue eyes cut fearlessly to Titus's. "That's reserved for me. His little omega whore. Isn't that right, Titty?"

Bishop chokes on a laugh, trying to turn it into a cough, and I'm having just as much luck trying to hide mine. I watch the muscle at the back of Titus's jaw turn into a tight ball. His energy crackles. I can't tell if he's on the verge of doing something we will all regret.

I reach out and grab Sinclair's arm, pull her out of the room, and stride down the hall. "It's a bit early for dirty talk, hmm?" She flinches when I release her to drag my hand over her soft hair down to the small of her back. Something about it only makes me pull her tighter to my side. I lean over to whisper in her ear and can't help but take a deep inhale of her delicious scent as I do. "Guess we'll have to work harder to tire you out tonight."

Abruptly, she stops and kicks out her foot. I don't realize quickly enough and catch my ankle, tripping forward. It's a graceless stumble, but I remain upright, embarrassment and annoyance bursting like a flair inside me.

One second, I'm regaining my footing, and the next my forehead is pressed against hers while I pin her to the hallway wall with my hand around her throat.

"I feel nothing but indifference for you, Omega," I snarl, purposefully using the title she seems to hate even though I now know her name. I continue in a low, husky tone, "I don't like you, and I don't trust you. But I don't hate you. If you thought last night was bad, just imagine if I did."

"We don't have time for this shit. We're already late." Bishop grunts as he passes.

I drop my hand and take a step back with a final warning. "Don't make me hate you."

The Elders' council room is a vast, stately boardroom with a long, polished table and intricately carved wooden chairs upholstered with leather. I expected the entire council to be here, an elected Elder from each family.

Instead, we are invited to sit across from the Azurite Elder. The shiny, golden antlers of his stag mask are beginning to have a Pavlovian effect on me where rather than salivating, I just want to punch someone.

Titus fills out his chair fully, his shoulders wider than the back, while Sinclair is dwarfed by hers. I shiver with an unexpected wave of nausea as I remember the look of her knobby elbows and knees last night and how she fought us despite her paltry muscles.

Burgers.

We'll go get burgers after this, I decide.

"I hope you've found your transition to the Estate is going smoothly," Azurite states but raises his pitch at the end as if it's a question.

I'm sure there is only one right answer. I begin, "It's been—"

"Well, it must seem like a paradise compared to your previous . . . ," he interrupts, then drums his fingertips together as if gathering a profound thought. ". . . accommodations."

His eyes quickly dart between all of us, and I wonder if he's referring to our warehouse or the whorehouse. Probably both.

Titus clasps his hands together on the table in front of him and asks curtly, "Are we waiting on others to begin?"

The Elder guffaws dryly. "Enough pleasantries for you, Cerulean?"

My chest expands. It's the first time any of us have been referred to by our true last name. We've gone by Crocker since exile to avoid attention, and all the Elders we've interacted with up until this point called us by our first names.

There's something greatly satisfying about the address but also troublingly real. We've spent our whole lives working to get here, and now that we've made it, there are only two options left: succeed or fail.

"I think we're all eager to hear how a noble omega ended up at a brothel in the first place." Bishop has always been able to talk like a politician. Diplomatic words undercut with a firmness that carries a threat without being overtly threatening.

"And why she hadn't manifested before the ceremony?" Titus adds much more forcefully.

"Ah, well, that was quite a surprise to us as well." The masked Elder tilts his head and looks pointedly at Sinclair.

I scoff at his pathetic attempt to feign ignorance. The Echelon loves dressing up their agendas, disguising their true intentions behind layers of noise and circumstances.

Like when our parents were arrested, the police took all of them, even the non-noble partners. Some farce about needing to sign paperwork. Of course, they expected us to believe it was completely unrelated that they all died in a car accident on the way.

I have no doubt the Echelon is responsible for putting all six of them in that car at that exact moment.

So, while I don't understand their angle yet, I am certain the Echelon knew our omega's true nature the entire time. Hell, I wouldn't put it past them to have set up the omega house visit.

Before that day, I bet she had never stepped foot in that hellhole. By the way she bled all over Titus's cock, she certainly wasn't working there as a whore.

The Elder straightens. "So, tell us, Omega, which family's noble blood runs through your veins?"

She's fiddling with her ring, her hands in her lap, when all heads turn to her. As if caught doing something naughty, she hastily hides them, sitting on her hands. I glance at Bishop to see if he caught the movement too. His eyes narrow ever so slightly, and I know he did.

"Omega?" he asks again with a touch of an alpha command. In an instinctual act of submission, her chin snaps down immediately. I watch her jaw pulse like she's pissed she's doing it.

"I guess it was a surprise all around. I didn't even know I was an omega, let alone noble until the ceremony." I try to parse out the nuances of her tone, searching for a hint of deception or mistruth.

"Bullshit," Titus scoffs under his breath.

Either nobody else hears it or they pretend they don't. Azurite asks, "Your parents, who are they? What is your lineage?" I have to give him credit for the genuine note of curiosity in his voice.

"Well, you already know who my mother is. You bought her debt when you bought me." My stomach rolls at the word bought. Echelon pack omegas are supposed to be gifted, the tribute more of a dowry than a literal purchase.

Sure, "gifted" is a still somewhat generous term. Most omegas are placed with a pack based on family alliances, to settle a feud between families, or to keep bloodlines strong. But ownership is tied through the ceremony and bonds, not a piece of paper.

"And I don't know who my father is." She speaks with her chin still tucked and eyes trained on her empty lap.

"Any suspicions? You may look up to answer me."

She raises her head and seems to regain confidence out of the submissive pose, unflinchingly meeting his gaze. "You tell me. Know any members that like getting their dicks wet at shady omega houses?"

I stifle a laugh at the way the Elder's mouth opens and closes wordlessly like a goddamn trout. Clearing his throat, he tries again, "So your father was a . . . client of your mother's?"

"Ding ding," she replies in a dry monotone.

He sighs deeply, now drumming his fingertips on the leather portfolio resting on the table in front of him. "I was going to insist on a blood test to determine lineage, but seeing as that would only serve to drudge up indiscretions from . . ." He looks to her in question.

"I'm twenty-three."

"From twenty-three years ago," he continues, "and as you've already been placed with a pack, I no longer see the need."

I scoff. Well, that's fucking convenient.

"As you may or may not be aware, the ceremony initiated the beginning of the Trials for young alphas from each noble family to prove they are worthy of joining the honored ranks of the Lourdes Bacleon. But make no mistake, Omega, this is as much of a Trial for you as it is for them." He flicks his chin at me and my brothers. "You may have been raised outside our noble community, but we will hold you to the same standards expected of any other Echelon omega—"

"If you have such high standards, you probably shouldn't have gone looking for an omega at a whorehouse," she throws back at him. She plays her role well, that much is for sure. The feisty, untamed omega plucked from the dirtiest annals of society.

The Elder stiffens and his hand curls into a fist, the slight sound of his nails against the leather audible. I tense at the same time as my brothers. I don't put it together right away, but then realize it's our alpha natures reacting to even the smallest signs of danger toward our omega.

We all seem to relax in unison when he responds calmly, "That was due to the funds—or lack thereof—your alphas were able to gather for your tribute. Like you, they weren't raised as one of us, and we were forced to resort to less than desirable options."

I bite my tongue and resist pointing out that due to their little game, we actually got a noble omega at a door-busting discount.

And I'm sure that just chafes.

When no one seems to have anything else to say, he stands from his seat and holds his arms open. "If there are no more questions, you are all dismissed." Thick with condescension, he adds, "I look forward to getting to know you all much better throughout the next few weeks."

At his nod and uncomfortably cheery smile, we get up to leave. Bishop has just opened the door to exit when Azurite calls out, "Oh, and Miss Sinclair?"

I'm standing right behind her and get a boner-inducing whiff when her hair swooshes past me as she turns her head. A groan quietly rumbles in my throat. She's looking across the table at the Elder, but I know she heard it by the sweet pink coloring her cheeks. I run a palm over the growing bulge in my pants, not bothering to be discreet.

She catches the movement from the corner of her eye. The moment she does, her arousal lightly perfumes the air with sweet yet musky citrus. I'm so mesmerized by it that I forget where we are until the Elder speaks. "I know this will all be quite an adjustment, so if you ever need support or want to correspond with your grandmother, just tell one of your alphas and we'll make it happen."

At the mention of her grandmother, her temperature seems to drop ten degrees, all blush disappearing from her cheeks. My head instantly clears, and I find myself wrapping my arm around her waist, turning her away from him. "Let's get out of here."

Any hard-on I had deflates the moment she accepts my guidance without protest. That's how I know whatever he implied about her grandma must have really scared her. After last night, I know that is not easy to do.