“Oh, come on, Gabe. What did I say now—”
“Listen, in a few minutes, I’m going to walk into my room, and I’m going to do things to that girl that would send me to Hel. If it existed.” I hold his gaze. “The least we can do is be polite about it.”
Ivar laughs, of course. Anyone else would be pissing themselves, but my brother has always been remarkably unintimidated by my strength.
I roll my eyes. “I’m serious.”
“Right, sure. I mean—we can be polite about the dry virgin girl you’re going to tear to shreds in the same bed where you normally fuck the most beautiful Omegas in the stronghold, but—”
“She’s caught in the crossfire,” I counter. “Make no mistake, she’s the one tool we have against House Larsen, and I’m not going to spare her just because she’s innocent. But she’s not going to be the butt of the joke.”
“What about the fact that she kicked you out of Kuznetsov’s funeral?”
I swallow, wondering how the fuck I could have possibly forgotten about that. The girl deserves nothing from me.
“Well?”
“You’re right,” I concede. “Fuck her. Even harder.”
My brother laughs, and I squeeze my hand on his shoulder, helping him off the wall.
“The Larsens may not have reacted as defensively as we wanted,” he says as we resume walking. “But this is a slight they won’t forgive. I’ll speak to Martia. Double, maybe triple security. Everything else is already in place. All we need is a—”
“General.” A voice calls from behind us. When I turn around, Lady Larsen is quickly stepping off the elevator. Alone. “A moment, please.”
As far as requests go, it sounds remarkably like a demand.
“You gonna tell her to fuck off?” Ivar asks under his breath.
“I should, shouldn’t I?” But I let out a deep sigh, then say, “You go ahead, Ivar. I’ll catch up.”
“I don’t trust her.”
“Neither do I, but she can do nothing to me.”
By the time Lady Larsen is in front of me, Ivar’s footsteps are fading in the distance. I take off my mask, making no secret of the way I’m assessing her. She is an older Omega, fragile-looking, with delicate features, an expressive face, and a spine made of steel. She reminds me just enough of my own mother for me to nearly experience sympathy—until she says, “You cannot do this, General.”
Here we fucking go. “Lady Larsen, you must know that I can, in fact, do this. The Right of the First Night falls within the law. General Niemi, who I believe was deep in your family’s pockets, regularly took advantage of it.” I ignore the way she recoils. “You certainly never complained when he took newly mated Omegas for his amusement.”
“I was a child. And, sir, with all due respect”—she speaks through gritted teeth, sounding anything but respectful—“Sofia and Lennart love each other.”
Sofia. Right. That’s the girl’s name. “In that case, I shall return her untouched.”
Her eyes shine with hope. “Really?”
“No.” I lean closer. “I will fuck her to within an inch of her life, and tomorrow she’ll barely be able to walk.”
What a pleasure, watching her face fall. “What do you have against my sons?”
“Your sons are hardly the victims here. Not when dozens of members of my army have fallen to an untimely demise because of your House’s strikes. Not when a young man was brutally assaulted to satisfy a noble-born man’s sadistic urges—and you know precisely what I am referring to. Not when it is not your son but the Omega who will lie under me tonight.” I hold her eyes. “Over and over again.”
“You have no right—”
“Oh, but I do,” I drawl. “And you should be grateful that she is cold and likely won’t get pregnant from it.”
She spins on her feet before angrily stalking away in a way that would make me laugh, if it weren’t for the night that lies ahead of me.
“Lady Larsen,” I call after her. “A word of advice?”
She stops, but doesn’t turn to me.
“Hold your mate back,” I say. I don’t know what her relationship with Lord Larsen is like, but I’m no fool. Unlike what the noble-born have been telling themselves, Omegas are not glorified birthing machines without political power. “I want the attacks against my soldiers and my leadership to stop, and I want Lord Larsen to stop acting like he’s above the law. I am the general now, and things are changing. The Houses are going to have to give up a portion of their wealth and their constant abuse of power.”
“How dare you speak of abuse of power, with what you are about to do to Sofia?”
“My lady, we can both agree that the paltry body of a stunted Omega is worth much less than the many lives Lord Larsen has taken.”
She spins around to face me. “You are as repulsive as they say.”
“I live to meet your expectations, my lady.”
I put my lower-face mask back on and stalk to my quarters, already annoyed by the tearful Omega who surely awaits me.
Chapter 9
THE NIGHT Sofia
The bed in the general’s quarters must be worth more credits than my team of healers will earn in our combined lifetimes because it is made from wood. As I understand it, wood used to be a commonplace material. But the kind of trees that used to crowd the outside don’t thrive in salt water.
There is only one purpose for something so massive and built entirely of a rare substance: ostentation. Whoever purchased the bed must have wanted to show off their wealth. And even though I know little about Gabriel Agard, I simply cannot imagine him wasting credits on that. It’s a relic from previous generals; I’d bet five years of my life on that.
The rest of the room is wide but sparsely furnished: A handful of chairs. Carpets. One nightstand, free of any clutter. A small armory area. A chest. A table with a holo station.
I’ve lost track of time, but I can tell that we must be past sunset because even though we’re high up enough to get some illumination through the water, no light filters in through the single lancet window that reaches upward to the vaulted ceiling. Thankfully, electric candles flicker low in the dimly lit space, leaving only the farthest corners shrouded in dark. The purring white noise of the environmental controls is at once smoother and quieter than in my quarters.
I hate to admit it, but I love everything about this room. Except, of course, for the pair of eyes flashing at me from the shadows.
For a split second, I assumed it was the glint of a light bouncing against a reflective surface. Then I noticed the occasional blinking, the large fuzzy outline surrounding it, and an impression of fangs, and I realized that I was being tracked by an animal. Still am.
Hunted.
This is disturbing. So disturbing, I sit on the edge of the bed, as still as possible, trying at once to make myself invisible and to not let the monster out of my sight. By the time the door opens, I’ve nearly convinced myself that I should play dead.
The beast can’t kill me if I die of a stroke first.
Someone enters the room. Heavy steps thud toward me, then halt. I hear a sigh, then a blunt, half growled “my lady.”
“Not a lady,” I murmur absentmindedly, unable to peel my eyes from the animal.
“As of approximately an hour ago, you are a member of the Larsen family. My lady.”
“Ah, right. There is that.” I’m trying to open my mouth as little as possible, but my ventriloquism act must not fool the beast, because its stare narrows into a glare.