Page 162 of Caged

I sink my teeth into my lower lip to stop the trembling. His words are more than a threat. He wants a reason to follow through. Desires it. It’s terrifying in its brutality.

I’ve never felt so hollow.

A tremor starts in my fingers, so small I barely feel it. It works its way up my arms and into my chest, and before I know what’s happening, my whole body is shaking with terror.

This male… he doesn’t just want suppression. No. He’s describing a systematic breaking apart of who I am.

This is an absolute rejection of me. As a person. A female.

An Omega.

What he wants isn’t one of my father’s punishments. There will be no lashings, scars, or chains. There probably won’t even be any bruises.

This is a slow, methodical execution. Cold, clinical, and complete. Just like him.

I feel it—the first crack in something that can never be repaired. My breath hitches, his words burrowing deeper. It’s not the words or even the threat itself that hurts the worst.

It’s strangely—inconceivably—the fact that it’s coming from him.

He eyes me like I’m an unwanted body, taking up space in his perfect world. I want to beg him to stop.

Once again, I find myself reaching, fumbling, searching for something soft and safe. There’s nothing but empty air. The absence of anything to nest with squeezes my already tight chest.

My Omega doesn’t care that this Alpha wants me dead. The only thing my instincts understand is that he’s rejecting me.

It’s agonizing.

I want to laugh at the irony, but I’m too busy fighting back tears. Of course this Alpha would reject me. Why wouldn’t he? My whole life, I’ve known only hated. I’ve been rejected and crushed down to nothing by the one male supposed to love me unconditionally.

Why did I ever hope life away from my father might be different?

No. You’re wrong. It IS different. You have Caelan. This Alpha doesn’t matter. He’s nothing to you. He’s not even your Mate.

“Caelan!”

His name steals my attention and forces me to focus. If this male is Caelan’s friend, then this is my chance to ask if he’s alright.

As the thought solidifies a terrible possibility dawns on me. The whole time Lenora listed each of his wounds, she never mentioned a gunshot. Why not? They couldn’t have missed it, surely.

The possibility is almost non-existent but…

What if they did?

My spine straightens, fear making me bold despite everything falling apart around me. Facing Lenora I stammer, “Is he—he was shot.”

She stares back blankly. The lack of emotion fuels my anxiety. The silence of the cell is heavy. Suddenly the possibility they never saw his wound doesn’t seem so far-fetched and urgency takes over, causing my next words to tumble out clumsily, each thought tripping over the next in my haste to warn them.

“Did— it’s— the gun was— Did you see? Or maybe— on his thigh. The wound— it was— all that blood. Did you see? The gunshot?”

As I struggle to speak, my anxiety attacks, supplying endless loop of worry. Surely someone saw it . They couldn’t have missed it, right? They’re doctors for Fates sake, of course they saw it. But if so, why won’t someone say something? Are they even listening?

“Daxen!” Lenora shouts. My mouth snaps shut and my attention flies to Daxen.

One moment, he’s still. Calm. Controlled. The epitome of Alpha confidence.

Then something snaps and he lunges. He moves with unnatural speed, flying across the room, straight toward his target.

Me.