The others roll their eyes.
They turn back to their various posts—guarding the doors, checking weapons, doing whatever minions do when they're waiting for the main event to start. Their dismissiveness is almost insulting.
Almost.
But it's also exactly what I need.
"She's simply the bait and dead anyway," one of them says, not bothering to lower his voice. "Moment they arrive, they'll submit for their Omega, and that's when we'll have them."
Their Omega.
The words land wrong.
Make something in my chest twist in a way I don't want to examine.
I clear my throat.
"I should probably mention," I say, keeping my voice carefully casual, "that I'm not really their Omega yet."
All eyes turn back to me.
"I just had a one-night stand with one of them." I shrug, the movement limited by the ropes but still visible. "Not all of them.So I doubt they're going to come racing here trying to save me when I'm just a fling."
The words taste like ash.
Like lies.
Because through the bond—that constant, humming awareness that exists somewhere beneath my sternum—I can feel him.Sage.Feel his panic, his determination, his desperate need to find me.
He's coming.
They all are.
I can feel the pack bond pulsing with borrowed emotions—not just Sage's now, but others. Anger. Concern. That particular kind of protective rage that Alphas get when something threatens what's theirs.
They're treating me like I'm theirs.
Even though I'm not.
Even though I'm the enemy.
Even though they don't know yet that I'm the heir they were sent to kill.
The leader huffs and walks toward me, his boots heavy against the auditorium floor.
The auditorium.
They brought me to the indoor recital hall.
It's different now.
The overhead lights. The trap doors built into the floor for dramatic entrances and exits.
My domain.
The thought surfaces unbidden.
They brought me to my domain.
