I stare at my reflection, at the stranger in the wedding dress with the perfect makeup. I look like a bride. A depressed one.
“I’m scared,” I admit, my voice small.
My mother’s arms come around me from behind, her reflection joining mine in the mirror. “I know you’re scared, honey. But I promise I’ll get you out of here.”
Twenty
ANYA
My stomach churns with a strange, twisting pain as my mother leads me down the long hallway. The white wedding dress she forced me into feels like a straitjacket, the fabric heavy and restrictive against my skin. Each step in these ridiculously high heels makes my ankles wobble precariously.
My mother squeezes my hand, her palm slick with sweat.
“They’re expecting you,” she says, her voice barely audible over the pounding of my heart. “Remember what I told you. Be polite, but don’t make eye contact unless spoken to directly.”
I nod mechanically, too afraid to speak. The pain in my belly intensifies, a hot, cramping sensation that makes me want to double over.
We stop in front of a set of double doors, polished wood gleaming in the dim light of the hallway. My mother straightens my dress with quick, efficient movements and brushes a strand of hair from my face.
“You look beautiful,” she says softly. “Just like I always imagined you would on your wedding day.”
My throat tightens. “This isn’t a wedding.”
She doesn’t respond, just reaches for the door handle. My hand shoots out, grabbing her wrist before she can turn it.
“Am I really supposed to just walk in there?”
Her eyes meet mine, filled with a pain so raw it makes my chest ache. “They need to see you first so they can relax,” she says simply, then pushes the door open.
I stand frozen in the doorway, my feet refusing to move as I take in the scene before me. The room is large and opulent, though it’s too dark to see much beyond the reflection of the chandelier on the glass. Three men stand by the window, talking in low voices. They turn as one when we enter, their conversation dying mid-sentence.
They’re all tall, broad-shouldered, with that same predatory stance I’ve come to associate with alphas. The one in the middle is older, maybe in his forties, with silver at his temples and cold, assessing eyes. The two flanking him are younger, one with a jagged scar running from his ear to the corner of his mouth, the other with a full beard and a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.
All three wear expensive suits, gold watches glinting at their wrists. Their scents hit me in a strong wave. Scents of musk, pine, and something sharper, more aggressive that makes my skin prickle with unease. My stomach twists again, harder this time, a cramp so sharp it makes me gasp.
The older man steps forward, his eyes raking over me from head to toe. “She’s perfect,” he says, his voice deep and satisfied. “Better than Keith described.”
The two younger men nod in agreement, their eyes never leaving me. I feel like a prize heifer at auction, being examined for flaws before purchase.
“She’s just beginning to scent,” the bearded one says, his nostrils flaring. “Can you smell it? Like ripe fruit, juststarting to ferment.”
The older man inhales deeply, his eyes half-closing in pleasure. “Divine,” he murmurs. “Absolutely divine.”
My mother’s hand tightens on mine, a silent warning. I’m grateful for the anchor, for something to focus on besides the terror clawing at my throat.
“Gentlemen,” my mother says, her voice steady despite the fear I can smell rolling off her. “This is Anya.”
The three men move closer, circling us like wolves around wounded prey. The pain in my stomach sharpens, radiating outward until it’s everywhere—my back, my thighs, between my legs. I bite my lip to keep from crying out, afraid that any sound will only encourage them.
The older man, clearly the leader, reaches out, his fingers brushing my cheek in a gesture that’s almost tender.
“Such a pretty omega,” he says, his voice dropping to a purr. “And untouched, I presume?”
My mother nods. “Yes. She’s... intact.”
In my mind, I remember Ryker breaking my virginity in one go, and my stomach clenches tight at the memory, making my pain worse.
The bearded man chuckles, the sound sending ice down my spine. “Excellent to hear. We will be her very first.”
