The Starling family home is a fortress of stone and brick three stories high. The roof bristles with spires and a flag snapping in the wind. It’s definitely the kind of old money home her father would inhabit. But it never felt like Helena.
I park the car. Helena doesn’t wait for me to open her door.
“Leave your things,” she says. “He’ll want to see us right away.”
She’s halfway up the front steps before I kill the engine. Her hair is down, rain beading on the perfect gloss of it. There’s a light on in the upstairs library, but not in many other rooms.
Except one. Her father’s study. Light as bright as ever.
I catch up by the front doors and put a hand at her elbow out of habit. Helena doesn’t seem to notice. She opens the front door herself and walks in likeshe’shead of family, not her father. Marble echoes under her heels as she parades us toward the staircase and up toward her father’s study.
“Helena—” I keep my voice pitched for her alone, low and steady, but she’s already halfway to up the stairs. Seeing Helena on a mission is one of the sexiest things I’ve ever witnessed. Still, I’m acutely aware of all the ways in which this can go wrong.
She doesn’t knock. Her father’s study is behind two shut doors. She sweeps them open and strides in with a confidence I’ve never seen from her before. I follow, close the doors, and stand behind her left shoulder. Not quite at ease. Not until we’re both allowed to walk out of here without consequences.
Lord Starling looks up from his laptop without so much as a smile for his eldest daughter. His black hair is dusted with gray but kept trimmed and slick, and he wears a midnight-colored suit. “You’re late.”
“Traffic.” Helena’s voice is flat. Polite, but not much else. “You wanted me home. I’m here.”
He steeples his hands on the desk. The smile he finally cracks looks like a shark’s smile under the lamplight. “You look… different.”
“I suppose I am.” She sits in the sole chair across the desk from him and crosses one leg over the other.
I stay standing. The room smells of old books and cigars. There’s nothing soft about this space filled with black leather, polished brass, and a wall of legal texts. Her father’s also got an impressive saber in a glass case on the wall behind his desk.
Helena’s father lets his gaze skate over me, dismissive, before settling on her again. Helena’s wearing a long-sleeved dress that covers the bite marks, but I worry he’ll see right through the fabric.
“Your mother is abroad,” he says. “She sends her regards. I trust you survived your little seaside experiment.”
“It was helpful,” Helena says. “Thank you for arranging it.”
He’s impatient. “And the preparations? You’re aware the Selection committee expects a statement of intent by Monday. And there’s plenty of reputation repair work to be done afterRoyals Anonymousblogged about you.” He inhales sharply. “Which, as it turns out, wasn’t your brother-in-law, but someone who decided to start a new blog with the same name. Utter fucking farce.”
“About that.” Helena’s fingers pluck at the seam of her skirt. Her confidence is slipping. “I’m not attending Omega Selection Day.”
The silence is immediate, a thick vacuum that sucks the oxygen from the room. Every muscle in my body tenses as I wait for her father’s reaction.
Her father’s jaw tightens. “You’re not?”
“No.” She leans forward, eyes locked on his. “I’ve decided against it.”
He makes a noise, part laugh, part growl. “That isn’t your decision to make, Helena. You are an unclaimed omega of the Starling line. Your responsibility is to?—”
“I am not unclaimed.”
Her father glances at me immediately. As if I were possibly the only non-royal alpha who’d consider his daughter. And that gaze ishostile. “I see. So you let your bodyguard mark you.” His voice drips contempt.
Helena flushes but doesn’t look away. “Zane is not just my bodyguard, Father. He is my alpha. As are two others.” She lets that detonate for a few moments before pushing aside a dress sleeve to show off one of our bite marks high on her shoulder. “Cole Johnson and Lucas Harkin as well. We’re bonded. I’m not negotiating that.”
He rises from his chair. The motion is languid like an old predator stretching, but I know that man is always ready for a fight. “So the posts onRoyals Anonymousweretrue. And here I thought all tabloids were fake.” He scowls. “You’ve gone and disgraced yourself with a village lifeguard and a bakery commoner. I suppose you think this is rebellion? You think I’ll just let you?—”
“I think you don’t have a choice.” Helena’s hands come to rest steady in her lap again. “We’re scent-matched. Bonded. You can call the lawyers, threaten the pack, even cut off my trust fund. It won’t change anything except make me hate you.”
“Helena—”
Her eyes snap up to his. “Ranier made his own way; why can’t I? Because I’m an omega?”
Fires light in her father’s eyes. “This has nothing to do with your designation.”
