Be defective
Be rebellious.
Nico was marked at birth as a Reject because of his hip problem.
When he approaches the bed with a hitch to his stride that threatens to spill the broth and scald him, I rush to take the tray from him.
He smiles his thanks, before rubbing his hip with a wince. “Thanks, Rogue.”
“No problem. You shouldn’t be carrying this yourself. Where’s the staff?” I demand.
“Ehm, they’re too scared to come close to this room, after…” Nico trails off. “They don’t want to become collateral damage.”
Fair.
I settle on the bed with the chicken broth.
Nico follows me more slowly across the room with an uneven gait.
If it wasn’t for the cruel system that marks him as Rej, then his poor family wouldn’t have sold him to the Adonis pack when he turned eighteen for our illegal Omega Auctions.
Nico has never held that against us.
Fiorella didn’t put Nico into the auctions, however, but personally selected him to become her Omega breeder.
She doesn’t believe in bullshit romance or pack bonds either. She has never taken a bonded Omega or Beta.
I hate that we have anything in common.
Nico is the only Dad Mars or I have, and I have never been allowed to call him that.
Mars and I were both only ten years old, when we discovered the truth of the auctions…and that Nico had come from them. That’s when we made the pact together to stop the auctions, no matter what.
I stir the broth, which is thick with pasta, carrots, celery, and parmesan. I take a deep breath of its fragrant, comforting aroma.
It reminds me of the other times that Mars was sick as a kid, and Nico would make this for him. No one was allowed near me when I was sick, however, in case I infected them.
I remember being a young kid, lying in bed with flu and dreaming of this aroma. I could only pretend that I was being cared for like my brother and sister would have been.
“How’s my little God of War doing?” Nico climbs onto the other side of the bed, resting the back of his hand on Mars’ forehead. Then he wrinkles his nose in worry. “You’re too hot.”
I struggle not to laugh at the way Mars squirms at being babied and called his childhood nickname.
“Dad…” He protests.
“Hush, you.” Nico picks up the spoon. “Have some of Nico’s special penicillin. You know that my mom would make this for me.”
Nico’s expression takes on a melancholy, far away expression like it always does when he talks about his family.
Who are also the people who sold him.
Yet Nico has also never blamed them. He’s more forgiving than I could be. We’re different. He doesn’t seek revenge.
