Page 12 of Sold to Three Alpha Kings

Does he know? Can he already tell that I’m not an Omega?

My heart skips a beat, overwhelmed by fear.

Is this where I die?

My breath hitches in my throat, and a cold shiver sprints down my spine.

Chapter 4 - Wayne

I’ve been sitting on this throne for two hours, and I’ve decided I hate every second of it equally.

Not one of these Omegas has done a thing for me. Some are pretty, some aren’t. Some are lanky, some are plump. But none of them have anything that makes them unique. And I’m actually bored out of my mind as time goes by.

I have watched twenty-some women parade across this floor without a single one of them making the hair on my arms stand up.

Chris hasn’t picked one either, not that I expected him to. The man could have the moon dragged down and set at his feet, and he’d find a reason it wasn’t good enough.

“How many more of these,” I mutter, mostly to myself, stretching, “are we doing today?”

“As many as it takes.” Chris doesn’t look at me. Like I asked for his opinion. I definitely hadn’t been asking him. I was asking Sinth, but he doesn’t say anything.

I’m two seconds from saying something I’ll probably enjoy and immediately regret when the next cluster of women gets herded in.

Rougher group, this one. These aren’t regular women who came here willingly, hoping to get picked. These ones are different. They seem weak, and their clothes aren’t ideal for occasions like this. In fact, they are basically rags.

They’re led by three men I recognize as traders. No wonder they look odd. They’re merchandise.

One of the women stands out to me instantly. It’s the redhead Sinth had been looking at earlier. She’s dressed a little better than the rest, so I hadn’t realized she was with this group when I first noticed her. She looks like a peasant, not a slave.

I wonder how she ended up with slavers…

The traders step forward, boots skidding a little on the polished floor with a hint of desperation coloring their eyes.

As the lead trader starts speaking, I catch something in the air—not a scent exactly. More like the ghost of one, faint and strange, threading through the myriad of Omega scents in the hall like a single wrong note in a song. I straighten without meaning to.

“Fine stock this round, my lords,” the lead trader’s saying, hauling the red-haired woman forward by the shoulder hard enough that she stumbles. Her pale, round face is flushed dark red like she’s been standing too close to a fire.

“This one caught the tail end of her heat on the road. Sweetest scent of the lot, if you don’t mind my saying,” he chuckles quietly.

I smell it properly this time, and something in my chest goes tight and irritated all at once. My fingers curl into fists, and my brows knit together.

That’s not heat.

I’ve smelled heat plenty of times in my life. I know what a real Omega in heat does to a room. It’s not subtle, it’s not faint, it doesn’t hide underneath a layer of something sour and artificial the way this does.

Whatever this girl is putting off, it’s empty. Nothing is pulling at me the way it should.

I open my mouth to say exactly that.

Chris beats me to it.

He’s already risen off his throne, ice-pale eyes locked on the trader as though he’s decided the man’s fate before the sentence is even finished.

“You can inspect her yourself, my lord,” the idiot goes ahead to say. “She’s the real deal.” He has a stupid grin on his face.

This man’s either overly confident for a fraud, or he’s just a big fool.

Chris slowly descends the long steps leading down from the thrones. His expression doesn’t change, nor does his pace quicken as he approaches them. He towers over the redhead and watches her for a moment.