Page 24 of The Rust in Her Hair

My mother's command sits over me like a hand pressed flat between my shoulder blades, pushing, forcing me to be someone I’m not.

My legs shake as I lower myself onto the far end of the couch, putting as much distance between myself and Crispin as possible.

It still isn't enough.

"We have something to discuss," Father says as Lavinia moves to him, perching herself on the arm of his chair, one hand resting lightly on his shoulder. "Crispin and I have come to an agreement." He reaches over, setting his whiskey on the small side table next to him, and his mouth curves into the kind of smile he reserves for closed deals. "We have wonderful news, Lyra. You're getting married by the end of next week."

The room goes quiet and my whole body goes cold.

Not gradually.

But all at once.

Like ice water poured over me, from the crown of my head to the soles of my mismatched socks.

My eyes snap to Crispin.

He's not looking at my face. His gaze has dropped to my chest, then lower, tracking down to where my tennis skirt has ridden up on the couch cushion, exposing the length of my bare legs.

Every muscle in my body screams at me to stand up and run as fast as I can. To put every piece of furniture in this room between myself and him and then keep going, straight through the door and down the hall and out of this house and never, ever stop.

But my body doesn't move.

I’m locked behind my mother’s command.

I want to scream.

To flip the side table and send my father's whiskey across his stupid-expensive Persian rug. I want to tell Crispin Maleth exactly what I think about his pompous attitude and ugly face. I want to tell both of my parents that they're awful fucking people who should have asked me first.

Every single angry thing I have ever wanted to say to him lines up and crowds against my teeth. Then it sits there. Unable to actually be said.

"Why?" The word comes out soft and polite, and it costs me everything I have.

Crispin's mouth curves, warm and indulgent, like I've said something adorable.

"I know, gorgeous." He reaches over and pats my knee, his hand so heavy on my skin. "A week feels like a long time to wait. But you'll need time to find a dress, get your things in order, and plan the ceremony." He tilts his head, his gray eyes go soft along the edges. "Omegas love a proper mating ceremony, and I didn't want to deprive you of that." He smiles like he's doing me a favor.

Like the question on my face is impatience and not raw, screaming terror.

Like I am a girl who has been waiting her whole life for exactly this, and he is the generous alpha who is giving it to her.

"I don’t—" The words stop short in my throat, and Mother’s eyes quickly narrow at my face. My mouth snaps shut, and my hands go ice cold.

"Trust me, my pet." Crispin leans in, his voice dropping into something he clearly thinks is intimate. "I don't want to wait either. But eight days isn't so long." His hand squeezes my knee once. "We’ll be bonded before you know it."

Bonded….

I don't look at him.

I can't.

I pull in a slow breath through my nose then fix my eyes on my mother. The fury that moves through me is so hot and total it almost feels like calm. She did this. She issued a command and locked me inside my own body like a prisoner, and now she's sitting on the arm of my father's chair looking back at me without a single flicker of remorse.

Her pale green eyes meet mine and hold them, cool and steady and almost daring.

Try it, her expression says. See what happens.

My jaw flexes as my fists curl tight, but that’s all I can muster. My rage has nowhere to go.