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Muffled male voices accompany the sharp clack of expensive shoes on the front walkway. I realize my fingers are still wrapped around the handle just as the door swings open.

With a startled yelp, I scramble out of the way, nearly falling over my own feet in the process. It’s like my mind refuses to accept that I’ve failed, but that changes as soon as Father steps into the foyer.

He’s dressed in his usual custom navy suit, and his ever-present Rolex catches the light of the crystal chandelier on the ceiling. He’s laughing, glancing at someone over his shoulder, but the sound dies as soon as he turns and notices me.

Cool brown eyes assess me, his sharp gaze flicking from my face to my shoes—ones I never wear, because I’m not allowed to leave—before landing on my backpack hanging dejectedly off one shoulder.

His jaw tightens as understanding dawns.

The hand sporting his expensive watch clenches into a fist, and I know, with undeniable certainty, that he knows I was escaping.

“Idril.”

I flinch at the sound of my name echoing through the empty foyer.

There’s no warmth in his tone. He sounds nothing like a normal, loving father. His large Alpha frame towers over my pathetic five feet, taking up all the air in the room.

No. No, this can not be happening.

I still can’t move. I want to run, but my limbs are frozen, as though my instincts are convinced that as long as I’m still, I won’t draw further attention.

I open my mouth to say something—what?—When someone enters behind my father. His scent hits me, and my vision flickers.

My fear escalates into terror, his scent wrapping around my Omega instincts like a warning.

Whoever he is, he smells like old, dead things. Like mold and rot and flowers on a grave, left to decay for centuries. My stomach rolls with nausea.

I want a nest. I want to burrow into something soft and never come up for air. It’s a stupid desire. Even if I could make my body move, there’s no nest waiting for me. The reminder slams into me, punching the air out of my lungs, sending me spiraling further.

My father never built me a nest. In fact, he took the Omega suite out of the estate completely less than a week after I designated—a message to his disappointment of a daughter that was impossible to misinterpret.

I’ve made do with what few blankets and soft things I’ve scrounged up, but something tells me even that will disappear after today.

There’s no safety left anywhere. My Omega whines, but I bite the inside of my cheek, refusing to let it out.

The man who smells like decay shoulders past my father—something Jonathan Varenthrall would normally never allow—and stalks toward me.

He’s tall. Too tall. With angular features that look unnatural and pale, but grey skin that stretches over his bones like it’s too small for his frame.

When his milky green eyes meet mine, it feels like insects crawling under my skin. He gets too close, and I take a large step back on instinct. The smile that stretches across his face exposes yellow teeth with long, pointed canines.

There’s something wrong with this male.

I’ve seen vampires before—beautiful, elegant creatures that resemble gods made flesh with their graceful movements and perfect skin.

Once, I even saw a wolven—all primal energy and feral power that his body struggled to contain.

This man is neither. He’s… something else.

Something wrong.

Not dead, but not alive. More like his soul was sucked from his body, and no one bothered to tell him.

His canines aren’t the delicate pointed teeth of a vampire.

They’re misshapen and deformed, meant for ripping and tearing into flesh.

“Well,” his deep voice sounds like static to my senses. “What do we have here?”