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Neither of us discussed what happened. Whatever my father’s doing that Dr. Albertson disagrees with, the bottom line is, he works for my father. Asking him questions is dangerous.

In the car on the way home, my father leaned over the seat and placed his large hand over mine. It was cold and dry and felt unnatural.

“You know I bring you here because you’re special, don’t you, Idril? You’re a very special Omega. You always have been. It’s why we can’t take you to regular doctors, where they will poke and prod and publish things about you.”

It was the first time in recent memory he voluntarily offered comfort. It took everything in me not to cringe and pull my hand away.

“It’s for your protection, darling.” He meant to sound reassuring, but it sounded more like a threat. He had a gleam in his eyes. The one he got whenever he acquired something that gave him power.

That’s when it clicked. He wasn’t protecting me. He was possessing me.

What lingers from that trip isn’t the realization that I’m missing out on a normal life, nor the blood draw that set off all my internal alarms. It’s my father’s words, wrapped in condescension and dripping with self-importance.

“You’re a very special Omega. You always have been.”

I don’t feel special. I feel like a burden. Especially when every chance he gets, Father makes it clear I’ve failed him not once, but twice.

First, by being born a girl. Then again, by not designating as the Alpha he was desperate for.

It doesn’t matter that I had a higher chance of emerging as a unicorn than a female Alpha. It doesn’t matter that I have no control over any of it.

Every day, his declaration makes less and less sense. If I’m special, then why hide me away? Why force me to spend my days alone, begging for necessities like nesting materials and food? If I’m so special, then why do I always catch him looking at me with thinly veiled rage?

Then… there were those days in the basement…

I shake the memory away before it can stick, and reach for the one blanket I have left.

Pulling it over my body, I close my eyes, determined to get some sleep. I haven’t heard anyone leave yet, which means Alexander is still somewhere downstairs.

Again.

The thought sends chills skating down my back.

I hate that he’s in this house. The home my mother once filled with stories and soft smiles. Knowing he’s polluting what was once her space makes something inside of me spark and catch fire, feeding my anger.

I want him to leave. That man, or vampire, or whatever he is, has no right to be here. My father has no right to bring him here. He’s an Alpha, and he knows how important an Omega’s space is. It doesn’t matter that my mother is gone; this home is still hers.

It’s still mine.

My fingers flex, tightening around the fabric of my blanket. Fear morphs into rage. If I were brave, I’d march down there and tell him to leave. The fact that my father can even stand to be in the same room as someone so clearly⁠—

I freeze, my attention diverted by the voices drifting through the air, funneled through the old air vent on the wall near the ceiling.

Years ago, when I still had hope that my father might love me, I used to press my ear against that vent and listen to his meetings and phone calls, pretending that one day he’d deem me important enough to be included in his talks.

Stupid dreams of a stupid little girl.

I rarely bother with it now that I’m older. He normally meets with clients in the city, or if they come here, they meet in his study. That vent leads directly to Father’s smoking room, and he rarely brings business associates there.

He’s using it tonight, though.

With Alexander.

Cautiously, I force my aching body to uncurl. Using the wall as leverage, I pull myself up slowly, methodically, until I’m close to the vent. I need to hear what they’re talking about. I need to understand what’s going on.

Closing my eyes, I strain to listen.

“—Why you’re concerned with the timeline,” My father’s voice is slightly muffled, but easy enough to understand. “You’ve waited this long.”