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And, just like an omega should according to our biological laws, she nods, stands, and sees herself out of the room without further protest.

Chapter 9 - Mylah

When my dad first started bringing me back books from the library and his trips to town, he made sure to flip through each one, ensuring they were suitable for an omega to consume.

Then, as we both got older and he cared less and less, it got to the point that I could place whatever I pleased on the holds shelf with his card, and he would pick them up for me, wordlessly plopping them on my desk when he got back.

And it just so happens that I went through a field manual phase. One of those manuals was the Alpha Boy’s Guide to Survival. It had clearly been written in a region other than Kault, since the fishing guides were not just about ice fishing and there was an entire section about how to weave grasses into different useful tools.

But one part of that book that piqued my interest, and that I studied for weeks, practicing again and again, was the section on picking a lock. The book simply stated “pick set” as the required tools, as though any person needing to pick a lock would actually have such a thing handy, but I quickly discovered a bobby pin could, in fact, do the trick. It was just a little harder.

I practiced on the lock to my dad’s old trunk. I practiced in the garage, and on old, rusted padlocks I found in bins. An omega with no future and nothing but time on her hands can get pretty good at something when she puts her mind to it.

All that is to say that the moment I hear the guard outside my door leave his post for the bathroom, I take a bobby pin—one I found in the bottom drawer of the bathroom vanity—and get to work on the lock.

My hands shake, and it’s much harder with this nice lock than it ever was at the farmhouse, but it must be like riding a bike because the movements come back to me. I listen for the click of the pins, flick my wrist, and watch in amazement as the door pops open, swinging toward me quietly. Not even a squeak on the hinges.

Well, maybe being away from the farmhouse has its perks. The door hinges don’t squeak, and the floor doesn’t creak as I step out into the hallway.

I hold my breath. I look left and right.

There’s nobody out here but me. Closing the door behind me, I leave it unlocked with the hope that if I need to, I can jump back inside without anyone noticing.

Of course, since I arrived here, I’ve done nothing but study the inside of my room, so I don’t exactly know where I’m going. But I do know that I need to go somewhere before that guard comes back.

I turn and pick a direction at random, heading down the long hallway to the left. It’s not so much a hallway as a banister, the rooms in this wing of the house arranged almost like a motel around a massive center room down at the bottom.

If this were any other moment, I would pause to admire all the craftsmanship of this building. The vaulted ceilings, the murals that stretch over them, swirling and muted and wonderful. I’d stop and study the massive twinkling chandelier in the center of the room.

But I don’t have time. So, instead, I put my head down and hurry along, praying I don’t make eye contact with anyone else.

I’m still in my nightgown, with the ridiculous cloth wrapped around my feet. However, I did bathe a few hours ago, scrubbing my skin as harshly as I used to after my heats. Still, even with clean hair and skin, if I’m spotted in this outfit, it won’t take long for them to realize I’m not where I’m supposed to be.

And it’s not just getting spotted that’s a problem—I grew up outside any pack. I don’t smell like North, South, East, or West Kault. I don’t know exactly what I smell like to the shifters in those packs, but I do know that they’ll be able to spot the difference in my scent pretty much instantly.

I wish there was some way for me to mask the scent. Even after intense bathing, it’s not like the scent is ever truly gone.

Down various hallways and in the large center room, there are a variety of sounds drifting in my direction. One direction must be the kitchen, because it smells divine, and my stomach growls in response to the scent of cooking meat, potatoes, and vegetables. Rich, hearty. Something that would kick off the gnawing hunger inside me that’s been present since the moment I was taken from my home.

But the kitchen is surely full of staff, so I won’t be going there. No, I just need to keep making my way through the back hallways until I find a way out of the building. There must be a fire exit somewhere.

As I round the corner, I catch sight of a man in black pants and a black jacket—what the guards around here wear. I suck in a breath and pull back sharply, hiding behind the wall, my eyes flying up as I send another prayer to the goddesses.

I know you didn’t get to have me as a sacrifice, and I’m sorry about that, I plead internally, but please don’t let this guard find me.

At the sound of his approaching footsteps, I take a risk and hurry across the little foyer to a different hallway. Turning in, I pick up the pace, breathing hard, and—

And smash right into someone coming this way.

“Ow, fuck!” she stumbles back and reaches up to cover her nose, her eyes going wide as they fly up to me, taking me in. She blinks a few times, lowers her hand, and twitches her nose, as though trying to make sure it’s not broken. “Who are…you must be the Omega.”

“You’re an Omega,” I counter, stupidly, because I need to say something. I try to step around her, but she blocks my path, her gaze narrowing on me.

“Who are you? Where did you come from?” She takes another delicate sniff, clearly not able to place my scent. “And what does my brother want with you?”

The sound of that makes my heart start to skip. Her brother? She can only be talking about Augustus, right? Unless there’s someone else she could be talking about?

No—the more I look at her, the more clearly I can see it. This is Augustus’s sister. The same dark hair, inky eyes that seem like they cut right through you.