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“No. She was…trying to help.”

“Trying to help?” Denvil asks, shaking his head, a tiny bout of laughter escaping him. It’s good to hear him laughing again, even if it comes at my expense. “Trying to help by getting her drugged up in a back-alley chop shop?”

“I guess Aurora has had it done, too. An operation to suppress her heat.”

My sister would kill me if she knew I was telling them about this. But she already wants to kill me for the fact that I’ve kept her locked up. Over the next ten minutes, I tell them everything Aurora told me. What it’s like to live as an omega, always in fear for her life. What it would be like if real doctors could offer safe operations like this. If we could develop drugs and tonics to help with heat suppression the way we do for fertility.

Omega liberation.

When I finish, my heart is beating hard, and I feel a little sick. As though I’ve just admitted to my friends that my sister is a traitor. The four of us have never really talked about omegas, more than when we went through puberty and could think of nothing else. And we’ve definitely never talked about their place in society, other than agreeing that they—and anyone else—shouldn’t be a sacrifice.

“I mean…” Zade says, letting out a breath after another long moment of silence. He runs a hand over his curls. “I wouldn’t worry about it, man.”

I blink at him. “What? What do you mean—wouldn’t worry about it?”

Denvil waves his hand. “Yeah. There’s always little stuff like that. Someone’s always unhappy, you know? It’s about the health of the pack, overall.”

“Let your sister out,” Brack says, his expression like, what harm can she really do?

I swallow, clench my jaw, and wonder if I should push the issue. If I owe it to Aurora—to Mylah, to all the omegas—to bring this to my friends more seriously.

But Denvil is already saying, “Besides. We need to decide how the hell we’re going to punish fucking Gavyn.”

And the moment is gone.

Chapter 31 - Mylah

I wake with just enough time to race to the bathroom, my hand clasped tight over my lips, stomach churning violently. My mouth waters, bile climbing up my throat, and when I tip my head down over the toilet, it burns, coming out my nose and choking me so the next round hurts even more.

My entire body hurts.

Since hearing about Augustus’s wedding—and starting my extensive research into when and where I plan to escape—I’ve felt worse and worse. Aches and pains spread through my body, my back so tight that at night, I toss and turn but just can’t find a comfortable position to fall asleep.

Every time I eat, I get acid reflux.

And, for the past two nights, I’ve woken up with terrible stomach aches.

This is the first time I’ve actually gotten sick.

Luckily for me, I’ve had the nice guards, who seem to want to do anything to keep me put, so they’ve fetched tonics and treatments for me from the medical staff here in the castle. They have even gotten into the habit of checking on me, like if I die under their care, Augustus will consider that to be a form of escape as well.

Occasionally, over the past week locked in this room, I have almost wished for it.

Not like it’s the first time in my life that I’ve wanted to die—I wanted it plenty of times growing up, especially as an omega going through puberty, thinking about all the danger and suffering that waited for me. I’d heard of families killing their omega daughters and sons. I’d heard of omega teenagers so overcome with hormones, with the future that waited for them, that they took their own lives before they could face assault and ridicule forever.

But I, obviously, never did.

Now, after nearly a week of feeling like total shit, it’s been on my mind more and more. None of the medicine from the doctors is working, no matter how religiously I follow their instructions. Each tonic just makes me sicker than the last, and the doctor on site—a beta woman—actually comes in to give me an IV bag, speculating that I might be dehydrated.

Maybe it helped. Or maybe I’ve been vomiting up whatever hydration I got from the treatment now.

I didn’t tell the doctor what I think.

What I think is that I am experiencing a distinct kind of lovesickness.

I’ve heard about fated mates suffering maladies when not near each other—headaches, fevers, digestion problems. The physical body throwing a fit about a spiritual connection. It’s not widely reported—nothing about fated mates really is, given how rare it is—but I have heard of it.

Before, I’d brushed the idea away, thinking that if I was going to suffer from it, I would have experienced it already, outside terrible heats and being alone.