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“Will you call again before you leave for Zemterra?” I asked, speaking through gritted teeth.
“Of course. It’s not like we’ll go immediately. In a few days, I’ll let you all know how lunch at the parlour went, and what the plan is for our family calls in the future. Mom, can we speak privately?”
When Mom moved the phone toward her, I placed my hand on her arm to stop her, keeping all three of our faces on the screen. “I need to talk to Mom, Freya,” she said, tugging on a strand of her hair.
“You can. But I want to say a proper goodbye.”
“I’ll call again.”
My gut told me she wouldn’t.
“Just in case.”
Sighing, she smiled. This smile showed her teeth, the widest and most genuine one since the beginning of the call. “You’re so paranoid, Freya. It’s a wonder we came from the same parents.”
Our parents had that thought every day, I was sure. “I love you,” I said. “Keep the positivity. I’m paranoid, you’re positive, that’s the only way for us being sisters to work.”
“Nothing can take it from me, don’t worry. I want to say you should try to kick the paranoia, but you might be the smartest one out of all of us. I love you so much. We’ll talk again later in the week, and I’ll tell you again.”
“Bye, Maisie.”
The words felt final. “Goodbye, Freya.”
She kept her smile almost long enough to make me believe it. But it faltered half a second before Mom got the phone’s screen out of my range of vision, and I knew. No part of her believed what she was trying to believe. Nothing would be OK. And after the next call, we would never hear from her again, through no choice of her own.
As Mom walked off with the phone, far enough that the wind wouldn’t carry their words, Dad wrapped his arms around me from behind and leaned his chin on my shoulder. He didn’t try to reassure me. All we would do was argue. He sat with me watching the waves, flinching whenever a seagull swooped in to pick up an unsuspecting crab. When Mom came back over we solemnly packed up our blankets and picnic basket, heading home.
Later in the week, Maisie didn’t call.
Nor the week after, or after that.
That call on the beach was the last time I ever heard from my sister.
Chapter 1
Freya
“Youdon’tsmelllikean Omega, but you sure do taste like one.”
A limp tongue grazed my neck, stubble from an unkempt beard abrasive against the delicate skin. The man was wide but short, his shoulders dwarfing me and the weight of his body keeping me pressed to the cold brick wall outside the club. With one thigh thrust between my legs, his protruding beer belly rested against my stomach. His body rose and fell as he inhaled deeply, trying to capture the Omega notes of my scent beneath the scent dampener I’d doused myself in.
Fucking idiot. My scent would take twenty-four hours to shake off the effects of the dampener if I didn’t reapply. He wouldn’t be close enough to me for long enough to experience me at my full Omega glory. Hell, he wouldn’t even be alive that long.
Rough stone dug into my wrists where they were pinned, but with every passing second, his grip loosened. Distracted by my body and the tantalizing treat laid out in front of him. Easy prey for a predatory fae Alpha.
Or so he thought.
Little did he realize he didn’t terrify me. I wouldn’t tremble, nor give in to his ministrations in hopes he would leave after. He was counting on being intimidating, crudely done tattoos ringing both arms and disappearing under the sleeves of his black t-shirt, reappearing to continue up his neck. Cold steel pressed against me where his gun was holstered at his waist. Maybe he thought being fae was scary enough to a poor witch like me.
“You’re going to take my knot so good, aren’t you? Pretty little slut.”
He released one of my wrists to run his hand down my torso, over the low cut strappy top that pushed up my ample tits. The sausage fingers cupped my breast, squeezing. I’d learned over the past five years that rapists, as a whole, didn’t have a clue what to do with a tit. Squeezing with no finesse was not the way to elicit pleasure in anyone but themselves. Avoiding an outward sigh was difficult, but I needed to bide my time for a minute longer.
He’d released one wrist. The other was next. I didn’t need either hand to free myself from his grasp, but they helped. And I’d grown to have a sick enjoyment of betting on what the men would do next. Would he go for the possessive pussy grab? Rip off a piece of clothing? Rake his teeth across my neck in a taunting almost-bite? The last one stoked the fires of my rage the most and earned the worst punishment later. But all actions were punished.
Ah, the pussy grab. His hand cupped my sensitive mound with those rough, beefy fingers and my patience snapped. Latvian words fell from my lips, a quick recitation of a spell I’d practiced since I’d learned it at fourteen years old. He jolted back with his lips parting in surprise, but I was faster than him. Spell complete, he dropped like a rock to the ground. The backward momentum of his retreat had him falling away from me. Much preferable. Having a fully grown man slumped on top of me was never pleasant.
His head met the ground with a rough knock, leaving him unconscious as well as unable to move a single muscle in his body. Fewer spells needed for me to keep him quiet, so I wouldn’t complain. “Oswald, you’re summoned,” I said in English, stepping forward to glance around the dimly lit alleyway.
