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My fingers curl against the door. He sounds disappointed. He sounds upset. I’m flooded with the awful realization that I’m disappointing him. Zabriel’s always wanted a mate to love and cherish, but he’s stuck with me, and I’m not giving him anything he wants. Thisfirst slickmust be something special he was looking forward to.
“Choose another mate,” I beg him through the wood. “I don’t know how to give you want you need. I’m broken. I’m ruined.”
There’s a beat of outraged silence, and I picture Zabriel with his forehead and both fists pressed against the door while he utters strings of silent expletives. “That’s not how this works. I am yours and you are mine. Only mine. Forever.” He takes a deep breath and continues in a softer tone, “There’s nothing broken about you. You’re perfect, Isavelle. I’m too intense for you, I know. I will give you the space and time you need. Just don’t shut me out for good,sha’len. Please.”
A bleak note rings in the air between us. I squeeze my eyes shut, wondering how I’ll ever feel differently about this than I do right now. My skin is crawling with shame, and I’m appalled at how much I crave to be punished and beaten. I am broken. The High Priest made me hate myself.
“Go to bed and sleep. I’ll be out here if you need me,” Zabriel says softly.
Does he really mean to stay out there all night in the cold? I hesitate, and then pick up his gold cloak and open the door. “Here. I don’t like the thought of you in the cold all alone.”
Zabriel stares at me, sadness and longing filling his eyes. His hands curl into fists, and I wonder if he’s resisting reaching out and grabbing me.
He shakes his head. “It’s yours, and I’m not alone or cold while I have your scent with me.”
Taking the door from me, he firmly pushes me back inside and closes it. I stare at the cloak in my hands, then lay it over the end of my bed.
Not knowing what else to do, I blow the candle out and go to bed.
Shame and confusion swirl through me, keeping me awake. If Zabriel thinks my slick is something beautiful, could he be right? Did I panic and ruin a beautiful moment? The thought makes me feel even more anguished. I can’t get anything right.
Just as I’m falling asleep, the most delicious smell fills my nose. I jolt awake, my eyes going wide in the dark. My flesh floods with heat, but as I inhale deeply, there’s nothing there. I can’t smell anything.
It happens again. And then again. The third time I’m jolted awake. I’m hot and sweating, and my thighs are wetter than when I was sitting in Zabriel’s lap. Why must my body give me no peace tonight?
Eventually, I drift into restless slumber and awaken in the morning feeling groggy to a knocking on my door. Wrapping a blanket around myself, I go over and unlock it.
Fiala and Dusan are standing on the threshold. The two wingrunners come into the room, their expressions sympathetic. There’s no sign of Zabriel outside.
I turn back and go sit on the edge of my bed, rubbing my eyes.
“The Flame King mentioned you might be feeling out of sorts this morning,” Dusan tells me, pouring me a cup of water and handing it to me.
“He says your designation is emerging,” Fiala says with a concerned wrinkle of her brow. “It’s a rough time.”
I sip the water, remembering that Zabriel said the same word. Designation.
“Betas don’t have a tumultuous time with their designations like Alphas and Omegas do, but it’s strange for us as well,” Fiala says, sounding gentler than she did the other day.
“Sometimes it can feel like we’re being pulled in two different directions,” Dusan says. “Lead or obey. Stand out from the crowd or blend in. Keep your head down or talk back.”
Fiala nods. “There are a dozen ways to be a Beta, the same as it is with an Omega, and we each have to find our own niche within our designation.”
Dusan muses on this. “Well. Not so many ways to be an Omega. I hear it’s pretty much following your Alpha’s rules and slicking yourself stupid when you’re told you’re a good little—”
Fiala slams her elbow into Dusan’s stomach. He puffs his cheeks out and doubles over with a groan.
“Shut your mouth. Lady Isavelle isn’t stupid, and who says she has to be that kind of Omega? Who says any of them do? Maybe it’s time we left that nonsense in the past.”
“All right, all right. Don’t blow your wings off,” Dusan grumbles, straightening up.
I shudder inwardly. Slicking myself stupid. That sounds familiar. “What’s a designation?”
“It’s your place in the Maledinni hierarchy,” Fiala explains.
“Fiala and I are Betas, but we’re pretty much at the top tier of Betas, as wingrunners,” Dusan says, waggling his thumb back and forth between him and Fiala. “There are a lot of smart-talking, competitive Betas in our crew. Like me. But it’s fun to play the more submissive type sometimes.”
“Lady Isavelle doesn’t need to hear about your bedroom escapades,” his friend hisses.
