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The plan was far from perfect, and he hated that it would mean someone had to suffer… but if he played his cards right, the council would hear him, and they would know he would be back to terrorize them again if they did not stop forcing omegas to breed.
* * *
No one noticed the raven-haired omega slip in amongst the catering staff on the evening of Hugh Drake’s ball. Sorin blended in effortlessly. Still, he was cautious. He shadowed the other caterers, keeping to their designated paths and helping with what work there was to do so as not to arouse suspicion.
The goal was to appear innocuous.
He didn’t want to be found skulking around in rooms he shouldn’t have been in.
It was vital no one suspected he shouldn’t have been there until the absolute last second, and labor was a small price to pay for invisibility.
Better yet, it was a price he didn’t have to pay for long—early into the evening, his perseverance paid off. His target—Hugh’s secretary, an omega by the name of Finch—rounded a corner as Sorin was on his way out of the kitchen, having just wheeled in a cart loaded with assorted canapés. He was alone, and while he was as fancily dressed as any of the attendees, he walked with the urgency of a man at work, not play.
It would be easy to get him alone and set tonight’s plan in motion.
But as Sorin changed course and followed Finch down the hall, he found himself having second thoughts. He had walked into this mission knowing that someone had to be sacrificed, but seeing Finch in person was a jarring experience.
He didn’t deserve what was coming to him.
He was the one who had organized the ball—yes—but he didn’t know what he was doing. He had no idea he was dooming someone to a life of suffering. It wasn’t fair to curse him with the pain he was unknowingly trying to inflict onto others, but a message needed to be sent. The council needed to be afraid.
And there was no better way to do that than to victimize someone so important to the Drakes. Hugh might not have realized his true feelings, but Sorin had certainly figured them out. The way Hugh looked at Finch said it all.
He was in love.
And when Finch succumbed to the villainy of a crazed omega, Hugh would puff up his chest and make a show of putting an end to this mysterious assailant. He would be loud, and he would parrot Sorin’s message to the council.
As long as he said the right thing, they would know he was targeting dragons—and more importantly, they would know why.
Still, a quiet kind of dread built up in him as he fell in line beside Finch, and the racket in his head became louder.
He didn’t want to hurt an omega.
It wasn’t in line with his values. It went against what he stood for.
Yet here he was, planning to do it all the same.
He thought about running, but running wouldn’t solve anything. Dragon society would go on unchanged, and lives would be ruined. Doing what was right wasn’t always the same as doing what was easy, and this was a harsh reminder of it.
But what he did, he did for good.
So, heart pounding in his ears and sick to his stomach, Sorin slipped into the persona he’d decided would do best to lull Finch into a false sense of security—a meek omega with an Irish accent with an embarrassing secret to tell. “Please, sir. A moment?”
Finch turned and met his eyes. “Yes? How can I help you?”
“I have a bit of a problem, and I think you’re the only one who can solve it.”
“Can you walk and talk?” Finch’s lips pinched just slightly in displeasure, a glimmer of worry catching in his eyes. “I’m on my way to the wine cellar. If not, I suppose—”
“Oh, no. This is just perfect. I can help you carry bottles. More hands make less work.”
Sorin smiled for him, and Finch smiled back, then made a gesture with his hand and resumed his course toward the service elevator that connected the kitchen to the wine cellar. “Thank you, um…”
“Bran,” Sorin supplied, following along beside him.
“Right. Thank you for your assistance, Bran.” Finch hailed the elevator, and after a brief delay, the doors slid open. They stepped in, fitting around the empty wine cart that had been left inside. “Now, what was it you wanted to talk about?”
Bran hit the button that would take them to the wine cellar and peered through the open elevator doors, taking stock of who out there might see them. A few members of the catering crew rushed by, but they were busy ushering in additional carts and didn’t spare the elevator a second glance.
