AllFreeNovel
Share Us
It seemed he’d avoided detection.
If Bertram or any other agent of the council was in attendance at the ball tonight, they would have stepped in long before now. Sorin would be able to complete his mission. He should have been elated, but as the elevator doors slid shut and the cabin began its descent, he was anything but.
“I’m sorry, sir,” he said, not having to try hard at all to lend uncertainty to his voice. “I need a second still. It’s so very embarrassing, and I’m not quite sure how to say it.”
The elevator arrived at its destination, and the doors slid open. Finch, as industrious as Sorin had assumed he would be based on the surveillance he’d done, grabbed the empty wine cart and backed it out into the cellar. He seemed ready to storm on ahead, but Sorin couldn’t let that happen—for this to work, he needed Finch in a place where he would be easily found.
“Sir,” he said quite suddenly, stopping Finch in his tracks. “I’ve figured it out. Wait a second, please.”
For as industrious as he was, Finch did have the heart to wait, allowing Sorin to exit the elevator and come right up to his side. By now, a sweat had broken out across Sorin’s brow, and his heart beat painfully in his chest.
He had to do this—he needed to do this—but he couldn’t stop his hands from trembling.
Finch offered him a reassuring smile. “Excellent. There’s no need to be embarrassed, you know. It’s quite all right. Now, what was your question?”
Sorin lowered his head. He couldn’t bring himself to look at Finch—to see the man he was throwing to the wolves for the safety of the herd. He muttered something, a nonsense series of words, and like he’d thought he would, Finch leaned in closer. “I didn’t catch that. I’m sorry. A little louder, now. No one will be able to hear you. Once I know, I’m sure we can sort things out.”
“I hope so,” Sorin muttered, and—heart breaking—took the syringe he’d hidden in his apron pocket and plunged it into Finch’s neck.
“What on earth?” Finch muttered, slapping his hand over the spot where the needle had just been. It was all he was able to do before the drug took effect and he crumpled to the ground.
He landed on his side and peered up at Sorin, wide-eyed with fear. Sorin wanted to apologize, to tell him he was sorry for having to do this, but he could not afford to appear weak. Not now. The only way there would be change was if the dragons feared him enough to hear what he had to say, and that meant being someone he wasn’t—slipping into a role that was entirely divorced from himself.
So he looked down upon Finch like he couldn’t care less.
Like Finch was scum stuck to the bottom of his shoe and not the steadfast, dedicated omega he knew him to be.
“What you’re feeling now,” he said, adopting an American accent, “is a very potent muscle relaxer and paralyzing agent. It’ll last long enough for me to get away, but not nearly long enough to save you.”
Finch’s lips parted and he made a small sound, but the muscle relaxer made him unable to speak. It was a sad sight, and pity flooded through Sorin, but on the outside he doubled down, grinning, leaning into the role of an unhinged villain. Someone dangerous and to be feared.
He needed Finch to remember him.
And he needed him to be afraid.
“Yes, speaking is off the table for a bit as well,” he said, and, leaning into the role of the unhinged villain, allowed his accent to begin to slip as though he had no control over it. It was jarring—unnatural—and even in his heightened state of fear, he knew a detail like that would ensure Finch remembered him. “This way I can explain my devious plan without interruptions and still have time to escape. Because you need to know exactly what I’m doing and why. It’s important.”
It wasn’t a lie, Sorin told himself as he squatted down and pried Finch’s lips open, pushing a small quick-dissolve tablet against the inside of Finch’s cheek. Finch did need to hear him. It was important. So important he needed to see this through, even though the thought of it was making him sick.
“That, Finch Drake, is a heat stimulant,” he said, watching as Finch tried fruitlessly to spit the tablet out. “By the time the muscle paralysis wears off, it will start kicking in.”
Finch’s pupils turned to frightened pinpricks. According to Sorin’s research, his true name was a secret, and he had gone to great lengths to keep it that way—especially from Hugh.
“Oh, don’t worry,” Sorin said, trying his best to sound cloying despite the remorse tearing him apart from the inside. “I won’t tell anyone your little secret. But I know who you are, Finch. I know what you are. And while it isn’t fair, I’m going to use you as a sacrifice to save the rest of the poor Disgraces that have been conned into coming to this travesty of a meat market to fight for the ‘privilege’ of being mated to a dragon. It had to be you, of course. You’ve been consorting with the enemy for years and this party is your doing. You planned it down to the last detail, pleased to know that you would be dooming one of your own to an eternity spent as an incubator.”
It wasn’t the whole truth, but it was as concise and effective as it could be based off what Finch believed was true. He had been raised to believe the dragons’ lies, after all—had been conditioned to accept his place in society—and should Sorin say too much, too soon, it would overwhelm him. For the sake of the cause, half-truths were more effective.
What mattered most was that they brought forth change, and with that seed planted in Finch’s mind, Sorin was confident they would.
To truly drive home the notion that he was an unstable, hateful thing, he cackled madly, then cut himself off with a growl and pretended to spit on Finch. “Filthy traitor,” he seethed. “I should kill you, but I think giving you a taste of your own medicine is a far better plan. In about,” he checked his watch, “seven minutes, I’m going to drag you into the elevator and send you on up. About that time, you’ll start coming to and the heat stimulant will have taken effect. You’ll do absolutely anything at that point to get an alpha knot inside you, and the only alpha here is your ridiculous employer. He’ll knot you, of course. You’ll beg for it, and he’ll do it over and over until you’re stuffed full of his eggs. That will end this disgusting ball and save dozens of Disgraces from spending their lives as living wombs in service to a dragon. You’ll be the one stuck as the eternal incubator. The one whose eggs are taken away from him and who gets shipped away until it’s time to breed again. Isn’t that all neat and tidy? I think so. And when that brother of Hugh’s comes nosing around and asking you what happened, which he will, you can tell him it was all Raven’s fault. He’ll know what you mean.”
“No,” Finch managed to say. It was quite an impressive feat, considering he was still under the effects of the paralyzing agent. He tried, and failed, to spit out what was left of the pill, but couldn’t get his mouth to cooperate.
But even had he been successful, his efforts would have been in vain—a sweet smell filled the air. The first sign of his heat.
“Oh, good.” Sorin took Finch by the arms and dragged him toward the elevator. “It’s showtime. I wish I could be here to see the action, but I have other fish to fry. I’m sure you understand.”
Sorin went to call the elevator, but to his surprise, the elevator door slid open before he could push the button. Two men stood inside. One of them was Hugh, who was dressed in a bespoke suit perfectly fit for a ball.
