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“What year is it?” I croak out, hoping I’ve slipped into a coma and am now sixty-five years old and ready for retirement at sea.
“It’s—”
“Don’t start.” Evgenia clicks her tongue. “You didn’t miss the showcase.”
I tilt my head to find her when a throb hits so hard I gag. Pain that’d have me heaving if I had anything more than bile in my stomach.
“Stay still,” the nurse commands, steadying my shoulders.
When the agony passes, I don’t try turning again. Evgenia can hear me from wherever. “Looks like your understudy needs an understudy.”
“You’ll be fine. Nothing a little stage makeup can’t cover.”
I’d snort if I weren’t positive it would split my head like a rotten pumpkin. “It hurts to blink. There’s no way I’m dancing.”
“Well…” The nurse hesitates, and my stomach drops.
“Traitor,” I mutter.
“I’m so sorry, Lilah. But your scans don’t show any irreparable damage and Mr. Scorpio insisted, so…”
Scorpio?
I try to remember where I’ve heard that name, but my brain’s all pumpkin pulp and mush. “What about Rachel?”
Evgenia sniffs from her corner. “She’s in solitary with the others who attacked you. Evil girls, hitting you in your beautiful face.”
They could scrape off my face with a butter knife if it got me out of this dance. Just the idea of standing makes me groan.
“I’ll grab you some more pain meds.” The nurse scampers off, and Evgenia steps in, staring down at me with a critical eye.
“You cannot expect me to dance tomorrow.”
“You’re bruised, but I’ve seen you dance through worse.”
I think she means that as a compliment.
And yeah, once upon a time, I wouldn’t let anything stop me from dancing. Things change when you realize every second in the spotlight means another trip to the infirmary. “There’s no way.”
“You’ll find a way.”
“But—”
“I won’t let you throw away this opportunity. You have a chance to land a decent pack.”
Evgenia and I have a waaaay different definition of opportunity. She’s imagining a cushy life for me as some pack’s precious omega princess, but all I see is a future filled with bars and bruises. “I’d call this a trap.”
“Then consider yourself trapped.” She pats my arm in consolation. “And dance your omega ass off anyway.”
***
Three
ATLAS
The last time we clusterfucked a mission so hard, Finn took three bullets and we damn near lost him. I promised myself.
Never again.
