The tray's edges dig into my fingers. Heavy silver, pitchers full of tart red wine—it all feels unbearable under the gazes of fifty werewolves. The Great Hall reeks of roasted fat and unwashed bodies.
"Move it, Alina! Or are you waiting for a personal invitation from the Moon?"
Garret shoves me in the back. I barely keep my balance. The roar of voices at the tables hushes for a second, only to be replaced by mocking whistles.
"Look, our princess is out to work."
"Hey, omega, over here! My cup's been empty for an eternity!"
I walk toward the high table. The mark on my neck pulses. Heat spreads down my spine, sticky and suffocating. Cale sits in the center, his black doublet absorbing the torchlight. He doesn't look at me. He doesn't look at anyone at all.
"Cale, did you hear what Rain did on the northern border?" Selena presses against his shoulder, her long-nailed fingers resting possessively on his arm. "The boy has gone completely rogue."
Cale shifts his shoulder ever so slightly.
"He's young. The pack forgives passion, but it doesn't forgive stupidity."
"And clumsiness?" She shifts her gaze to me as I approach. "Tell me, Alpha, how do you tolerate this scent of fear at your table? She reeks so much the wine turns sour."
Cale slowly turns his head. His eyes are two shards of ice. He looks right through my face as if I were a void in space.
"Pour."
My hands tremble. The neck of the pitcher clinks against the rim of his massive silver chalice. The sound feels deafening in the sudden silence. The dark liquid flows, filling the cup. Cale doesn't move. His presence is crushing, making my lungs constrict.
I move on to Selena. She smiles—predatory, baring her teeth.
"For me too, darling. Just try not to spill a drop. This dress costs more than your entire pathetic life."
"I'm trying..." my voice fails, breaking into a whisper.
"What are you mumbling?" Selena leans forward.
I tilt the pitcher. At the exact moment the stream of wine is supposed to hit the bottom of her glass, her elbow jerks sharply. A strike to my arm—calculated and fast.
The heavy vessel slips. A red stain blooms on her lemon silk, and then the wine cascades onto the tablecloth. The pitcher rattles across the floor.
"My dress! You... filthy wretch!"
Selena leaps up, her scream drowning out the noise of the hall. The silence becomes absolute. Only the torches hiss, spitting sparks.
"Did you see that?" Selena turns to Cale, pointing at the wet silk. "She did it on purpose! She hates me because I'm standing beside you!"
I fall to my knees. There are no shards, but the wine has pooled into a puddle, and I begin feverishly wiping it with the hem of my grey dress.
"Forgive me... I didn't... she pushed..."
"Who pushed you?" Rain jumps up from his seat, his face twisted in a mocking grimace. "We all saw your hands shaking. Omega blood is so thin, isn't it? Can't even hold a pitcher."
Laughter explodes under the vaulted ceiling. Werewolves bang their cups against the tables.
"Get her out!"
"Let her lick the floor!"
"Cale, why is she still here?"
I look up at him. My last hope. My curse. Cale slowly picks up his cup. He brings it to his lips and takes a sip. Calmly. Deliberately. He doesn't even cast a glance down at me, standing in the filth at his feet.
"Clean this up," his voice is as cold as a gravestone. "And get out of my sight."
"Cale, she ruined silk from the southern lands!" Selena practically stamps her foot. "Punish her!"
"I said—clean it up."
I scrape my fingers against the stone, trying to gather the spilled liquid. A spasm grips my throat. Someone throws a gnawed bone at me. It hits my shoulder. More laughter.
"Here."
A shadow flickers beside me. Tom. He sets a pitcher on the floor and covertly nudges a clean rag toward me. His face is pale, his eyes darting around.
"Hurry," he whispers without looking at me. "Before they lose it."
I grab the cloth. Our fingers meet for a second. Tom flinches; a mixture of pity and shame flares so sharply in his eyes that I want to scream. He immediately turns away and walks off, slouching, trying to become invisible.
"Look, she found herself a protector!" Rain hurls a crumpled napkin my way. "Hey, Tom, want to share a kennel with her?"
I bolt up, clutching the filthy, wine-soaked rag. My face burns. The mark sears my skin as if a red-hot iron had been pressed to my neck. Cale is still drinking. He hasn't lifted a finger to stop this circus.
I run. Out of the hall, past the cackling teenagers, past Garret who tries to trip me—I leap over him without looking. The roar behind me doesn't fade.
The small room is dark and smells of dampness. I huddle in the corner, pressing my knees to my chest. My wrist is stained with wine. The dress clings to my body. One thought hammers in my head: "He watched. He saw everything and did nothing."
The bond inside me groans. It demands his presence, it justifies him, it reaches out to him through the castle walls, ignoring the pain. I hate this feeling. I hate every drop of wolf blood in my body.
The door flings open without a knock. The hinges don't creak—they groan under the weight of his power.
Cale steps inside. The cold night air rushes in with him, displacing the musty smell. He closes the door and slides the bolt. Slowly.
I press myself into the wall.
"Leave."
He doesn't answer. He closes the distance in two steps. His shadow looms over me, massive and predatory. A torch in the corridor casts a narrow sliver of light through the crack under the door, outlining his boots.
"You embarrass me before the pack," his voice vibrates deep in his chest.
"I? It was them... Selena pushed me! You saw it!"
Cale leans down and seizes my wrist. His fingers are steel vices.
"I don't care what Selena did. You should have stood firm."
"Let go. You're hurting me."
He pulls a damp cloth from his belt. Roughly, scraping away the top layer of skin, he begins to rub my wrist where the wine had dried.
"You are the Alpha's omega. Every time you fall, it's a crack in my authority."
"Am I just a tool to you?" I try to pull away, but he grips my hand tighter. "An image for the pack?"
"You are whatever I make of you."
He drops the rag on the floor. His fingers move to my neck, right to the mark. Heat flares so intensely that my vision goes dark. I let out a cry, but the sound sticks in my throat.
"Your place is in the dirt, Alina," he whispers right against my lips. His breath smells of pine needles and that same wine. "But even there, you belong to me. Remember that the next time you decide to play the victim."
My body betrays me. Despite the horror, despite the humiliation, I feel my heart begin to race. The bond sings, responding to his proximity. I lean forward against my own will, seeking his warmth.
Cale pulls away sharply. His face turns back into a mask of indifference.
"Tomorrow you will serve in the kennels. You'll wash away the scent of wine with the scent of manure."
"Cale..."
He's already at the door. He doesn't look back.
"Sleep. If you can."
The bolt clicks. I am left in the dark, staring at my reddened hands. The skin on my wrist burns from his roughness, but the mark on my neck pulses in the rhythm of his retreating footsteps. The most terrifying thing isn't what he did to me. The most terrifying thing is that when he left, I felt cold.