Chapter 11 – The First Cut
Thursday, 2:15 p.m.
Pheromone Theory & Application – Advanced
Professor: Dr. Han (Beta, terrified of everyone)
The lecture theatre was a perfect circle, tiered like an operating room.
Seating chart: Apex at the top, Omegas at the bottom, everyone else in between.
Today the room was packed. Word had spread: the two Lestrange-Valéry Omegas were in the same class.
I arrived first, wearing the softest cream sweater dress, hair in a low side braid, rose-gold choker glowing innocently.
Kael walked me to my seat (front row center, the only one empty), kissed my temple in front of three hundred people, and left with a look that promised murder if anyone breathed wrong.
Lysandra arrived three minutes late.
She walked in like she owned gravity.
White blazer open, crimson tie loose, skirt barely regulation.
Cur, Imp, Saint, and Dove followed in formation.
Every head turned.
She didn't go to the empty seat beside me.
She walked straight down the steps, stopped in front of my desk, and dropped a single black envelope on it.
Then she smiled.
"Family tradition," she said loudly enough for the whole room to hear. "When one of us presents, the other issues a formal challenge. Private demonstration. Tonight. The old arena under the lake. No professors, no cameras, no rules."
She leaned down, bracelets clinking, and whispered against my ear:
"Time to stop pretending, little monster."
Then she took the seat directly behind me.
Cur leaned against the wall, arms crossed, green eyes fixed on the back of my neck like he was already imagining breaking it.
Imp blew a bubble and popped it.
Saint opened a small leather Bible and underlined something in red.
Dove just watched, expressionless.
Dr. Han cleared his throat seventeen times before starting.
The topic: Mating Bonds – Voluntary vs Involuntary
Lysandra raised her hand five minutes in.
"Doctor," she said sweetly, "could an Omega theoretically reject a bond after it's already formed? Say, if they discovered their mate was… not what they claimed?"
The room went dead.
I didn't turn around.
Dr. Han stammered something about "theoretical impossibility."
Lysandra continued, voice silk.
"Because I heard a rumor that someone in this room has been using illegal suppressants and forged chokers for years. If that were true, any bond formed under false pretenses would be… void. Correct?"
Three hundred phones angled toward me.
I raised my hand.
Dr. Han looked like he wanted to retire.
"Yes, Prince Rui?"
I turned in my seat, met Lysandra's eyes, and smiled the smile I usually saved for Kael's throat.
"Cousin," I said softly, "if you have proof, present it to the Council. Accusing a registered Omega without evidence is punishable by expulsion. Article 17."
Her eyes narrowed (pleased, furious).
"Proof is coming tonight," she said.
The rest of the lecture passed in suffocating silence.
When the bell rang, Lysandra stood first.
"11 p.m.," she repeated. "Come alone, or I drag you."
Cur cracked his knuckles.
Imp flicked her knife closed.
They left.
I stayed seated until the room emptied.
Then I opened the black envelope.
Inside: one photograph.
Me.
Age fifteen.
In the family vault.
Holding the original black Enigma choker before I melted it down to forge the rose-gold one I wear now.
On the back, in Lysandra's handwriting:
He deserves to know what owns him.
I burned the photo in the sink of the nearest bathroom, washed the ashes down the drain, and went to find Kael.
He was in the private training gym, shirtless, hitting a bag so hard the chain screamed.
He stopped the second he saw my face.
"What happened?"
I walked straight into his arms.
"Lysandra challenged me," I said against his chest. "Old family rite. If I don't show, she'll expose everything."
His whole body went rigid.
"You're not going."
"I have to."
He pulled back, cupped my face.
"Listen to me," he said, voice low and lethal. "I don't care what she thinks she knows. You're mine. That's the only truth that matters."
I let my eyes fill.
"What if she hurts you to get to me?"
He laughed (short, dark).
"She can try."
I kissed him, slow and desperate, tasting sweat and cedar and the promise of violence.
"Will you come with me tonight?" I whispered. "Not inside. Just… wait outside the arena. In case."
He kissed my forehead, my eyelids, my throat.
"I'll be there," he said. "And if she lays one finger on you, I'll end her bloodline."
11:03 p.m.
The old arena under the frozen lake
Built 200 years ago for illegal rank fights.
No lights, no cameras, scent-dampeners broken decades ago.
I arrived wearing black for the first time in years.
Hoodie, leggings, the rose-gold choker the only color on me.
Lysandra was already in the center of the ring, coat off, crimson blazer glowing under the emergency strips.
Her pack stood at the four corners.
Cur rolled his shoulders.
Imp spun a knife between her fingers.
Saint prayed softly.
Dove checked her watch.
No audience but them.
And Kael, hidden in the shadows above the bleachers, watching.
Lysandra smiled when she saw me.
"No more masks," she said.
She reached up and unclipped her own choker.
It fell to the floor with a soft clink.
The scent that rolled out was pure, devastating Omega (honey and frost and broken-glass sweetness).
Every Alpha in the arena swayed.
Then she looked at me.
"Your turn."
I walked forward slowly.
Stopped five meters away.
"I'm not playing your game, Lys."
"This isn't a game," she said. "This is truth."
She released a pulse (deliberate, targeted).
The kind of Omega distress call that could bring an Apex to their knees from across a city.
Cur dropped first, snarling.
Imp's knife clattered.
Saint cursed in Spanish.
Dove just watched, fascinated.
I didn't move.
Lysandra's eyes widened.
I smiled.
And let go.
Not all of it (never all of it, not yet), just enough for family.
Dark.
Metallic.
The scent of a gun barrel right after the world ends.
Lysandra staggered.
Her pack hit the floor like puppets with cut strings.
Cur was on his knees, shaking, green eyes blown wide with terror and worship.
Imp whimpered.
Saint was praying faster.
Dove finally looked scared.
Lysandra caught herself on the ropes, breathing hard.
"You… you're showing them," she hissed.
"No," I said softly. "I'm showing you."
I walked forward until we were nose to nose.
"I could have killed you for that photo," I whispered. "I could have killed all of them for looking at what's mine."
I glanced up at the shadows where Kael waited.
He stepped into the light.
Red choker blazing.
Expression calm, cold, and utterly unafraid.
Lysandra's head snapped toward him.
Kael walked down the steps, past her kneeling Alphas, and stopped beside me.
He looked at Lysandra like she was furniture.
Then he looked at me.
And knelt.
One knee.
Head bowed.
In front of everyone.
"Kael," Lysandra breathed, horrified.
He didn't even glance at her.
He took my hand and pressed his lips to my knuckles.
"I felt it," he said quietly. "From the first night. The leak in the elevator. I knew."
Lysandra made a broken sound.
I cupped his cheek.
"And you stayed," I said.
"I was never leaving," he answered.
Lysandra tried to stand, shaking.
"You knew he was—"
"I knew he was mine," Kael cut in, voice like a blade. "That's all I needed to know."
He rose, stepped in front of me, and faced her fully.
"Leave," he told her. "While you still have legs."
Cur tried to stand. Kael looked at him once.
Cur dropped again, choking.
Lysandra's eyes filled with tears (real ones).
"This isn't over," she whispered.
I stepped around Kael, touched her cheek gently.
"Cousin," I said, soft as snowfall. "You wanted truth."
I leaned in until my lips brushed her ear.
"Here it is:
I won the second I decided to keep him."
Then I turned, took Kael's hand, and walked out.
Behind us, Lysandra screamed (one raw, broken sound that echoed off the ice for a long time).
Cur carried her out ten minutes later.
The arena has been locked ever since.
And on my nightstand, a new photograph appeared the next morning:
Kael on his knees in the dark, head bowed, my hand in his hair.
Underneath, in my handwriting:
He chose the monster.
Willingly.
Forever.