Anaelia
The North Tower was a place of legends and nightmares. It was where the High Alphas kept their most precious treasures—and their most high-profile prisoners. As the heavy iron-reinforced door groaned shut behind me, the sound echoed like a casket lid closing.
Dash didn't lock the door with a key; he pressed his palm to a biometric scanner, the red light bathing his face in a bloody glow.
"Don't look at me like that, Anaelia," Dash said, his voice softer now that the Council wasn't watching. He leaned against the doorframe, his eyes scanning my pale face. "You aren't in the pits. You're in the most expensive room in the Dominion. Most girls would kill for this."
"Most girls aren't me," I whispered, my hands trembling so hard I had to hide them in the folds of my apron. "He's going to kill me, isn't he? Or worse?"
Dash let out a short, dry laugh. "Enzo doesn't know what he's going to do with you. That's what makes you dangerous. I've seen that man rip the throats out of rogue Alphas without blinking, but tonight? Tonight he looked like he'd seen a ghost."
He tapped the door. "Kyomi and Astra are coming up with the bath supplies. Do what they say. And Anaelia? Don't try the window. It's a sixty-foot drop onto silver-tipped pikes."
With that, he stepped out, and the lock engaged with a heavy, final thunk.
I collapsed. My legs simply gave out, and I slid down the silk-covered wall until I was a heap on the thick, cream-colored rug.
"Oh gods," I choked out, pressing my forehead to my knees. "Oh gods, oh gods."
The fear wasn't just a cold shiver anymore; it was a physical weight, crushing the air out of my lungs. For nineteen years, I had been a shadow. I had survived by being invisible, by smelling like nothing, by being nothing. And in five minutes, Enzo had stripped it all away with a single look.
The serum. My mind raced, clawing for a solution. I needed more. If I could just get to the kitchens, there was a hidden stash behind the loose stone in the pantry. But I was trapped in a tower, and the "Grip" was in Enzo's blood. If he scented me now—really scented me—he wouldn't just be an Alpha. He would be a predator who had found the only thing in the world that could keep him sane. He would never let me go.
A small side door opened, and I flinched, scrambling backward.
"Ana? It's just us. Breathe, for the love of the Moon, breathe."
Kyomi hurried in, carrying a stack of plush towels, followed closely by Astra, who lugged a heavy bucket of steaming water infused with oils. They both looked terrified, their eyes wide as they took in the luxury of the room—and the state of me.
Astra set the bucket down and rushed to my side, pulling me into a frantic hug. "We heard what happened in the Hall. The whole servant's quarter is talking. They're saying you're a spy, or a witch, or—"
"I'm neither," I sobbed into her shoulder, the dam finally breaking. "I'm just... I'm caught, Astra. The serum is gone. I can feel it. My skin is starting to itch. The smell is coming back."
Kyomi knelt beside us, her face grim. She was the oldest of us, the one who usually kept us out of trouble. "We have to mask it with something else. These oils... they're heavy. Jasmine, sandalwood, cedar. We'll soak you until you smell like a botanical garden. Maybe it'll buy you another day."
"He won't be fooled," I whispered, looking at the massive, canopied bed that looked like a throne of silk. "He smelled through the chemicals, Kyomi. He smelled me when I was supposed to be a Null."
"Then we make you beautiful," Kyomi said, her voice trembling but determined. She grabbed a sponge. "If you can't be invisible, you have to be indispensable. We make him like you, Ana. Not just the scent, but you. It's the only way he doesn't hand you over to the Council for testing."
The thought of the Council—their needles, their cold metal tables, their obsession with "breeding back" the Omega line—made me vomit in the back of my throat.
They stripped me of my servant's rags, their hands shaking as they worked. As the hot water hit my skin, the steam carried my natural scent upward. Even through the heavy jasmine oils, I could smell it. That sweet, electric pull of a true Omega.
"Moon above," Astra whispered, pausing with the sponge. She looked at me with a mix of awe and horror. "You... you smell like peace, Ana. I've lived in this violent city my whole life, and just standing near you makes me feel like I could sleep for a hundred years."
"That's the trap," I said, my voice hollow. "It's not peace. It's a leash."
We spent an hour scrubbing, soaking, and perfuming. They dressed me in a sheer, floor-length silk gown that Enzo must have kept for "special guests." It was the color of moonlight and felt like a spiderweb against my skin.
Just as Astra was braiding a silver ribbon into my damp hair, the main door chimed.
A heavy, low vibration rattled the floorboards. I didn't need a scent to know who it was. My wolf, that traitorous creature, began to howl at the base of my skull.
"Out," a voice boomed from the other side of the door.
Kyomi and Astra shared a look of pure panic. They squeezed my hands one last time and scurried toward the servant's exit, leaving me standing alone in the center of the vast, candlelit room.
The biometric lock beeped. The door swung open.
Enzo stood there. He had removed his formal jacket, his white dress shirt unbuttoned at the collar to reveal the dark, swirling tattoos of the High Alpha rank on his chest. He looked exhausted, his eyes bloodshot, but when his gaze landed on me, he froze.
He didn't move. He just stood in the doorway, his chest heaving as if he'd just run a marathon.
"Leave," he said, without looking back. Dash must have been behind him, because the door clicked shut.
Now, it was just the King and the Servant. The Wolf and the Ghost.
"You look different without the soot on your face," he said, his voice dangerously low. He began to walk toward me, slow and steady.
"I feel like a lamb at an altar," I replied, my voice surprisingly steady despite the fact that my heart was trying to escape my ribs.
He stopped a foot away. The jasmine was thick in the air, but I saw his jaw clench. He knew. He was sifting through the layers of perfume, hunting for the truth.
"Tell me your name again," he commanded.
"Anaelia."
"Anaelia," he repeated, the syllables sounding like a prayer in his deep voice. He reached out, not for my neck this time, but for my hand. He took it, his large palm engulfing mine. "You're shaking."
"You're terrifying."
He pulled my hand up, pressing my palm flat against his chest. Beneath the thin silk of his shirt, his heart was a frantic, wild drum—beating even faster than mine.
"Then we are both terrified," he whispered, leaning down until his forehead touched mine. "Because for the first time in ten years, the voices in my head have gone silent. Just because I'm standing near you."