“How I look doesn’t matter. Omegas are meant to be people.” And really, what was the point of beauty? It didn’t do anything. Just as disfigurement had done nothing. Jacques knotted her either way.
With a mean laugh, Lucia chided her. “Whoever told you that lie has never lived as an Omega. I have five older sisters, all Omegas. To be one of us is to be always at war. With each other, with ourselves, all the while working hard to impress the Alphas. Do not think I say this to be cruel. Both my nose and eyes were improved so I might outshine rivals.” All of this was said as those sharp nails began to poke at the open, oozing wound. “There is an abscess that needs to be drained.”
No warning was offered to brace for the pain; Lucia just pinched the flesh of Brenya’s throat until an audible pop proceeded a stinking flow of puss. Despite the short-lived agony, instant relief followed, whatever needed purging drained, damaged skin sinking in on itself.
“Green.” Shaking her head as if blood and gore was nothing but another inconvenience, Lucia swabbed up and sanitized the mess. Next came unguent, followed by a large gauze patch, taped down so quickly it was obvious Lucia had training in such things. “It was poor taste for the Commodore to bite you twice when the first one was well-placed and in proportion to your neck and shoulder—exactly where gowns could be cut to highlight the claiming mark. For such a glamourous city, the men are a bit savage, aren’t they? That is what happens when there are no proper women available to tame their urges and keep them in line.”
Keep them in line? With what, a cattle prod?
Despite the tangle of her insides, the hurt of her outsides, and the sure feeling that all of this was a waste of time, Brenya found it in her to offer a single dry chuckle.
“You will see.”
Doubtful. After all, she was going to be judged for trying to free Jules Havel. And she already judged herself deeply for failing Annette again.
The loud, endlessly talking Lucia kept up a constant vocal stream of her every thought while simultaneously bandaging and dressing a woman who had no interest in responding.
But the work had been done, and done quickly—another heavy, uncomfortable dress hung from a shoulder that was swelling under the fabric. Kissing a throat that was oozing infection into a bandage.
A loud squawk from Lucia and Alpha guards swarmed the room. Brenya was surrounded by no less than eight prime Alphas, encased as they quickly ushered the pair of women down the halls. At her side, Lucia had no trouble with managing her skirts in the hurried gait; she didn’t struggle as Brenya did to keep all the fabric from twisting around her feet. She looked regal, bright-eyed.
While Brenya was panting with exhaustion at the pace. While she could hardly breathe for the stiffness of the fabric at her neck and the added weight of a diamond collar that dripped like starlight over her shoulders and chest.
She needed to catch her breath, already snapped at for wiping sweat from her forehead and mussing the twisted configuration of her hair.
“You don’t have time to be lazy, Commodorina. Curl up and complain later.”
The statement was so far off base that it was almost impossible for Brenya not to tear at the style of her hair and set her stinging roots free, or yank off the diamonds dripping from her neck.
She’d had enough!
If Jacques wanted to punish her for doing what was best for the Dome, then he could come do so right there in the hall. What was coming for her didn’t require such fuss or pretension.
Let those who feed off her people see her as she was.
Brenya dug in her heels, the entire party surrounding her stopping so abruptly Lucia almost ran into the guard running point.
A new side of the aggressive Omega appeared. Lucia went from exacerbated to nervous. “What are you doing? I told you there is no time.”
Sucking in a deep breath to answer, Brenya froze.
Was that ozone?
Smoke?
The very quintessential signs of an electrical fire. And why were there so many guards and workers shuffling around the hall to her right?
There had been a fire, not a meter away from where she stood, Brenya having been so self-possessed that she had not noticed the char marks.
That was unacceptable. Her basic duty was to notice the minutia so unseen issues could be attended to before they became dangerous problems.
Lucia took her arm, urging her forward. “There is no time for you to stop and look at the scenery.”
Brushing away the woman’s touch, Brenya grabbed a handful of skirt, hefting it high so she could actually move in the ugly dress, and went straight to the char marks on the far wall.