I glare at them; the rope is digging into my wrists. I refuse to give these alphas the satisfaction of seeing me cower. My muscles strain as I test my restraints again. The rough fibres chafe against my skin.
They bustle around the kitchen, preparing a meal like it’s the most normal thing in the world. Knives slicing through meat, plates clattering onto the table, their movements coordinated, like they’ve done this a thousand times.
It’s domestic as fuck, and genuinely unsettling.
Don’t they have betas to do this for them?
The table itself is beautiful, though. Repurposed wood, thick and scarred, the kind of thing I would’ve picked out myself if I’d ever had the means or the freedom.
If only I’d been born male. I would have been incredible. Nothing like these knot-twats.
“I trust you’ll find the accommodations suitable?” Darius comes to stand beside the table.
I bare my teeth. “Go to hell.”
He laughs, his eyes boring into mine. Then his expression shifts. Serious now. “Tell me your name, omega.”
I meet his eyes, jaw clenched. He didn’t use an alpha command, but the authority behind it sinks into my bones, anyway. Like hell I’m giving this entitled prick my name.
“Well?” he says. “I asked you a question.”
I hate that his dominant tone makes my wolf stir. I need to shut that down fast.Fucking alpha pheromones messing with my head.
I grasp for a fake name. Any name.
“Blue…” I blurt out the first thing that came to mind. The heroine from that pirate novel that kept me company through my first winter. The one I found in the stolen backpack.
Darius arches a brow.
Shit.
“Belle. Bluebell.”
I want to smack myself. That’s the stupidest fucking name I’ve ever heard. I’m no delicate bluebell, that’s for damn sure.
His brow quirks. “Blue,” he repeats, rolling the name on his tongue. Still better than him knowing my real name.
Moira.
Fuck, I hate that name. What was my mom thinking?
“I would think you’re more Red than Blue,” Amber Eyes says.
Damn. Red would’ve been a badass name.
“Bluebell,” the grey-eyed alpha says. He’s been mostly silent, like Silas, but his eyes feel like they see right through me. “Unusual name.”
Darius nods. “Blue it is, then. Allow me to introduce my packmates.”
“I don’t give a shit about their names.” They’re all the same. Arrogant pricks who think the world belongs to them.
Darius gestures to the side, and my eyes follow, landing on Amber Eyes leaning casually against the wall. “Elias,” Darius says.
Elias grins. He’s the smooth talker, the one who keeps calling me “sweetheart,” thinking it’ll get him somewhere. I know his type all too well. Lean muscles, tanned skin, and light brown hair curling at the nape of his neck.
He winks, and I resist the urge to spit. No, thank you, even if your lashes are thick and pretty.
Darius continues. “Archer, my second-in-command.”