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Her own scent of frosted moonflower changed in an instant, from fear and fury to something completely different.
As she turned to me fully, eyes widening, I realised my view from the back of the auction room hadn’t done her justice.
She was small, a head shorter than me, and her vicious expression fell away, pale cheeks flushing, and the rapid rise andfall of her chest calmed as she caught Rogue’s scent. Mine was completely hidden now, and all that lingered between us was the faintest trace of honied bourbon from the handkerchief I’d taken from him.
Her reaction confirmed everything I’d hoped—a five-million-dollar gamble, but I had been right.
I had Rogue’s Omega.
Like kicking up leaves on a dry autumn day, the bid had been impulsive. A risk obscured by the thrill of the act itself.
Now I could see where they landed: at the feet of something I’d never dreamed I’d want. Yet, as rich, violet eyes pierced mine, I found myself wanting every secret they held.
“Uncuff her,” I murmured, not taking my eyes away. As the bouncer undid the metal around her wrists, she looked me up and down, head cocked with a possessive appraisal that made my blood hot. I noticed the way her eyes trailed the cracks in my knuckles, wounds barely closed from the violence I’d committed earlier.
“When she was brought to you, did she have anything with her?” I asked, not looking away from her.
For Alphas being sold, their belongings and clothing were stripped from them, but it was different with Omegas. The auctions kept what they could in case anything held significant meaning to the Omegas, nesting items, or other such keepsakes. There weren’t many Alphas here purchasing Omegas for gentler reasons—ones who intended to treat them right and build them a nest—but comforts could also be useful to temper behaviour. Omegas with one or two familiar items were far easier to manage.
The auctioneer nodded, handing me a black bag with a bit of bulk and not much weight to it. I turned, tossing it into the open door of the limo before returning to her.
She was captivating, and I found myself focused on the delicate band of metal around her neck, attached to the thin chain in one of the bouncer’s fists. I reached for it, biting back a growl at the idea of another Alpha holding that.
She watched the passage of that chain with intensity before her violet eyes returned to mine.
The white gown was sheer and almost entirely see-through, the cuffs of the sleeves tumbling to her knuckles, the hem draping the concrete. Beneath, was nothing but white lace. A floral bralette lifted her breasts, a garter belt was tight around her petite waist, covering a thong, and stockings that reached her upper thighs. All of it was strung together by lines of white gems that glittered in the faint moonlight. As I truly drank in the sight of her, my cock strained against my pants for the first time since I could remember.
The white made a mockery of an Omega with hands as blood-stained as hers, since we all knew Ace Maverick hadn’t just been killed—he’d been cut into pieces. If that wasn’t the hottest thing I’d ever imagined at the hands of this tiny little creature, I didn’t know what was.
I noticed the trace of a bite beneath the silver collar. The claim of the Alpha she’d killed. It might be a threat, to some, but my instincts saw nothing but a challenge.
I wanted that story from her, not because I was invested in the fate of Ace—I might be one of the few that didn’t hate him at all—but because I found something strangely fascinating about the look in her violet eyes. My pulse raced in a way it rarely did for anything but hunts like the one I’d had today.
She took another tentative step toward me, and I cupped her chin, tilting her head and examining her closer, and the feel of her skin set every hair on my body on end.
She was far, far beyond touch starved, and my own instinct, close to feral, shivered with need as my skin brushed hers. Herpupils blew, and I felt a rush of power different from anything I’d ever felt.
I smiled.
How easy would it be to make her completely and utterly dependent on me, if Ace had kept her this starved? Embracing this undercurrent of delight, I drank in every detail of one last thing of Rogue’s that I could break.
I’d never, before this moment, understood the draw of ownership. Of owning every smile, tear, or scream. A fresh slate, mine to do with whatever I wish.
I halted, reality slamming in.
This concept wasn’t new and never had been. I’d lived it—witnessed it every time I visited slices of hell like this, but never had it been true from a vantage like this.
Even my ownership of Rogue had been luck—luck, or misfortune, I wasn’t sure.
And yet, as my thumb brushed her lips and her breath halted, I wanted it to be. IneededThistle Maverick to belong to me; my toy to use however I wanted, to ruin in every way, knowing that destruction was mine to witness, to keep or share however I wished.
Rogue would be the only witness to this, however, and by the time I was finished with her, he would see her crawling on her knees, begging me for that very destruction.
I faltered, frowning as I saw the piece that didn’t fit.
Her skin was pale as death, contrasted by blood-red lips; her face perfect and unblemished but for one mark. My thumb ran along her cheekbone, watching as faintest trace of makeup flaked away. She flinched as I rubbed at it again, confirming what I knew before I saw the shadow of a deep green bruise.
“Why is she marked?” I asked.
