Free Web NovelChapter 40: Where am I?
Torin
The wind blows against me, and I quiver at the chill. It’s summer, yet the air feels like winter’s breath. I blame the altitude, this place is too high in the sky and too exposed. How did my pack sleep at night knowing there was someone left outside in this cold?
I walk closer to the depleted shed, my eyes narrowing as I take in its rotting frame. It’s hard to believe anyone lived in it for over half a year. The sight disgusts me. I need to get rid of this thing, it’s an eyesore, I think as I push the door open. The hinges groan, releasing a long creak that echoes like a dying animal. Gods, I really can’t believe she was forced to sleep in here. ƒrēewebnoѵёl.cσm
The door swings wide, and I stop dead in my tracks at the sight of her.
My omega, no, Lorali, is sprawled out on the floor, her fragile body curled on a thin, grey blanket riddled with holes. She clutches a towel to her chest, using it as a blanket. The pitiful sight twists my stomach. This sad, sad thing is her nest? Even a pigeon could build better.
She shifts in her sleep, turning to her side as I step closer, careful not to make more noise than the wood creaking beneath my slippers. I bend down, my fingers brushing her cheek. Her skin is cold and her breath is uneven. I study her features, and my chest tightens. She looks like she’s dying. Augi was right, she’s at death’s doorstep.
This isn’t the girl I remember from the gala. That girl had light in her eyes, strength in her posture. This girl is fading. I need to get her out of here, into an actual room, with blankets and proper heating.
Anger boils in me all over again. I want to storm back into the penthouse and hit Oril until my fists break, but that will have to wait. My priority now is Lorali.
I slide my arms beneath her and lift her carefully. The sensation of holding her sends ripples through my blood and a warmth that threatens to overwhelm me, but it’s drowned out by anger and concern. She’s as light as a feather and that’s not an expression or a figure of speech. I mean it literally, I’ve carried stacks of potatoes heavier than this.
She stirs faintly, shifting against me, then calms, sinking back into deep sleep against my chest.
With her in my arms, I step out of the shed, careful not to bump her head against the frame. The night air bites at us, but soon we’re back inside the penthouse. The lights are still on, casting a warm glow, but everyone has gone to bed.
I walk slowly down the hall, pushing open the guest room door with my foot. The room is clean, well‑maintained, the sheets freshly changed, white and crisp. We have two, maybe three guest rooms, and yet my pack let my mother convince them to dump her in that shed. Disappointing. Where is their moral compass? They pretend to have one, that’s the difference between them and me. I don’t pretend. I know I don’t have one hence I’m about to use my fated mate.
I place Lorali gently on the bed and pull the blankets over her. The thin sweats she’s wearing aren’t enough to keep her warm. I bend down, making sure she’s properly secured, watching her face and listening to her uneven breath. A pang of pain pierces my chest, but I shove it down before it can spread.
And in seconds I bolt for the door, forcing myself to leave. Guilt is normal, it’s expected after everything that’s happened, especially since most of this is my fault. But anything else? Anything deeper? That is unacceptable. I will not fall for this girl. I will not succumb to the mate bond.
Lorali is only a pawn, like the rest of my pack, a piece to secure the future of Spade. I cannot have it all, or I will lose it all. My world has no room for love. There is only Spade.
I take one final look back at her sleeping figure, fragile beneath the blankets, before turning away. My jaw tightens. I just have to make her fall for me, or at least like me. But I cannot fall for her.
Lorali Pov
"My Alpha is going to lick the ground I walk on," Cleo said with unshakable confidence, her voice half‑distracted as she concentrated on her painting. We all burst out laughing, the sound echoing through the art room. "With those painting skills, no one is going to lick you anything for you not even ice cream," Susie mocked, her tone sharp, her eyes gleaming with mischief as she pointed at Cleo’s messed up canvas. The worst part was that it was supposed to be a self‑portrait, yet it looked nothing like her, more like a gargoyle.
"What does my painting have to do with anything, Su‑sie?" Cleo scoffed, rolling her eyes and flicking her paintbrush away from the canvas. "It’s not like the pack we choose will ever see these portraits, or quite literally anything we do here at Alma. I wonder why we even bother with all this?"
"We do it for ourselves," Ella said firmly, her brush pausing mid‑stroke as she turned her gaze to Cleo. "When we debut in society after we leave Alma, we need to have some skills."
Cleo sat on Ella left while I sat on her right, with Vanya beside me, and Susie on Cleo’s left. The room smelled faintly of paint and turpentine, the air heavy with the quiet tension of girls trying to create something meaningful.
"Yeah... yeah... I know," Cleo exclaimed, dropping her brush entirely, her interest in continuing the painting gone. "But I’d much rather be doing one of those sports we see betas play in movies." freewёbnoνel.com
She always wanted to play tennis, or at least that’s what she called it, the game where you hit a ball with a racket. Her mother, a beta, had played it professionally before she died. Her father killed himself moments after, unable to live without her. I think that’s why Cleo had such high expectations of love. She truly believed her future Alphas would be unable to breathe when she wasn’t around.
"Why would Alma teach us anything about sports? It’s looked down upon for omegas to be in the dirt or sweat," Ella said, her brows furrowing in confusion.
Her words pulled me back to a memory, the day Headmistress Clerovera found me at the orphanage. I still remember the look of pure disgust on her face simply because I had mud on me. It’s insane how omegas can’t look messy at all. We always have to be proper. As Alma always says: never look like your problems.
"Think about it, Ella," Cleo pressed, her voice rising with passion. "If the academy taught us sports, we’d be good at them in no time. And when we leave here, we could compete internationally and earn praise for omegas and Alma alike."
Ella shook her head, her expression grave. "I think you have two misconceptions. One: omegas can’t do competitive sports. We aren’t built for it, physically or mentally. We could never compete with an alpha, a delta, or even a sinck. And two: there’s one fact I see many of you forget, which is why you delude yourselves with fantasies of having a pack. These people will be your jailers, especially your head Alpha. Without his permission, you can’t compete in anything. You can’t work. You basically can’t do anything. You aren’t your own person, you are his person. So I warn you all again: when we turn twenty, in four years, be careful of the pack you choose. It will dictate the entire trajectory of your life. Choose the right pack, and you will be in heaven, they won’t be your oppressors but your liberators. Choose wrong, and you will be in hell, where oppression will be the least of your worries."
Her words silenced the room. Even Susie stopped laughing. Cleo’s lips parted, but no sound came out. Vanya lowered her brush, her eyes dark with thought. And I sat there, my heart pounding, knowing Ella was right and I wish I listened then.
~~
My eyes snap open and a tear slides down the side of my face, hot against my skin.
Yet again, I’ve dreamed of my days back at Alma. Days I would give anything to return to. Days when laughter filled the air, when Cleo’s bold declarations made us giggle, when Susie’s sharp tongue kept us grounded, when Vanya’s quiet presence steadied us, and when Ella’s warnings rang like bells we refused to hear.
I would give anything to go back and listen, to truly listen, to the many times Ella tried to warn us.
I wonder why most of us thought Ella was being paranoid, when in truth she was the only one in our class who should have been relaxed. Alma promised her the best of the best packs, the kind that would take care of her, the kind that every omega dreamed of. She was perfect, flawless in every way, yet she never believed those promises. She never wanted to leave Alma, and she carried a nervous system that betrayed her. Yes, she was perfect, but her one flaw was her nerves.
It was a secret to everyone in the academy and our friend group, except me. We shared a room, so I saw what no one else did. I watched her take her medication in front of me, half of our time at Alma Ella was on antidepressants, the other half spent peeling at her nails until her fingers bled. Her hands were always covered in bandages, her nerves eating away at her, but even with that flaw she remained perfect. She never let it ruin her life.
I sigh, staring upward. The ceiling above me is white... white? Wait. Why is there a white ceiling above me? Where is the hole‑riddled roof I’m used to seeing? And why does the floor beneath me feel soft, comfortable, like a mattress instead of the hard boards I know?
My heart pounds against my chest. I shoot upright, sitting straight, my breath catching. I look around, flabbergasted, my pulse racing. I know this room. It’s the guest room in the penthouse. I’ve cleaned it a thousand times even though I know no one ever stays here.
Why am I in the guest room? And how did I get here?
Suddenly, the door slowly begins to swing open. My eyes snap to it, panic flooding me. Is this a setup? Yurena must have moved me here in my sleep, just so she could have a reason to scream at me. Not that she ever needs one. She’ll say I disobeyed the rules, that I dared to sleep inside the penthouse.
My blood runs cold. I can’t move. My mind races through all the ways Yurena will make me miserable today, all the punishments she’ll invent. I’m as good as dead. It’s over for me. This is it. And I know it’s going to hurt.
"Oh, you’re awake." The steady voice belongs to a male.
I freeze, my thoughts shattering at the sight of him. There he is, leaning against the doorframe, holding a tray of food.
Torin.
