Anaelia
The smell of expensive cologne and raw, aggressive pheromones was thick enough to choke on. In the Great Hall of the Iron Dominion, the air didn't just carry scent; it carried power. Every breath I took felt like inhaling crushed glass and velvet.
I kept my head down, my chin tucked so low my neck ached. That was the first rule for a Null: never make eye contact. To the Alphas and Betas swirling around the ballroom in their silks and military dress, I was less than the marble beneath their boots. I was furniture that breathed.
"Anaelia, the champagne. Now."
Zora's voice cut through the music like a whip. She was standing near the center dais, her crimson gown clinging to her like a second skin. She was a high-ranking Beta, the kind of woman who radiated a sharp, spicy scent of cinnamon and ambition.
"Yes, Lady Zora," I whispered. My voice was raspy from disuse.
I moved forward, balancing the silver tray with practiced ease. My hands were steady, but my heart was a trapped bird slamming against my ribs. I could feel the vial tucked into my waistband—the small, glass cylinder filled with the pungent, bitter serum I'd stolen from the apothecary's waste bins. I had injected it four hours ago. It was supposed to last six.
But as I approached the dais, I felt a sudden, sickening heat bloom in the center of my chest.
Not now. Please, not now.
The "Null" status wasn't a biological fact for me; it was a desperate, daily lie. If the serum failed, I wouldn't just smell like a wolf. I would smell like an invitation to a riot.
"You're slow today," Zora hissed as I reached her. She didn't look at me, her eyes fixed on the heavy oak doors at the end of the hall. "If you embarrass me tonight, I'll have Dash throw you into the Dead Zone myself. Do you understand?"
"Perfectly," I muttered.
The doors swung open. The room went silent—a heavy, pressurized silence that made my ears pop.
Enzo stepped in.
He didn't walk; he prowled. The High Alpha of the Dominion was a silhouette of jagged edges and predatory grace. Even from across the room, his scent hit me like a physical blow. It was dark—heavy oak, cold rain, and something metallic, like blood on a blade. It was the scent of the "Grip." The madness was already in him, humming just beneath his skin.
As he moved through the crowd, people parted like water before a shark. He didn't acknowledge them. His gaze was fixed straight ahead, his jaw set in a line of permanent tension.
I turned to retreat, to hide in the shadows of the kitchen, but a sudden cramp seized my stomach. A bead of sweat rolled down the back of my neck. And then, the smell hit me.
It wasn't the room's scent. It was me.
The bitter, chemical mask was dissolving. Underneath it, something sweet, soft, and terrifyingly potent began to leak out. It smelled like wild lilies and the air right before a thunderstorm.
My breath hitched. I saw Dash, Enzo's lead enforcer, tilt his head at the edge of the crowd. His nostrils flared. He was a tracker; he could scent a lie from a mile away.
I pivoted, my tray wobbling. I needed to leave. I needed to get to the cellar, to the needle, to the safety of the dark.
"Stationary, servant," a deep, melodic voice commanded.
I froze. I was ten feet from the service exit.
Enzo had stopped. He wasn't looking at the Council. He wasn't looking at Zora, who was already wearing her practiced, predatory smile.
He was looking at the back of my head.
The air in the room seemed to vanish. I didn't turn around. I couldn't. If I turned, he would see the pupils of my eyes blown wide, the way they only did when an Omega met their match.
"Face me," Enzo said. It wasn't a request. It was an Alpha Command.
My body betrayed me. The power in his voice forced my heels to pivot, forced my head to rise. I looked up, meeting eyes that were the color of a winter sea—stormy, turbulent, and currently Narrowing with a lethal curiosity.
Enzo took a step toward me. Then another. The crowd whispered, a low hiss of confusion. Why is the King stopping for a Null?
He stopped inches from me. He was so tall I had to crane my neck. He leaned down, his nose brushing the hair near my ear. I felt his hot breath against my skin, and I knew—I was dead.
"You," he whispered, a growl vibrating in his chest that only I could hear. "What are you hiding in your veins?"