Just that, my name, before I’d even taken in a breath. My eyes flicked around the room, looking for cameras, something to tell me how the fuck Marcus knew who was calling.
“I’m not bugging you or tracking you, if that’s where your mind is jumping,” he purred, that same arch feline voice. “I never need that. I just always know.”
“Know what?” I growled.
“That you’re in Rhys’ room right now, having cared for his boo-boos, your heart aching for all the damage people have done to him while secretly wishing to add a few bruises of your own. It’s inevitable, Cyn. You’re mated, he loves you, and you love him. You had every right to be angry, it just wasn’t directed at the right target. I don’t include them in my plans, but I do make clear what I’m about to do. I told you, Cyn, that if you stuck around, you’d need to choose my mates. They love you and need you.” His cool veneer cracked slightly at that. “And the stupid fucking thing is you love and need them too.” A hiss of a breath. “Love them. Love him.”
“And what’re you going to do?”
“Keep all of you safe. You never like my methods, so I protect you from that. You don’t get the thrill from seeing the game in its entirety that I do.”
“Game?” I was up and off the bed, the fear that had iced me through transmuted into a burning rage. “This is my fucking life!”
“I know. I’ve seen almost all of it, the significant bits anyway. You’re t
hinking you shouldn’t have come to that forest that day. You’re probably right. I’m hoping you won’t regret it by the end of this, but that’s always the bit that’s up in the air. The bit I like the most.”
He sounded almost wistful at that.
“But you did, and your scent tied you to my pack. Rhys searched for you for weeks but reconciled himself to that fact he would never find you, forgetting you, pushing your scent to the back of his mind. I admire his ability to do that.” A short pause. “But me, I can never let anything go or forget anything. It’s all there, all of the time—every memory, every action, every consequence, all linked up together.”
“You sound insane. You know that, don’t you?”
“I do and I’m aware of that, which perhaps disqualifies your diagnosis. Time will tell. Maybe I should chat to that psychologist of yours? The new one seems very good.”
I’d been doing so well, holding it together, sorting through the ground zero created by mating with Rhys, but fuck if my fingers didn’t go limp. The phone fell to the floor, and I went with it, Brendan sweeping me up in his arms as a result.
Was this meant to happen? Was Marcus manipulating us? Were we ever supposed to be a pack without his machinations?
“She wants to run,” Rhys said grimly. “I told you.”
“She’s not running,” Brendan assured me, not him. “Cyn’s tougher now. Nothing’s going to keep her down.”
So why was I lying in his arms, staring at the ceiling, trying to see the game Marcus spoke of?
Chapter 32
When you first saw the puppeteer in the puppet show, all clad in black, it was hard not to keep seeing them. You lost that childlike innocence that allowed you to think the puppets were real, living, breathing beings and then just saw the adults behind the scenes, wondering what they’d do next. You resented them when the lives of the puppets took a turn for the worse, less satisfied when things got better, knowing they could have made it like that from the start. That feeling was a way more eerie feeling now, at twenty-five.
“I… We…”
I couldn’t get the words out, my mind racing ahead, testing Marcus’ explanation over and over, applying the theory to all the things that had happened to me and then looking at them from a whole new lens.
He’d told me this to throw us together, and it worked, sort of. Both men took a side, sitting me up and then wedging me between them. Brendan held me close, Rhys much more tentative, but soon I felt it, that thrumming energy that came with being with them. I closed my eyes, wanting that, wanting to shut all the questions and theories down, to kick Cyn to the curb and just be the omega. Rhys would order me to lie down, and Brendan would order me to submit as they…
Then I stiffened.
As I riffled through the important events of my life, wondering how the hell Marcus fit in it all, something had my spine going ramrod straight, my eyes wide open.
“Marcus knew that you were my point of weakness,” Mum had said. “You’d already been attacked, something Marcus knew about.” She frowned. “I’ve never been able to work out how.”
A darkened room, a tall figure, the glint of that belt buckle embossed with a design, and a hand pushing me down. I sucked a breath in so fast, I started to choke.
“I’m going to be sick,” I croaked out, getting up and stumbling to Rhys’ toilet.
They followed hot on my heels, one flipping up the lid of the loo, another wrapping a hand in my hair, holding it back. I vomited up everything I had, my stomach muscles clenching with hitherto never seen strength to make sure it was all gone. When the spasms stopped, I was collected up into Bren’s arms, the toilet flushed and a damp face cloth handed to me. But as I cleaned myself up, landing back on Rhys’ bed, I was aware I was playing right into Marcus’ hands. My hair was stroked, hands rubbed circles on my back. I was a sick omega being tended to by her alphas.
I needed to run, but where would be far enough? Not home, not this city. Shit, probably not this country. I needed a passport and money and tickets to help me crisscross the world, creating a path even Marcus couldn’t follow. But how the hell was I going to get all of that?