Chapter 5: The Devil's Inspection Part 2

Rune POV.

His shirt is partially open, intentionally or not, I don't know and I can see it. The curse mark. Black veins spreading from his heart like the roots of a dead tree, pulsing faintly with each beat. It's mesmerizing and horrifying all at once.

Beautiful and terrifying. A fallen angel. The monster from every story I've ever heard.

He takes another step into the room, and I force myself not to back away. Forced myself to hold his gaze even though every cell in my body is screaming at me to look down, to submit, to show my throat like a good little Omega.

I'm done being a good little Omega.

"Turn around." His voice is rough, deep, carrying the weight of absolute command.

For a second, I consider refusing. Consider telling him to go to hell. Consider fighting back just once before I die.

But survival instinct wins. It always does.

I turn slowly, presenting my back to him. Hating myself for the automatic compliance. Hating how easily I obey.

His footsteps are slow. Deliberate. He circles me completely, and I can feel his gaze tracking every scar, every mark, every sign of damage on my skin. It burns. His attention burns hotter than any touch.

He's not touching me, but he's close enough that I can feel his body heat. Close enough that his scent wraps around me. Close enough that I'm so aware of every breath he takes, every shift of his weight.

My body betrays me completely. Heat pools low in my belly. My skin feels too tight. Awareness shivers down my spine, mixing dangerously with fear until I can't tell which is which.

What is wrong with me? This man is going to kill me. Probably soon. Possibly painfully. And my body is reacting like.

I can't even finish the thought.

He stops in front of me. I can see his boots, black leather, worn from use, just at the edge of my vision.

"Look at me."

I don't want to. Looking up means meeting his eyes again. Means seeing whatever judgment he's already made about me.

But I do it anyway. Slowly, I raise my eyes.

Storm-gray meets ice-blue.

The air thickens. Something crackles between us, invisible but undeniable. My breath catches. His jaw tightens, a muscle jumping in his cheek.

Something crosses his face, surprise? Recognition? I can't read it before it's gone, replaced by that same cold assessment.

But there's something else there too. Something that makes his ice-blue eyes darken just slightly.

"Who hurt you?" he asks, and there's unexpected gentleness in his voice. Unexpected softness that makes my chest tighten.

The question catches me off guard. Not "what are you worth" or "what can you do" or any of the questions I expected. Just that. Who hurt you.

Like it matters.

Like he cares.

"Does it matter?" The words come out sharper than I intended, defiant despite my fear. "You'll just add to the collection."

His eyes flash, anger? At me? At whoever scarred me? I can't tell.

"Answer the question."

"Everyone," I tell him honestly, meeting his gaze without flinching. "Everyone hurt me. My stepfather. My pack. The guards who brought me here. Pick one. They all did their part."

Something dangerous moves behind his eyes. His hands clench at his sides, and I notice for the first time that he's keeping them carefully away from me. Careful distance.

Because his touch kills.

The silence stretches between us, heavy and loaded. He's searching my face like I'm a puzzle he's trying to solve. Like I'm something unexpected that doesn't fit his expectations.

I should be broken. I know that. After everything I've been through, after being sold and caged and transported like cargo, I should be shattered into a thousand pieces.

But I'm not.

And he can see that.

"Cassandra." His voice carries to whoever's waiting outside the door.

"Yes, my Alpha?" A woman's voice, controlled and competent.

"Servant quarters. Kitchen duty."

Relief crashes through me so hard my knees almost buckle. Kitchen duty. Not death. Not torture. Not whatever else I'd imagined.

Just... kitchen duty.

He's turning away now, heading for the door. Leaving. Dismissing me.

"Stay out of my way, Omega." His voice is carefully flat now, all that gentleness gone. "For your own safety."

He doesn't look back.

The door closes firmly behind him, and I'm alone again.

The relief should be stronger. I should be grateful. Should be happy I'm being sent to the kitchens instead of the dungeons or the morgue.

Instead, I feel...

Disappointed?

No. That's insane. Why would I be disappointed that the Devil Alpha doesn't want me close to him? That's good. That's survival. That's exactly what I need.

So why does his dismissal hurt?

The door opens again almost immediately. The woman who was waiting outside, Cassandra, he called her, enters the room.

She's beautiful in a deadly way. Tall five-ten at least, with deep brown skin and amber-gold eyes that miss absolutely nothing. Her black hair is cut in a sharp bob that frames her angular face perfectly. Everything about her is armor and sharp edges and competence I've never possessed.

Everything I'm not.

"Come with me," she says, her tone neutral. Not cruel, but not kind either. Just... professional.

I follow her into the corridor, and the fortress swallows me whole. The halls are massive, dark stone and flickering torches. Servants scatter as we pass, pressing themselves against walls, eyes averted. Fear radiates from them in waves.

They're terrified of her. Or maybe of getting too close to me, the Devil Alpha's newest reject.

"Does he..." I start, then stop. Asking questions is dangerous. Shows weakness. Shows that I care when I shouldn't.

But Cassandra glances back at me, those amber eyes assessing. Calculating. "Does he what, Omega?"

I swallow hard, but I need to know. Need to understand what I'm dealing with. "Does he really kill everything he touches?"

She stops walking. Actually stops and turns to face me fully.

For a moment, something like pity crosses her face. It's there and gone so quickly I almost miss it, but it was there. Real sympathy from this warrior woman who looks like she's never sympathized with anyone in her life.

"Yes," she says simply, and the single word lands like a stone in water, sending ripples through everything. "Everything. Everyone. The curse doesn't discriminate. Plants wither. Animals die. People..." She pauses, something dark crossing her face. "People drop instantly. Heart stops before they hit the ground."

My chest tightens. My hands start trembling, so I clench them into fists.

"So when he tells you to stay away from him," Cassandra continues, her voice softer now, "that's not cruelty. That's mercy. The only kind he has left to give."

She turns and continues walking, her boots echoing on the stone floor. Leaving me to follow on shaking legs.

Stay away from the Devil Alpha. As if I needed to be told. As if every

instinct isn't already screaming at me to run.

So why, when I think of those ice-blue eyes, do I feel drawn rather than repelled?