Wren was good at making up memories. In her old room, she had sometimes made up memories to her heart’s content. Timidly, she would whisper through the walls and paint a vivid picture of how she grew up. She told the other omegas about her old village; there were monthly celebrations, loving people, and a sense of connection.
These me
mories, as vivid as they were, were not real. Wren’s memory was actually a hollow hole of nothingness. Sometimes, a flicker of something would filter in, but it never lasted.
She could only remember the day she was taken. For all Wren knew, she had been born of fire.
At least, at the facility, there were other women to talk to. Even if she never saw their faces, she heard the emotions in the tones of their voices. She identified with each and every one of them.
Despite the power of Wren’s imagination, she couldn’t have made this place up. She was awake and bound, haphazardly tossed into a closet with duct tape over her mouth and head. Wren could stay silent. She knew how to play dead quite well.
At the facilities, there were routine cleanings. Exercises to mold her body to a decided cut. Separately, each of the omegas was raised to please Cassian. That’s what they were told. As lonely as her life was, nobody could have prepared Wren for the horrors of the outside world. No matter how many smacks and shoves she endured, she could have imagined the sight of the shoreline of Dagon.
She tried not to ask questions, but when the information was too much to process, she’d blurt out and point. “How did this happen?”
They revealed bits and pieces to her. Betas had begun to outnumber the alphas and omegas, five to one. The women who could give birth became prizes men would give their lives to take. The chosen ones were hunted throughout the cities.
A new world was coming into existence, one without the threat of a growing population of defectives. The public welcomed the change. The betas were slaughtered in front of jeering crowds. In their hearts, people knew the world was living out its last pages.
That is what Wren learned on the shoreline of Dagon. The water reflected the hazy sun, sulfur-yellow in color. Bodies twisted against the tide. Crying betas stood with clueless and numb. Wren fell back, but the alphas carried her toward their new home, an abandoned and worn down palace, near the growing thorn brushes that led to the shore. It was just hidden enough to keep them all out of harm’s way.
“Pretty flowers cannot bloom without proper care,” Vash said.
Vash arched his palm over the flower’s beautiful face. She felt the rush of tears start to form around her eyes. He ripped the tape from her mouth and waited for her to plead.
“A-a-are you going to take me now?”
Sometimes, an alpha would come in to deliver some food or water, but they never talked. When they left, she would listen for the bolt to slide and lock her inside, and her mind would start to paint pictures again.
Somewhere outside of the city, Wren thought. That’s where they were. Her ears no longer rang with the alarm of gunshots and the bickering of street merchants. Smells were different too. Less rotten.
Inside her mind, she built the outside world. She saw overgrown forests where birds built their nests. The house was painted blue, she decided, and the outside fence was always a bright-and-perfect white. She would wave to her neighbors and encourage them to come for dinner.
But when she opened her eyes to the reality, she glared at the fading wallpaper and the bloodstained concrete in silent horror. She knew what they wanted, but she couldn’t be sure when to brace.
Nudging his finger against her chin, Vash noted the deep bruising along her neck and jawline. Wren had taken it all quite well, he admitted, but she was a prisoner. How else was she going to take it?
The damp air of the city burned like gasoline against the back of his throat. He was strong again. Stronger, maybe. The doctor must have been wrong. Suddenly, Vash didn’t feel for the man and his shattered skull.
“Yes. The very special present with shiny wrappings to undo,” Vash said.
Vash rolled his palm to her throat, eyes turning sympathetic.
Rolling his head forward, he scented her and watched goose bumps form across her flesh. “Aw, precious, are you that eager to please me?”
“Tear her like a plastic bag,” Killian said.
Lucas ground his teeth together. “Open her.,”
Killian’s rough and husky fingers pried her lips and teeth open. Jumping back, Wren flopped like a caught salmon.
“W-wait,” she begged. Her virginity was the only thing she had left of her that was pure. It was, as the doctors put it, the only thing keeping her special. She couldn’t let them take that.
“Please! I can go back. I’ll go back to the facility and be a good girl. Please, I’ll go back and be a sweet, good girl!”
The men just laughed, and their throats sounded full of phlegm. Their masculine, alpha pheromones invaded her nostrils. Her mind searched for an escape, a deal that might entice them enough to stop. But as the alphas shut the door to blackness, they broke her into pieces.
She sacrificed her control like the slave she was. All of those made-up memories turned to nightmarish fever dreams.