The Alpha Prince & His Bullied Omega

Anything(II)

SOMA

No one bats an eyelid when I enter the kitchen. As soon as I mention Sheila’s name, the head chef assigns me to the baking team.

With many people working on the dough, we finish faster, and I’m dismissed with a piece of cupcake. Instead of heading back to the house where my cousins are waiting to torture me, I join Mason in the backyard. He refuses the cake, so I eat it alone.

The rest of my afternoon passes in a blur of laughter and fairy lights, bearable only because of Mason. Every few seconds, he drapes strands of lights around his neck and pretends to choke himself. I wheeze, clutching my stomach and trying not to laugh too loudly.

“Stop it,” I gasp. “You are going to get us kicked out.”

“But I love it when you laugh,” he teases. His eyes soften, and my body lights up under his stare. “You’re way prettier when you do. Prettier than those nasty cousins of yours.”

The compliment warms me from the inside out. But my gaze darts across the crowded backyard, and I slap a hand over his mouth.

“Mason.”

It will be bad if anyone hears him. I know he’s brave and can stand up for himself, but I would rather stay out of trouble.

“But it’s true,” he argues.

Edna, the head decorator, has already shot us two warning looks. Now she storms over. “That’s it.” Mason tries to protest. “I’m separating you two for the rest of the day.”

Mason’s arm slides around my shoulders, but I’m already moving. He needs this pay, and I choose not to ruin it for him. I head to the far corner near the low stone fence, where the land slopes gently into the dense woods bordering the palace grounds. I’m still in his line of sight.

The backyard buzzes with activity. A few men trim the shrubs. Palace maids haul tables to the sides while the hired decorators string deep crimson and silver banners. The scent of fresh-cut flowers and lemon polish thickens the air.

Tomorrow night, this space will turn into something almost magical. The afterparty will be held here. For now, it’s controlled chaos under the warm afternoon sun.

As long shadows stretch across the lawn, the chatter around me fades to a dull hum. On my knees, the grass cool and slightly damp beneath me, I focus on weaving fairy lights through the trimmed shrubs.

Until something crashes through the trees.

A massive black wolf bursts from the woods, and its tail swipes against my cheek. My eyes water. Streaks of deep orange blaze through its dark fur like living embers. Its eyes glow molten, shifting between copper, gold, and fiery red. Two more wolves follow the first, both big and fast, barreling straight into the yard we spent hours decorating.

Chaos erupts. Tables topple, and hours of lights tangle and snap. Maids scream, and men grumble. I scramble backward and lose my balance, landing hard on the grass.

Before I can push myself up, the wolves shift into their human forms, and I freeze. They are naked. All three of them.

A strange warmth spreads through my veins, and my heart hammers. I jerk my gaze away, waiting until I hear rustling fabric and low voices before I look again.

The three of them now wear jeans slung low on their hips. Maids rush forward with shirts, and their back muscles flex as they pull them on. Everyone else in the yard freezes, keeping their heads bowed and necks tilted in submission.

No one reprimands them for the mess. Even Edna stays unusually quiet. They turn to survey the yard, and my eyes drift to the one in the middle with the broadest shoulders.

A silver stud glints in one ear and another pierces his left brow. His wavy auburn hair falls to his nape, and he sweeps it back into a small, messy low bun, his muscles rippling in a dangerous yet alluring manner that makes my mouth water.

He’s the same man from the black car, probably the one who splashed water on me yesterday. A hint of ember-red flickers in his eyes before they switch to a smoky gray that pierces right through me, flashing once with disapproval.

These aren’t random wolves. I’ve seen them in the pictures on Sheila’s walls, but those photos didn’t do them justice. The red-haired one with the cheeky grin is Kade. The quiet, brooding one is Tristan, Sheila’s favorite. The last is Crown Prince Brynne Rybak, the reason for the selection.

Mason appears at my side and helps me to my feet. Grass and dirt cling to my dress. He touches his index knuckle to my cheek, and I flinch at the bruise quickly forming there.

“That looks new,” he mutters. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah.” I nod quickly. “I’m fine.”

My cheek throbs in protest, but I force myself to ignore the sting. It must be a fresh bruise from when the black wolf swiped its tail across my face.

His lips press into a thin line, and Mason turns to the princes. He steps forward, his voice carrying across the silent yard.

“You hurt my friend. The least you can do is apologize.”

Gasps ripple through the decorators and maids. I tug on the sleeve of Mason’s shirt, but he yanks his hand out of my reach.

“Pass me that towel,” Kade says, ignoring his demand.

Mason doesn’t move, but his shoulders tense. Doesn’t he know who these men are? My face isn’t worth it.

“You also ruined her dress,” he continues. “All three of you. Apologize.”

Another collective gasp echoes through the yard. The Crown Prince’s expression darkens. I inch forward to grab my friend and run, but Brynne is lightning quick. He moves in a blur, driving his fist into Mason’s stomach. My friend doubles over with a grunt, hitting the floor hard.

“Mason,” I cry.

Unfortunately, Brynne is only getting started. He straddles Mason, landing punch after brutal punch. Blood sprays from my best friend’s mouth and nose. I lunge forward, not sure how I can save him, but the other brothers’ powerful arms grab me, pinning me in place. I thrash against their hold.

“Please,” I yell as the Crown Prince raises his fist again.

Mason groans weakly beneath Brynne. His hands rise and fall back before he can summon the strength to fight back.

“He didn’t mean it. Stop.”

“If he doesn’t know his place,” Brynne growls, “he’s better off dead.”

“Please,” I choke out, tears blurring my vision. “Please. I’ll do anything.”

The hits continue, and panic gnaws at my chest. If this goes on, Mason will die today.

“Just stop, please. I’ll do anything you want. Please don’t kill him.”

Brynne finally looks up, and a slow, cruel smirk curves his lips.

“Anything?” he whispers.

I nod shakily. “Anything.”