Hey… it's me again.
Yeah, the peasant boy who somehow ended up with ten royal wolves fighting over who gets to carry my tray.
I'm sitting on the balcony of my stupidly huge room right now. Moon's out, city lights sparkling below like someone spilled a box of stars. It's quiet for once. No growling, no shouting, no one trying to sneak past the guards Aiden posted outside my door (yes, he actually posted guards "for my safety." Cute, right?).
I need to be honest with you, because if I don't say it now I might never.
I'm not the sweet, innocent little omega everyone thinks I am.
I mean… I was. Three weeks ago I was just Nalia from the dirt, scared of my own shadow, happy if I had bread and a dry roof. Now? Now there's this thing inside me that wakes up every time one of them looks at me too long. It purrs. It stretches. It whispers filthy, greedy things like:
Take them all.
Make them kneel.
Make them beg.
Make them yours.
And the scariest part?
I like it.
