"You wouldn't question your mate," she hissed, nails on the plate, tapping. "You don't trust me Zen, how can I trust you?" Euodia had rose, sweeping to go. "Perhaps you don't deserve me." The panic had boiled in his chest like wildfire, molten lava down his veins. He sank to the ground, crumbled heap, sobbing his apologies.
"Alpha, Alpha! Alpha, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."
The silent treatment went on for weeks. But he deserved it. The suffocation of her quiet around his throat was torture. And the pain that blossomed through his veins, red blood out of his mouth, felt even worse each day.
His chest was burning, knives in his throat, flames up his spine. There were always tears burning in his nose, sticky at the back of his throat. And his Alpha was always smiling, running her hands up his thinning naked body. The paleness of his skin was sickly, his eye bags grew only darker. And veins protruded from his flesh in dark purple and gold. They ran higher and around his limbs as if he were poisoned.
Euodia had him out on the battlefield.
Her smile was bright as he raised his hands and crushed the Omegas that ran their way. There was only destruction flavouring the air in the dust and the columns of smoke. She was smiling as he killed them all. Heads popped, and bodies crumpling into vapour. But Zen could only think of his six, the worry stinging in his chest. Each time before he killed, he took a moment to look for his friends.
They had tried to convince him, begged that he listened. They'd wiped his blood that burned their tender skin with soft touches, had nursed him the best they could. He knew his body hurt them worse than it hurt him, for blisters formed when they touched his blood. But they didn't seem to care about the danger he was to them.
A final kiss, and they were gone. Zen had been left alone and cold in the dark. He learned that night that they were rebels. And they promised, despite his vehement pleading, that they would save him from Euodia. Zen prayed they would never meet again. Not because he hated them for their betrayal, but because he didn't want to kill them.
He couldn't kill his six.
He could never hurt them.
It would be like hurting himself.
His ears were ringing now, his body was burning. A smirk was on her lips. The world was on fire, and she laughed. She seemed so ugly to him that he recoiled. And before him was his six, on their knees. They had been winning, should have won, but for him they were willing to barter, to negotiate despite knowing that Zen was Euodia's secret weapon. That they had all walked to their graves.
Euodia had smiled. They were screaming something and Zen in his weakness, had struggled to focus. There were tears in his eyes because he'd begged them not to come, and yet they did because they loved him.
"Don't hurt him, please! Don't do it!"
His eyes had watered at their words. Oh God, what had he done?
"Kill them Zen," she ordered.
And this time he faltered, could not lift a finger against his six. His six. His six. His friends. His family. His lovers—Choked laughter spilled from his lips. The poison was boiling water in his skin, pouring acid down his veins. And his refusal burned in his collar, light shining through his bones. The pills were supposed to turn him obedient, but Zen stood against its call.
She giggled, maniac and crazed. Her hands were around his throat he was gasping, whimpering, eyes teary with the betrayal. And he wondered then why he had loved her so dearly before. "It doesn't matter!" She raised her hands, a weapon in her grasp. "You're already dead anyway, and you'll kill them all for me—"
He turned; eyes bright with tears. His hands closed into fist. His energy wrapped around her legs. They splattered. His magic was a wave, stealing the breaths of the Alpha soldiers, stealing the lives of the royalty. Every last one of them exploded like over ripened berries under his fingertips. Blood spewed from his lips as her sword entered his flesh, narrowly missing his heart. And he fell.
His ability to disobey was thanks to his ignorance of the very last pill that day, left on his plate untouched and rolling in his empty chambers. The last dose that should have turned him mindless zombie. The last dose that should explode him if he disobeyed.
She wanted him and his six dead.
He awoke to his friends—no—his lovers by his side. And he sobbed out his confession and acceptance of their love. Their true love despite his betrayal, despite everything. But Zen had to be careful from now on, would pay the price for the lack of trust in his lovers. It would take years for the poison to cycle out of his system. And for now he had to be extremely careful.
Weeks later he slid his fingers into Euodia's open chest, stretching her wide. He allowed blood-stained hands to crawl up her throat and closed his fists into her brain. His heart hurt as he did it, with closed eyes and unshed tears.
"It's the brain that really controls the living," he'd explained so prettily with wide doe eyes to his six. He had brought the tendrils of it, wet and slimy to his lips, tasted the blood off each slimy, gooey purple. The juice was slick on his cheeks. "We should make sure she's really dead."
He devoured her and Zen called it love.
Euodia's dead body had been unrecognisable in his destruction. And he mourned her death in his space, closed his eyes to thoughts of her laughter and listened to the blood pumping through his own veins—Her blood with his.
She did not love him and that was her mistake; it didn't matter now. Not when his heart was so big and could accept so many more, but she would remain as his only Alpha. And they would be together forever inside of him.
They were now finally, one.
*
Zen
Zen smiled.
Perhaps he should have convinced his lovers to lock Euodia up forever instead. For death seemed far too merciful, and he would have dearly enjoyed the never-ending taste of her for the rest of his life. A scowl had pinched his features.
They'd been too quick to kill her.
It would be better to milk her dry.
Enormous glass chalices of blood flanked his frame, each with a spout to release blood from an Alpha hanging from its hooks. The room was a kaleidoscope of reflecting light with each gorgeous crystal goblet, the beams of it spilling prettily across the carpet.
The Omegas could see the shattered images of the dying Alphas strung up with thousands of pipes in their flesh through the glass. Their lips were gagged as food was forced down their throat, each catheterised to create a sterile environment in their cold glassy chambers. It was an exhilarating experience for the guests, here to purchase large, freshly bottled quantities of blood from the newly opened store.
Blood Wine was an open-concept factory that squeezed fresh blood from delicious Alpha criminals into bottles. They sold the drink for an extreme profit that would go into the rebuilding of the Kingdom. It was packaged as a luxury, for blood so readily squeezed in huge, fresh amounts would kill quickly. And the process was far more torturous.
These women were meant for death.
They had offended an Omega, done something unspeakable and should be executed. And they would be. But not a single drop of blood could now be wasted and Zen was here to taste its quality in a party that celebrated a new commodity.
The vampires by his side tittered and flocked about, mingling, and pleased with the new find. The taste of fresh Alpha blood was better than the humanly extracted Omega blood that they had relied on for years. It was natural for Alpha blood to be better than Omega blood considered their biology and nature. And once the prejudice was gone with the Omega Kings' influence, the people were happy to partake in a new, reliable source.
Zen licked his lips, tasting the remains of his favourite flavour. He had a penchant for AB. He flicked open the spout. The label was new. The lamination glossy. It read 'Beta, AB blood-type. Rich full-bodied peach-like flavour with a fruity finish.'
The price was the highest he'd seen in the row, worth far more gold than most. The quality must be good, Zen pursed his lips. Curious, he stared into the chamber as he swirled it in his glass. The blood was thick, not runny like some and it swayed heavy in his glass. He squinted his eyes and gasped.
He froze to the sight of a face that drew memories swimming to the forefront of his brain. It didn't matter if she was plugged up and thinner, didn't matter if her hair was gone, features gaunt. Zen had spent his every waking moment looking at Euodia and this woman resembled her so much that it had him pressing his nose against the glass.
He exhaled, and she blinked, sleepy from blood loss. Her dark eyes were gold-rimmed, lashes long and fluttery. His tongue tasted the blood, just a drop spreading across his palette like honey, juicy and sweet. It vibrated through his system, sent a jolt of heat through his chest. Light and air seemed to vanish from his system, a fizz that tingled across his lips began. His jeans seemed to grow tighter, erection growing, slick spilling.
Zen's smile spreading wider. This was his lucky day. A crooked finger and the sales assistant was running towards him with a quick steady bow. He pointed to the glass a delirious laugh escaping his throat. Finally, a substitute.
"Please pack her up."
The boy nodded, scooped low to pull out bottles to fill.
"I mean her," Zen snapped, rage flooding him and then he schooled himself, confused at his sudden irritation. "She's off market. I'll be purchasing her privately." He placed the glass down, the rim licked clean. "And all other bottles you've created from her. They're all mine."