Page 110 of The Forgotten

Now that he mentions it, I remember the odd way she moved as she walked beside me.

“Rubella was too subservient when I collected Róisin,” I mutter. “I wonder why she did that.”

Dad doesn’t say a word as we watch Róisin push herself through each move. The color is high in her cheeks in a way that has nothing to do with makeup, and the alphas growl around me. Looking around, I realize we may have a problem.

“She was acting oddly when I walked her down here,” I admit, watching as the guards keep the men watching seated. “Her skin is really warm, and I don’t think it’s because she’s sick.”

Dad looks around the room, realizing what I’m not saying. I truly believe the omega is in heat.

“If she can get through the rest of this dance, then I won’t punish her,” he muses.

My gaze remains on Róisin as she pushes past her own discomfort, only focused on the next move and how it fits with the music. The band never stops playing, following her movements as if this was all planned out perfectly. God, she appears as if she’s barely touching the ground as she travels along the floor as she dances.

“Will she just return to her cage?” Dorian asks, pretending to be conversational.

“No. No, I don’t think so,” Dad says. “Róisin is pumping out some intense pheromones. Can’t you smell her?”

The three of us nod, because how in the world wouldn’t you be able to smell Róisin right now?

“No, I think the good people that we’ve invited need to be properly compensated,” he says. “Just look around, sons. Tubrin is always so well controlled, and he’s about to go into a rut!”

Tubrin is his uncle, and I can see the way he’s watching Róisin with predatory eyes.

“Compensated how?” I breathe, my heart beginning to pound harder. None of my father’s ideas are ever really good.

“Balor,” Dad grunts, leaning forward to gaze around me. Wonderful, he’s ignoring me.

“Yes sir,” he says, prying his eyes away from the tiny dancer. “How can I help?”

It’s an immediate response, one that’s practically coded into our blood. Whatever our father wants, he gets. He holds our very lives and deaths in his hands.

“Once she’s done with her dance, you and your brothers are going to fuck Róisin,” Dad says. “I think it’s time that you lost your virginity.”

Balor goes pale, refusing to look anywhere but my father. My brothers and I aren’t bound by blood in any way, but everyone sees us as such. The nights are long and trauma has a way of breeding curiosity. The three of us lost our virginities on Balor’s seventeenth birthday. It was the only decent thing that came from a day that celebrated birth.

My father largely leaves Balor alone about his supposed virginity, but word has gotten around that he doesn’t ever glance at a woman. The manor has its whores, men and women who receive shelter for spreading their legs. My father has made Dorian and I fuck them over the years, however they were never our firsts.

“I expect you to make the girl scream,” Dad continues. “If your brother is right, though he didn’t say as much in so many words, then she’s an omega in heat. We’ll bring in the whores to take care of the alphas going into ruts while they watch the three of you fuck Róisin. People will be talking about this for years!”

The air freezes in my lungs as I gaze at the tiny dancer now grimacing in pain as she continues to dance. I have never hated being right more in my entire life.

This will be the second time that I’ve stood by and watched her be raped, but this time I’ll be forced to participate more than before.

I’m sorry, Tiny Dancer. I have people to protect, and in this life, you can’t be mine. I’ll just have to pretend instead. Please forgive us.

Chapter

Three

RÓISIN

I’m suspendedin a series of notes. Each move is dictated to me by the rise and fall of string instruments playing. My limbs are being pulled by them, and I’m spinning and jumping in an effort not to cry.

Fire is lighting up my nerve endings, licking at my skin, or so it seems. I’m sweating underneath the flimsy clothing I’m wearing, and I desperately want to pull everything off. I hate that I’m completely nose blind, because my eyes tend to close while I’m dancing. I can’t tell if anyone is near me or not, and it’s affecting my spatial awareness. I’m completing a spin as the music ends, and I force myself to open my eyes to rejoin the world.

All around the room, men are leaning forward, their nostrils flaring as they watch me. My slick is dripping down my thighs and I have to stifle a whine as my pussy clenches on nothing. I shouldn’t be wondering what it would be like to offer myself to the entire room.

This isn’t me…