Page 10 of Want It All

When I’d said it meant nothing, I hadn’t been lying.

I’d seen Alessia’s grateful look, and James shot me a warm smile as we were walking out of class, but I deserved neither.

I’d done it for Sebastian, and Sebastian only.

If Heathcote had left him alone, I would have sat silently and let our professor target the others, just like every other alpha in the room.

I didn’t deserve their gratitude.

Heathcote’s obvious bias troubled me, though probably not as much as it should have. Sebastian would be fine. He was the smartest person I’d ever met, and if Heathcote continued to target him … Well, I’d be doing more than just talking back in class.

‘I’m going to have to work my ass off,’ Sebastian muttered. ‘I bet his bias against betas and omegas comes through in his marking.’

‘SECU policy states that all work is blind marked.’

Sebastian threw me a wry look. ‘Yes, I’m sure he’ll let that stop him.’

Disquiet churned in my stomach. Perhaps I wasn’t taking it seriously enough.

Sebastian already had the world working against him; he didn’t need a bigoted professor with a superiority complex making things worse.

‘We’ll watch him,’ I said, curling my arm around Sebastian’s waist and pressing a kiss to his temple.

And I would.

Like a fucking hawk .

Sebastian’s brow creased into a familiar frown. He stumbled on the bottom step of the main staircase, and I knew that his mind had gone elsewhere – to studying, specifically. I kept my arm around him as we descended, and it was only half for the pleasure of holding him close.

I knew from long experience what he needed: a pot of tea, some study snacks, and his classical music playlist. When we reached our apartment and he disappeared into the bedroom, I found his favourite tea and made him a pot.

I’d ordered some biscuits and chocolate from a speciality shop further down the coast, so I put some on a plate, added some raspberries, then connected his phone to the Bluetooth speakers.

Sebastian reappeared as the sound of a gentle piano concerto filled the living room. His expression softened, and his perfect lips curved into a smile.

‘Oh, alpha,’ he breathed, and for a moment, I thought the afternoon might take a different turn. It wasn’t to be, however; he bussed a kiss to my cheek and flopped down on the couch, opening his laptop and shoving a biscuit in his mouth, whole.

‘I’m going for a walk.’

He glanced at me. ‘In the gardens? Or further?’

‘Just the gardens. I want to check out the maze.’

He nodded. It wasn’t surprising; I walked as much as I could.

I knew I didn’t look outdoorsy, but walking was my meditation.

If I didn’t have anything else to do, I’d walk for miles, letting the sounds around me and the steady rhythm of my own breathing lull me into a state of quiet content.

It was a trait I shared with my mother; whenever I went home, she’d plan a ramble, just for us, and they were times I treasured.

After pressing a kiss to Sebastian’s hair, I headed downstairs. Later-year classes ran all day, and I overheard some workshops as I walked through the corridors and escaped into the gardens at the back of the manor.

The gardens were meticulously manicured, lying beyond a small green.

They framed the maze and were bordered by flowering plants and, further away, towering trees, giving the manor a sense of seclusion.

The garden was entirely planted with native species: even the green wasn’t grassed, but rather a lush covering of Australian violets.

I’d never seen its like and I paused to admire it, snapping a few shots on my phone to show Sebastian and to send to my mother.

They both loved gardening, though Sebastian’s interest was mainly in indoor and balcony plants; messy cottage gardens were more my mother’s thing.

It was what had changed my parents’ minds about Sebastian.

They’d thought I was too young to settle down , until he’d given them a tour of our last apartment and Sebastian and my mother had struck up an hours-long conversation about indoor gardens.

Somehow – to my parents, at least – Sebastian’s care and dedication for his plants translated to care and dedication to me , and they came around to our relationship.

Sometimes, I wished my parents didn’t know me quite so well.

Banksia’s maze was made of lemon myrtle; it was flowering, so the sweet scent of its blossoms hung in the air, mixed with the heady citrus smell of its leaves.

It was so strong that I could barely scent anything else, which unnerved me.

As an alpha, my sense of smell was second only to an omega’s, and we relied on scent to navigate the world around us.

The heavy curtain of citrus in the air was as good as someone blindfolding me.

The maze stretched over my head, three metres or so upwards. I strode forward, my shoulders relaxing as the lush green enveloped me. I resolved to take some leaves back to Sebastian for tea. He enjoyed comfort, and that comfort often came in the form of something hot and drinkable.

The pathway forked. I chose the right-hand side; I wasn’t trying to get to the centre of the maze, just wandering around it.

The path led to a small clearing with four more walkways branching from it, and a small water feature in the middle like a tiny roundabout.

Stone benches sat to the left and right.

I snapped another picture for Sebastian, then whirled around, frowning, when I thought I heard a footstep.

There was no one there.

I inhaled, but all I could smell was lemon myrtle.

Shaking my head, I chose one of the paths and strode deeper into the maze.

A kookaburra call sounded from somewhere nearby.

I’d only ever seen them in zoos or at bird sanctuaries, but I knew that they were territorial and their call could mean a stranger was close.

What I didn’t know was if I was that stranger, or whether they were calling about someone else.

I followed the path, finding some dead ends along the way, most of them featuring some kind of statue. Banksia’s art collection was worth a fortune, and I was a little surprised to see so many pieces out here in the garden, where anyone could trip over them.

A shuffling noise came from my left.

I spun, the hair on the back of my neck standing on end as my alpha rose inside me, bristling just beneath my skin. The kookaburra called once more, mocking. My hands came up, ready to strike, and my teeth ached, preparing to push down, to bite, to tear .

But I remained alone.

I lowered my hands, feeling like a fool, but my skin didn’t stop crawling. I shoved my hands into my pockets, scoffing at myself. It’s the maze , I told myself. It was the overpowering smell of citrus and the way the trees walled me in and cut off the sky.

Behind me, a footstep fell.

I moved, but a hand was already clamping around my jaw, and something sharp pressed into my neck.

I woke in darkness, blinking slowly. I couldn’t see a thing.

Some kind of material scratched gently across my brow and the bridge of my nose, my eyelashes dragging against it, telling me I’d been blindfolded.

My entire body ached, but my shoulders were especially sore; my arms were stretched behind my back, and the tight, shifting warmth around my wrists suggested that someone was holding them that way .

Rage spread through me, hot and consuming.

My alpha roared, hating that someone was restricting our movement.

My instincts shouted at me to struggle, to throw them off, to tear away whatever covered my eyes, and to beat my foes into submission, both with my fists and with my dominance.

My alpha reared its head, ready to make someone bleed .

But I knew that was the worst thing I could do.

My parents had dealt with kidnap threats before.

Once a year, they hired a consultant – sometimes private, sometimes from the military, sometimes a member of the Alpha Special Forces – and they’d refresh my entire family on what to do.

Try not to get kidnapped in the first place, was their general advice.

But if we did, we were advised to cooperate.

To take in all the information we could.

To study our kidnappers’ faces, their voices.

To talk to them. To try to forge a connection, to humanise ourselves.

To always make it clear if we needed medical attention, and to only try to escape if we were absolutely sure of success.

Above all, they advised us to stay calm.

Which, it turned out, was easier said than done.

A shuffling sound came from my right; someone grunted, as if in pain. A snarl ripped through the air, raw and desperate, full of anger and fear.

I wasn’t alone, then.

‘Be silent.’

The voice was female, and unfamiliar; it resonated with dominance and command. The snarling stopped abruptly.

‘You are in no danger,’ the woman continued. ‘The opposite, in fact.’

My shoulders stiffened; the ache in my body spread.

From my symptoms, I suspected that I’d either been beaten to a pulp while unconscious, or I’d been given a dose of propofolyte, a tranquiliser specifically developed to floor alphas during a rut.

The drug worked almost instantaneously, but its effects had a relatively short duration if the dose wasn’t repeated.

And its side effects included muscle aches, cramps, weakness, and general lethargy.

Fantastic , I thought crossly, shifting as my thigh cramped; the movement earned me an unreasonably sharp hinge joint – a knee, I suspected – to the lower back.

‘You’re here today because we’ve researched you.

Watched you. And we know you have something that might be valuable to us.

We don’t mean money,’ the woman went on, as I stiffened.

‘Though that can be helpful, too. We mean that there’s something about you – about your drive, your connections, your skills – that could help us. Something we could use.’

I inhaled sharply, realising who’d taken me.

The Revels .

‘This isn’t admittance,’ the woman said warningly. ‘This is the first of multiple steps towards a possible offer. You’re at a school that students would kill to attend. And we’re the group that takes only the best of the best.

‘Your task is in your hands.’ I felt something nestle between my fingers, and I closed my hand around it, tight.

‘Whether you complete it is your choice. But failure to do so will remove you from consideration. You have one month from today; after that time, if your task remains incomplete, you will be struck from our list.’ She paused.

‘We ask a lot of those who join us. But they get a lot in return. Your wildest dreams could be your reality.’ Another pause. ‘For you and your pack.’

My breath caught. I’d never cared about the Revels; I didn’t need them. But Sebastian ?

If I was accepted, I’d have a say in the Banksia Prize recipient. The PhD place he wanted would be his on a platter. Any postgraduate fellowships would be sorted – even tenure at the university of his choice.

I didn’t care about my dreams; they’d already come true. But I’d do anything – including whatever was written on the slip of paper in my hands – to make sure that Sebastian got what he wanted.

‘It should go without saying, but if you tell anyone about this, you’ll not only be struck from our list, we’ll toss you from Banksia House and SECU entirely. We’ll be watching,’ the woman said, and this time, I felt the needle slip beneath my skin.

I woke alone, surrounded by the scent of citrus.

The kookaburra was still calling, but there was no other sound.

I pushed myself off the ground, groaning.

Everything hurt. I was grateful I was alone; I hated feeling weak, but I hated other people seeing me weakened even more.

It took me more than a few moments to get to my feet and stagger across to the bench.

The sun had barely moved in the sky, which told me I hadn’t been gone long, even if the air was hotter and the brightness made my eyes ache. I shielded them with one hand, then uncurled the fingers of the other.

The paper was rolled like a tiny scroll, sealed with black wax. The impression was of a plant; though the wax had smudged, I could tell it was a banksia flower. I broke it carefully, trying to keep the seal intact.

On the paper were three words, written in beautiful cursive.

Compromise the omega .

My vision tunnelled, white bleeding into the edges of my sight as rage and fear flared through me, all consuming. I could barely swallow the roar that threatened to tear from my throat.

I’ll destroy them .

I was on my feet the next moment, ignoring the pain, ready to hunt down the Revels immediately. I was sprinting through the maze, crushing the paper between my fingers, before it hit me.

Rosemary. They could mean Rosemary .

I stopped, skidding to a halt. I looked down at the paper, smoothing it out.

Compromise the omega .

For a moment, I asked myself why . Why would they want me to do that?

And what did they mean by compromise ? I assumed it wasn’t in a historical sense, where compromising might be as simple as being alone in a room with her.

Did they mean to make her unsafe? To sabotage her work? Manipulate her emotionally?

I realised it was up to me; the Revels weren’t going to give me any guidance. That was the point. They’d just watch, and wait, and evaluate whatever I chose to do.

I could do nothing .

I buried that thought before it could take root. This was for Sebastian. While Rosemary seemed nice enough, she wasn’t really a friend, and now she was a target.

Compromise the omega .

I stopped at the entrance of the maze to collect a handful of lemon myrtle leaves for Sebastian, then made my way back towards the manor, my mind whirling with possibilities.