CHAPTER 32: THE ITCH

FIA

I woke up itching.

Not the normal kind of itch you could scratch once and forget about. This was the persistent kind. The kind that crawled under your skin and spread like fire ants marching across your body.

I sat up in bed and scratched at my arm. Then my neck. Then my other arm. The more I scratched, the worse it got.

The room looked worse in the morning light. The mold in the corner was blacker than I remembered. More spread out. Like it had grown overnight while I slept. The walls had water stains I hadn’t noticed before. Dark patches that suggested years of neglect.

I threw off the blanket and stood. My skin was burning now. I looked down at my arms and saw red welts forming. Not from the fight yesterday. These were new. Fresh. The kind of rash that came from sleeping in a room that was actively trying to poison you.

Great. Perfect. Just what I needed on top of everything else.

I walked to the window and tried to open it. The frame was warped and stuck. I pushed harder. Put my shoulder into it. Finally it gave way with a groan and cracked open about six inches. Fresh air rushed in. Cold and clean and blessedly free of mold spores.

I stood there breathing it in for a minute. Tried to clear my lungs of whatever I’d been inhaling all night.

Then I looked around the room again. Really looked at it.

This was unacceptable. I couldn’t live like this. I didn’t care if this was punishment or oversight or just plain neglect. I wasn’t going to sleep another night in a room that was making me sick.

I started searching for cleaning supplies.

There was nothing under the sink in the bathroom. Nothing in the crooked dresser drawer. Nothing in the tiny closet that smelled like mothballs and disappointment.

I went to the door and peeked out into the hallway. It was empty. Quiet. I stepped out and started looking around.

The first room I tried was locked. So was the second. But the third door opened into what looked like a supply closet. And there, sitting in the corner like a gift from the goddess herself, was a broom and a mop bucket.

I grabbed them both. Carried them back to my room and got to work.

The floor was first. I swept up the dust and debris that had accumulated in the corners. There was more than there should have been. Like this room hadn’t been cleaned in months. Maybe years.

The dust made me cough. Made my eyes water. But I kept going.

When the floor was clear, I filled the bucket with water from the bathroom sink. There was no soap but water was better than nothing. I mopped in long strokes, working my way from the far corner toward the door.

The water turned gray almost immediately. Then brown. I had to dump it and refill it three times before the floor finally looked clean.

Next was the bathroom. I used the hem of my wedding dress to wipe down the sink and the toilet and the shower. Everything was covered in a thin film of grime that came off easily once I actually tried.

The walls were harder. The water stains weren’t going anywhere without proper cleaning supplies. And the mold... I stared at that black growth in the corner and felt my stomach turn.

I couldn’t just wipe that away. Mold like that needed special treatment. Bleach probably. Or something stronger. But I didn’t have anything like that.

I scratched at my arm again. The rash was spreading. I could feel it moving up toward my shoulder now.

What was I supposed to do about the mold? Just ignore it? Sleep in here anyway and hope I didn’t get sick?

I thought about asking someone for help. But who? The omegas who’d tried to humiliate me yesterday? The one I’d beaten bloody? Yeah, that seemed like a great plan.

Maybe there was a washing machine somewhere in this estate. Most packs had them even if they made the omegas hand wash everything as some kind of archaic punishment. If I could find it, I could at least wash the blankets and sheets. Get rid of whatever was making my skin react like this.

But would they even let me use it? Cian struck me as the type who subscribed to that old fashioned notion that omegas shouldn’t know comfort. That we were meant to suffer and serve and be grateful for whatever scraps we were given.

And I was fairly certain he hated me more than he hated anyone.

I was about to go searching for it anyway when someone knocked on the door.

I froze. Looked at the broom still in my hand. At the bucket of dirty water. At the mess I’d made trying to clean up.

The knock came again. Louder this time.

I set the broom down and walked to the door. Opened it slowly.

The omega from yesterday stood there. The one I’d punched. Her face was swollen. Purple bruises bloomed across her cheeks and around her eyes. Her nose was bandaged but I could still see the swelling underneath.

She looked at me and something in her expression was different. Not hatred this time. Something closer to fear.

"Breakfast is ready." The words came out stiff. Formal. "Llluuuna Fia."

The title caught in her throat. I heard it. That little choke on the word Luna. Like it hurt her to say it. Like calling me that was physically painful.

I knew the term was honorary. I was not born into it and I knew I hadn’t earned it. I knew that to her and probably everyone else in this pack, I was just the omega who’d trapped their Alpha into a mate bond he didn’t want.

But hearing it out loud still felt wrong. Too big for me. Too heavy.

"Okay," I said. "Thank you."

She didn’t leave though. She just stood there staring past me into the room. Then her eyes widened.

"What are you doing?"

I glanced back at the broom and bucket. At the wet floor. "Cleaning."

"Why?" She actually stepped forward. Her voice pitched higher. "That’s our job. Why are you working?"

"I had a bad sleep." I shrugged. Tried to make it sound casual. "Probably because of the mold.Which you must have known about. But no worries. I can fix it myself."

As if on cue, my hand started itching again. I reached up and scratched at my arm without thinking.

The omega’s face went pale. Went from purple and bruised to white in half a second.

"What’s wrong with your skin?" She was staring at my hand now. At the red welts covering my arm.

"Nothing. Just a rash."

"That’s not nothing." She moved closer. Faster than I expected. Before I could step back she grabbed my wrist and pushed up the sleeve of my nightgown.

The rash went all the way up my arm. Red and angry and spreading. It looked worse than it felt. Or maybe it felt worse and I’d just gotten used to the burning.

The omega made a sound, something between a gasp and a whimper.

"This is bad," she whispered, her voice trembling now. "This is really bad."

I frowned, tugging at the corner of the sheet. "It’s fine. I just need to wash these and—"

"The Alpha is going to kill us." Her hands flew to her mouth, eyes wide as if she was only now realizing the weight of what they had done. "He’s going to kill all of us."

I froze. "What are you talking about?"

"You’re his mate," she blurted, voice cracking. "His Luna. You can’t have rashes, you can’t look sick. If he finds out what we did, if he sees what happened to your skin..."

Her words died off, but the guilt in her eyes said everything.

They hadn’t put me in this room out of ignorance. They had done it on purpose. The damp sheets, the harsh soap, the mold in the corner of the wall— they were little punishments wrapped in the disguise of servitude. They wanted me to suffer, to remind me that I didn’t belong here.

But now my skin’s reaction had gone too far.

And it was clear that the fear in her voice wasn’t for me. It was for herself.

Because Cian wouldn’t see this as an accident. He’d see damage to what they believed he owned.

Me.