“Unregistered filth Arion quickly and seamlessly disposed of.”

“You’re sure of that?” I ask, feeling the threads of my sleeves start to unravel.

“Trust me, even if some do remain, they’ll never attempt it again.”

“I don’t think you realize the shit we’re in. I’ve heard a lot—”

“I don’t realize the shit we’re in?” she interrupts with a snort, causing me to look over my shoulder at her.

She leans forward and blows a strip of red hair out of her face, glaring at me.

“I’m going to stick to you like glue, because four alphas care if you live or die,” she says very seriously.

Now would be a horrible time to tell her I’ve recently discovered I’m immortal. Theoretically.

“I’ve seen Arion dispatch three hundred very well-trained, powerful mercenaries, and then play the fucking maracas, as he danced over their dismembered bodies…during the endless wars that carried on long after Idun. I was just starting out back then, and thank fucking hell he decided I was his new favorite beta.”

That paints a disturbing picture in my head that I’ll never get out.

“I’m sitting pretty in my position, and the times are nice and peaceful. Which is good, because I’m barely a step above omega, in all actuality. Arion taught me to be the strongest I’m capable of, and it makes me seem twice as badass.”

“I was sort of hoping you could bend these bars with your mind-powers and all,” I say a little too hopefully. “Since we’re discussing you being a badass and all.”

I’m glad her mind-power isn’t death staring, because this look might actually be the key to killing me, otherwise.

“It’s a parlor trick, Violet,” she hisses like I’m an idiot. “I can pump the brakes and toy with a steering wheel, or snap a saddle loose if needed, even throw some leaves on a fire to make it spark brighter, and I look damn intimidating. Then they’re timid and uncertain of themselves, which in turn causes hesitance in their movements, and gives me an edge. Then I use that parlor trick to give my punch some oomph. No, I cannot bend the motherfucking bars, because I can’t even get these chains to unlatch.”

I nod as she finishes her tirade.

“And I’m stuck in here with the fainting girlfriend right now, while her psychotic quad of boyfriend alphas plot the most fun way to approach this, while also the safest,” she carries on. “In what smells like a helluva lot of fauxmega wolves in an underground den.”

She’s actually a little comical when she’s consistently talking down to me like I’m an idiot.

“Yes, I know the shit we’re in!” she adds very loudly.

I rap my fingers and think over her little rant.

“Fauxmega wolves?”

A tired sigh is wrenched from her throat when I ask that question.

“Pureblood wolves who are stronger than what’s normal, but not pack-leading material. It classifies them as omega. Their blood smells weak; therefore they are weak.” She stares me in the eyes. “To the alphas,” she adds like she’s making a point.

“In truth, we’re surrounded by hundreds of fucking betas with a more subdued, less threatening scent, even though they are stronger. Sure, some of them are true omegas. You’ll see them turn on each other, because they’re terrified and in a frenzy. That’s what makes them fucking omegas! But you tell an apple it’s an orange for enough generations, and it believes it’s a fucking orange.”

Her metaphor is a little too on point, but I can tell she’s not digging for any information. She either knows, or it’s just a fucked up coincidence.

“Until it discovers it’s really an apple,” she adds, only piling onto the hair-raising metaphor by this point. “Unregistered wolves are illegal whether they were scratched by choice or not. Pureblood wolves are not forced to register, because they were born without choice and can’t infect. The betas of Emit’s pack voted, and he passed it as law, because he’s too fucking soft on his wolves.”

“It’s House based? The laws, I mean,” I cut in before she goes off on a tangent about wolves again.

“The vote is majority, like most all big House decisions. But at the end of the day, the alpha usually gets his or her way.”

Well, this sucks balls to learn.

“Tiara, your little pet pureblood, isn’t registered and doesn’t have to be. But Emit doesn’t even care because she’s devoutly loyal to her pack. He knows her. Those omegas make sure to be known, just as I make sure to be known. It’s why I’m a living captive instead of a rotting corpse right now,” she goes on very seriously.

“But the rest of them, all the ones who think they understand how it works, and decide they can do it better…those are the ones the alpha’s betas are supposed to deal with. Arion came out of the ground and handled one House slip like he knew exactly where to start, before I even got the groundwork laid,” she says. “And I’m a damn good beta,” she quickly adds as though that’s paramount above all else.

“When you’re as close as you and I are to them, we learn the real truth. The solid foundation on which we stand is their shoulders. Take them away, and we descend into true, horrifying chaos,” she continues. “They have betas to handle tedious things such as fucking purebloods organizing hordes—an oxymoron that is still blowing my mind. They have betas to deal with the omegas and the other betas. Alphas don’t step in unless it affects them, Violet. That’s our worldly order.”

“Emit’s betas are committing mutiny on the regular,” I say a little quieter.

“Vancetto is handling the ones who try to spread the strains of infection, or form packs outside town limits, and his knights do decent jobs. There are some things that just shouldn’t happen; however, some have gotten too soft,” she carries on.

“I hate how everyone refers to immortals and fauximmortals—”

“Don’t steal my naming process and make it generic,” Shera interrupts, shooting me a pointed look.

“—as infections,” I finish. “Ever think that causes some of the unnecessary tension?”

“Don’t get PC on me, you twit. We’re Pandora’s Box, Violet,” she tells me, using her you’re-an-idiot-so-let-me-walk-you-to-the-corner tone.

“Pandora’s box is a metaphor too commonly used, so I’m desensitized to it,” I quip.

“It’s not a metaphor. We are Pandora’s fucking box, and the lid truly does not go back on,” she says so earnestly that I have no choice but to take her seriously. “Pandora is where the blood magic comes in. Once she broke the seal on their altar, mixing in her blood magic, the fountain of youth poured out and unleashed seven deadly monsters. Once the infection started, the box disintegrated; therefore, there was no box for the lid, Violet. It’s more like popping miracle grow onto some weeds, and giving them razor sharp fangs,” she goes on, causing my eyebrows to lift. “They needed a powerful blood witch to dabble with that much magic, and she needed strong gypsy magic. They met in the middle, and the world as we never knew it changed. Better? Worse? Who fucking knows? It is what it is at this point, and at the end of the day, monsters can only be monsters. You need a bigger, badder, colder monster at the top.”

“Like Idun,” I surmise, putting a pin in the whole Pandora thing.

She shudders. “No, fuck no. Not like Idun. Idun doesn’t want to be alpha of her flock. She wants to be alpha over it all. Big difference.”

“Like Arion does,” I mildly point out.

She exhales harshly. “If I was a suicidal woman, I would agree that Arion oversteps. Vance gets lost in the hunt and forgets to manage. Damien tries to fade from the world. And Emit tries to spend all his time forgetting or changing what cannot be changed.”

“Are you brave enough to tell me who was right or wrong about the last feud that sent Arion underground for a century? I mean…in your opinion? I know what the omegas think. They say Arion should have stayed under as long as Emit wanted, and they mean it.”

Shera’s gaze slowly connects with mine. “Smart omegas always take their alpha’s side, and often refuse to have a separate opinion,” she says like she’s explaining something.

“Do betas have opinions on such touchy topics?” I pry.

“I’ll answer that when I start thinking there’s a chance I could die,” is the answer I get.

I nod like that’s an acceptable answer, noting her confusion, as my sleeves drop to the ground in two small piles of thread.

She doesn’t note it aloud, though, as she continues speaking.

“Unless you’re like Arion, it’s not easy to be Alpha, because you’ve got hard decisions to make, and most of the time everyone fucking hates you for it. Or they become your favorites—the only ones whose opinions matter.”

“Why wouldn’t you tell them that they’re wrong? They could have been warned about the purebloods before it was a problem,” I point out.

She laughs almost humorlessly. “It’s so funny how your only introduction into our world has been through the eyes of the alphas. It’s quite frankly a novelty of a problem, because your introduction is a first. Usually, you start at the bottom and get a few glimpses of the top. You don’t even understand the threat of Idun, because it’s not your problem. You notice this problem, because it’s just as much your problem as mine.”

I’m really confused how that’s an answer. She stares at me, clearly waiting on me to somehow magically draw whatever conclusion it is she thinks she’s spoon-feeding me.

“I’m not gonna lie; you lost me,” I state very honestly.

Seriously, though…I’m so glad looks can’t kill.

“I can’t go whining that the pureblood omegas are too strong to call omegas,” she snaps in a tone that assures me this should be obvious. “I don’t have alphas coddling me. I’m supposed to be a badass. If I whine about omegas being too tough, I’ll get my ass kicked on the playground, Violet. Come on!”

I don’t mean to laugh, but one choked burst escapes me before I miraculously manage to swallow the rest.

She gives me a disbelieving, annoyed look.

I back away when I hear someone walking toward us, and Shera goes completely silent.

A bald man sneers as he steps in front of the bars, and I stay back, just watching, as he pulls a set of keys off the belt at his waist.

He unlocks the door, filling up the doorway, and I notice more feet pass behind his, as someone else walks by.

The food gets quickly put down, and he backs away, eyes warily assessing Shera. He darts a glance from her chains to her face, over and over.

I carefully go to pick up the food and come back once he’s vanished from sight.