Page 31 of Daughter of Garnet

This is the dress someone wears on a special occasion. Forget where it came from. When would I even have an opportunity to wear this?

As I turn it on the hanger to see what the back looks like, a note flutters to the floor.

You looked so beautiful in this color.

I knew, on some level, that this dress was from Cameron, but seeing the note, in the same handwriting as the one in my notebook, makes my chest pulse with anxiety. I'm breathless, and I don't know if it's in a good way.

There is a part of me that definitely feels excited at his attention. It's been weeks since that moment in the library, and yet he's giving me his attention. Two notes and a dress in one day make me think that I made as much of an impression on him then as he did on me.

He was here this morning. While I was ruminating over how he got access to my notebook, he was slipping into my room, leaving me a beautiful dress and proving he’d been watching me. I look around my room as if I'd see echoes of him if I concentrate hard enough.

Why do this? What is his goal? Does he want me to fear him? Or does he get off on this?

If he’s following me, if he can get into my room, why doesn’t he talk to me?

I should ignore it.

I should put this dress outside my door, let someone take it, and throw the note away.

I should.

But I don’t.

I tuck the scrap of paper into my notebook, right on top of the one he wrote in there, as if it were some sort of treasure, then take off my shoes and undress.

I don’t know why I do it. There must be something wrong with me, a piece of me that is broken, because in the back of my mind, there’s a little voice urging me to tease, to taunt. To make it clear that if anyone has the power here, it’s me.

My clothes fall from my fingers to the floor, and I turn toward the window and unclasp my bra. It slips down my arms, revealing my breasts to whoever gets the urge to look up and into my room. My pendant comes off next, leaving me bare except for a scant pair of panties.

I pull down the zipper on the side of the beautiful blue dress and step into it, luxuriating in how it feels against my heated flesh as I drag it up my body.

I am on fire with desire, and I grow slick between my thighs. I try to ignore it, but it's impossible when I imagine the Alpha watching the show I'm putting on for him.

When my breasts are tucked away in the top of the dress, I pull the zipper closed and smooth out the front.

It fits like a glove. Like whoever made it had a form of my body as they sewed it.

I complete a slow spin in front of the window before crossing to my mirror and taking a look at myself. My hair almost glitters in the sunlight, and my eyes, an odd shade of copper I share with my mother, seem lit from within.

People describe Omegas as possessing an otherworldly form of beauty. Cliff and Viv all but confirmed it when they spoke about how being around Omegas makes them feel.

For a moment, in this dress, I can picture myself that way. I can see a beauty I’ve never noticed reflected in the mirror.

And then, before my eyes, I watch my teeth extend into points within my smile.

I blink, and my mouth is back to normal, but I cannot deny what I saw.

This isn’t like the voice in the back of my head at the ceremony. I can’t explain this away with nerves or fear.

My teeth sharpened. I saw them. They stretched into points, pressing into my lips and leaving indents.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

My teeth sharpened.