Page 194 of Caged

She glances around the room surreptitiously while studiously ignoring me. She’s still looking for another exit, and the clearly prey behavior sends a thrill shooting down my spine.

Rather quickly, I pick up on the way her eyes return to the couch closest to her over and over, as if pulled by some unseen force.

My gaze roams down her body, clocking the way she balls her hands into fists. Like pieces of a puzzle, the clues start to fit together, the image becoming clear.

Slung over the back of the couch, less than four feet away, is a fur-lined blanket.

It’s white. Obviously soft and warm. The exact kind of expensive fabric an Omega like her would expect.

She wants it, and she’s forcing herself not to reach for it. Her instincts must be out of control if she can’t even focus without her eyes being drawn back to it.

Interesting.

I watch with interest as, once again, her gaze lands on the blanket before quickly flitting away. Like a scared little bird.

I smile.

She chooses this moment to answer my question.

“I was told to clean.” Her voice is reed-thin and shaky. She sounds hoarse, like she hasn’t had a drink in weeks.

“I’m supposed to clean the furniture. In each of the rooms on this floor.”

I stay silent and wait for her to continue.

“I’ve done all the others.”

I still don’t speak. I’ve found silence is often the quickest way to get answers. People hate silence. They want to fill it. Either to keep things from feeling awkward, to hear themselves speak, or any myriad of reasons that all lead to the same result: providing the answers I desire.

The Omega’s eyes dart from me to the bookshelves lining the walls, back to me, then back to that damn blanket. I wonder if she knows she’s exhibiting signs of avoidance behavior.

The female is already cracking under pressure, and I haven’t even raised my voice yet. I wonder if she’s feeling effects from not having all the soft things she’s used to. Sure, Caelan claims she doesn’t have anything in her room. That it’s empty of nesting material as well as a nest.

I don’t believe that for a second.

Omegas are notoriously difficult to be around if they don’t have a proper nest or nesting materials, even in the short-term. If she truly had nothing at home, she’d be a textbook case of Chronic Sensory Disruption Disorder by now.

Omegas who go extended periods of time without nesting materials, scent-marking, or basic physical contact and reassurance from an Alpha spiral into hormonal chaos. They exhibited symptoms of hair loss, emotional flat-lining, chronic fatigue, and panic attacks. In short, their systems short-circuit.

Yet here she is, walking, talking, and lying to us all like it’s a fucking hobby.

So no, I don’t believe Caelan saw what he thinks he saw. It’s more likely that he walked into the wrong room, she happened to be there, and he drew inaccurate conclusions without asking questions.

Either that, or she knew he was coming, and the area was staged.

Regardless, comfort items are a bargaining chip. And I’ve never been one to ignore leverage.

“You want that blanket?” I gesture toward it with a lift of my chin.

Her eyes snap to the couch. Her gaze narrows on me, full of suspicion.

At least she isn’t completely stupid. She should be suspicious. She’d have to be the dumbest Omega in history to believe I’d hand that over without asking for something in return.

Giving her a moment to think, I walk back to my work station, retrieving my tumbler of whiskey. I take a slow sip, relishing in the burn when I swallow. Never once do I look away from the Omega.

I enjoy watching her mind work.

More than likely, she’s already come to the natural conclusion. She has two options. The first is to play my game. I get answers, and she gets the blanket. If she has nothing to hide, then that’s the easy choice.