To ruin an Omega novel Chapter 431

Chapter 431: Meet your maker 1

FIA

My eyes opened.

The ceiling above me was stone. Rough and gray, the same kind I’d seen in the cell where Athena and I had spoken. Except this was real. This was solid and cold, and it pressed down on me with the weight of centuries.

I tried to move and couldn’t.

My wrists were bound to something metal. The surface beneath me was hard and freezing, and when I turned my head slightly, I saw restraints wrapped around my arms, my torso, my legs. All of it anchored to what looked like an examination table.

The kind you’d see in a morgue.

Pain radiated through my skull in waves. My nose throbbed with every heartbeat, sending fresh agony across my face. Blood had dried there, cracked and tight against my skin. My ribs ached when I breathed. My hip screamed in protest at even the smallest shift of weight.

Everything hurt.

But I was awake.

"Can you give me some drugs first?"

The voice came from somewhere to my left. Young. Female. Strained in a way that suggested she was barely holding herself together.

I knew that voice.

The girl who had beaten me unconscious. The one who’d covered my face with that rug and brought her fists down again and again until there was nothing left of me except darkness.

"I overused myself."

I turned my head as much as the restraints would allow.

She stood near a counter covered in medical equipment. Vials and syringes, monitoring devices with screens that glowed a sickly green. Her hand rested against the edge of the counter as if she needed it to stay upright. Even from here, I could see her trembling.

Then I saw her other hand.

Bark-like lesions crawled up from her wrist, spreading across her palm and fingers in patterns that looked wrong. Organic but alien. The skin there had gone dark and rough, cracked in places like dried wood splitting under pressure.

She was ’rotting’. It looked similar to the ones mother suffered from.

"Give me a moment."

That second voice stopped my heart.

Valentine Blossom stepped into view. He moved with the kind of casual confidence that belonged to someone who’d never once doubted their place in the world. Tall and lean, with his salt and pepper hair pulled back from a face that would have been regarded as objectively handsome if not for the emptiness behind his eyes.

He wore a lab coat over dark clothes. The coat was pristine. White and pressed, like he’d just put it on for this occasion.

"I just need to take some blood work, and we will get back to you, Number Four."

Number Four.

The name landed like a punch to the stomach. Number Four. Not a person. Not someone with a real name or a life or dreams that extended beyond whatever purpose Valentine had assigned her.

Just a number.

The girl who’d beaten me into unconsciousness, who’d used strange alien powers like they were second nature, who’d looked at me with that empty expression while I begged her to stop. She was an experiment. Another victim of whatever sick process Valentine had perfected over the decades.

She looked at me then.

Her eyes went wide, and she stumbled back a step from the counter. The bark lesions on her hand seemed to pulse, spreading further up her wrist.

"She’s awake."

Panic colored her voice. Real fear. She certainly did not expect or want me to be awake.

Valentine glanced at me. His expression didn’t change. If anything, he looked pleased.

"Do not worry about it." He picked up a syringe from the counter and checked it against the light. "She is restrained and still badly injured. Not to mention that she is not healing."

He said it like it was an observation. Clinical and scarily detached. Like I was a specimen in a jar rather than a person strapped to his table.

I tested the restraints.

They held firm. Metal bit into my wrists and ankles, unforgiving. Whatever material they’d used, it was designed to withstand far more force than a broken, bleeding Omega werewolf could generate.

"What is the end goal here, Valentine?"

The question came out rougher than I’d intended. My throat was raw, probably from screaming or maybe just from the beating. Everything felt damaged, like my body had been taken apart and put back together wrong.

He turned to face me fully.

Then he smiled.

The expression made my skin crawl. It held warmth, genuine pleasure, like he was looking at something precious that he’d finally managed to acquire after years of searching.

"What do you know about your history?"

I stared at him.

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