Veyron POV
"Unhand me!" I snarl, my voice rough, hoarse from screaming. But it does nothing. No one listens. No one cares.
My body is weak—wrong. Every muscle, every tendon, every nerve refuses to obey me. I feel like I'm trapped in my own skin, weighed down by something foreign, something vile.
"Do you know who I am?!" My voice cracks, desperation curling at the edges. "I am Duke Veyron! I will have you all executed—!"
A sharp laugh cuts through the air, dismissive. The man holding my chains barely spares me a glance, speaking to the burly, bearded man standing before me like I'm nothing but chattel.
"He's a little old, and ugly, but still, when else can you get an omega this cheap?"
Omega.
The word slams into me, knocking the breath from my lungs. My vision swims.
No. No, this is a nightmare. A hallucination. A lie.
I am not—I could never—
"Fine," the burly man grunts. "Is he really in heat?"
The first man smirks. "Of course. It's just momentarily suppressed."
