Page 22 of Sold Bullied Mate

At my feet is a wooden tray. On a small plate is a variety of fresh fruit, nicely cut. There’s a glass of what appears to be orange juice, and a latte that’s exactly the shade of brown I like. Carefully, I lean down and pick it up, bringing it into my room.

In the center is a note.

Kira, come down when you’re ready. Surprise for you. Dorian.

I run my thumb over the note, then quickly throw on some of Ash’s clothes—a pair of jean shorts and a ribbed black tank top. I sip on the latte as I brush through my hair, then dart across the hallway to finish getting ready.

When I come down the stairs, I hear another voice and pause, trying to figure out who it could be. Dorian doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who likes to have people over to his house, so it’s odd that he’s brought someone now.

“Kira,” Dorian says, surprising me by appearing in the foyer. I don’t miss the way his eyes rake up and down my figure, ending on my foot, still hovering over the last step. His throat bobs, and he looks away for a moment before returning his gaze to me. “Come on, I’d like to formally introduce you.”

We cross into the kitchen, and for some reason, the very first thing I notice is that the mess I left last night—all the food, dishes, and leftovers—are clean. The counters gleam. Even the little splatter I accidentally made on the backsplash is gone.

Dorian cleaned. And he cleaned thoroughly.

I ignore the warmth in my chest at that knowledge and turn, eyes landing on the woman sitting at the table. She’s older, wrapped in what looks like a hand-knitted shawl, and looking up at me through her glasses with wide, watery eyes. Her gray hair is pushed back from her head with a thin pink headband, and when she reaches her hand up to me to shake mine, the bangles on her wrist clank merrily.

“You’re a psychic,” I say, voice nearing something like awe.

“That I am,” she smiles, her lips thin and wide. “Good memory on you.”

Of course I know who she is—a woman in the pack with a gift. The psychic that everyone believed, because her predictions had never been wrong. She was old when I was in high school, but she must be ancient now.

Maybe the difference—the reason everyone believed her—is that she’s not an omega, like me. A beta. Automatically higher on the food chain.

Without meaning to, my eyes dart to Dorian, who stands in the doorway, watching the exchange. The only way for meto improve my standing in the pack as an omega was to attach myself to a high-standing alpha. But that was obviously never going to happen—at least, according to my mother—with the way I presented myself.

By that, she meant the size and shape of my body.

When Dorian speaks again, it pushes those thoughts from my mind.

“Kira, I’d like you to meet Beth. She’s a psychometrist.”

I blink. That sounds like something you’d learn to do in math class. I itch to ask what that means, but I don’t want to give away the fact that I’m woefully unprepared for this meeting.

“I gain information through objects,” Beth offers, tipping her chin up to me. “When I touch certain objects—especially those with personal meaning—I feel their energy. Depending on the object, I’ll be able to see its history, makeup, emotion.”

“Wow,” the word slips out of me before I realize how it makes me sound like a fangirl.

“So,” Beth tilts her head at me. “Dorian tells me you have a gift of your own?”

It hits me so suddenly and completely that I don’t have time to stop it—I begin to sob.

“Kira—” Dorian pushes off the door jamb, coming toward me just before I cover my eyes with my palms, sucking in a deep breath, trying to curb the intense wave of relief that’s coursing through my body.

When a hand touches me, I jerk, knowing immediately that it’s not him. Beth wraps me in her arms, rubbing her hand into my back, soothing me.

“That’s alright, darling,” she says into my ear, her voice so calm it makes my breathing level. “I know this feeling—ride it out, love.”

I stand like that for a long time, with Beth murmuring to me, until I’m finally able to suck in a breath and let out a shaky laugh.

“Sorry,” I croak, and she hands me a glass of water. After taking a sip, I look up, startling. “Where did Dorian go?”

Beth shrugs, pulls out a chair at the table. “We won’t need him for this. I told him to go attend to whatever pressing matters I’m sure he has on his mind.”

Nodding, I wrap my hands around the glass of water in front of me and settle into the seat across from her. We sit quietly for a moment, then I raise my chin and look at her.

“So, what do we do?”

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