章 56: Beginning of Chapter 19
Rue
She would wring them dry, suck cash out of their wallets with hollowed cheeks and no gag reflex. She wouldn't let the two eros go back on their promise. Not when she had another stomach to feed, another body to fill, an adorable little muscle bunny that blushed garden pink and tried his best to help.
Rue was here for war, and she would buy things that would keep them afloat for months, items that were expensive for a reason. Things that would last because it was not made of the cheap shit sold to broke motherfuckers that could not voice out their concerns. Rue wanted clothes that were convenient and would last. She wanted devices that survived nuclear, wanted machines that shat food, and expensive commodities that sold easily in dark alleyways.
She wanted investments; she wanted gold.
The pretty pink palace of useless luxury was not the place she had in mind.
"How about this one, precious?"
Her lips twitched as Altair purred, the tone tainting her very soul—sweet gossamer that trickled balmy and creamy over her skin, sticky with want. She knew yearning like a friend, could smell lust from miles away—like the sweet scent of overripe fruit. And Altair always stank of it in her presence, sweat-sticky and rattling heart.
Not that she could smell anything with her nose stuffed with new mint.
He pulled out another set of spider silk, chiffon lace, and vicuna wool from the rack. Once again, another piece of clothing that was easy to rip, way too hard to launder, and too fucking flashy—all gimcrack, garish and tacky. But the pretty little princeling didn't seem to care. He revelled in the fabric; his fingers, running over water-like gloss with a sensuality that sent a shiver up her spine.
He fondled the clothes like one would with a cock, with a smile that occupied his mouth and his eyes. Fuck his eyes and that nasty glint in them. She knew what he visualised, what he thought of when he looked at her. She'd seen it too many times in the brothels, in the gaze of people that saw Omegas like rats.
But she supposed there was a degree of respect in those eyes, those orbs that meandered up her body, sparkling grey and silver, always changing. And there was a curious edge of warmth in them, a manic glaze of want that bordered on delirium. Altair's lust was one that knew no bound, and yet yearned to serve. That made him oddly controllable and also very dangerous.
"I told you, not interested in tiny clothes," she hissed, leaned back, spread her legs further on the too-soft coach. "Or clothes that I can't sell for quick buck if I wanted to."
Her knees were pushed so far apart it was as if her cock were too great a burden to bear. It was a thing she'd seen powerful men do, the exposure of the weakest part of their body. But she supposed it was that same lack of protection that made them seem strong. That made her appear capable of stopping a foot to the balls despite being relaxed and vulnerable.
It seemed to do the opposite, for the occupants of the room only swayed closer. And she had to, had to note the eager swipe of Altair's eyes down to the space between her legs, then up her body like he saw something more. The jerk of heads from the rest of the occupants in the room—Halcyon and Valentino.
Her right leg swept up, ankle propped on a knee, obscuring their viewing pleasure of her fake bulge. And she could almost see the sag of their shoulders, the growth in their pupils as if that was hot. As if she were devilishly sexy when she really was just a skinny muscle-less twig next to giants.
Idiots.
She sighed. It wasn't the first time they'd gulped down the view of her fake dick like it was water. "Let's just go."
"Criminal," Altair feigned a weep into his palm, whimper all candy-sweet, unfairly beautiful. She found him disgustingly attractive, and the knowledge that she did was like being smacked in the head with rushing clarity and fiery anger at her own crazed body. He pouted, turned in a cloud of stars. "World's best and no appreciation."
His tentacles fanning around him, slippery, soft and just as glittery and pink as the store he'd decided was perfect for a bunch of Alphas. God, she didn't know what the fuck he was doing really, because at some point it even seemed as if they were shopping for Altair and Valentino.
And there were moments when their flaunts and giggling had seemed almost too Omega like. They were pulling it heavy with the submission, or whatever the fuck they were trying to do. And it wasn't working, but a part of her felt as if she were losing.
"This one covers you up completely," Valentino revealed from his side, displayed it to her with a rush, his body perched on her chair, one ass cheek bubbling at the arm. He leaned only closer, lashes fluttery, handsome features dominating her brain space and pumping her with thoughts of his godly looks. "And it'll look so good on you."
She leaned back, brows deepening. She hated the effect he had on her when he got too close, and she was reminded once again what an enemy he was to the general population. A beauty standard no one could ever hope to achieve (aside from the seven Alphas that were harassing her, of course). It had her flustered, eyes moving to the piece he was showing her and then squinting. Because she didn't know what in the fuckery was it made of.
"The material's very pretty," Altair agreed. "It'd look so good on your skin." Rue had to choke, hold herself together, twitching eyes and scepticism painted over her cheeks. The outfit was tight and tiny, with a scaley iridescent texture that moved. "It's your colour." If her colour was every fucking colour in the universe.
"It brings out your eyes." Valentino agreed gruffly, downed the glass of bubbly gold that sales assistants had laid out for them on the table like water. He swallowed, lips pressed together, always staring. "A good pair of leather pants, accessories. It'd look gorgeous. And you definitely need a basic top." His nose wrinkled. "I've seen you in that shirt more than once."
"I'm not going to throw out a good shirt I've only worn once," she scowled. "That shirt's tiny. It's the perfect size for a child." She wrinkled her nose. Or a training bra. "And it's got a million sharp edges. It looks like hell."
Altair rolled his eyes. "Child, it's a piece from Chryses. It's andromeda eggs. Breathable fabric. Conforms to its wearer, moves like the wind. Softer than skin, and feels like air. This is fashion. And It's the only piece in the world. The best in the collection that's going out next week. We're getting it before anyone, straight from the designer's hands. This is first-class product that even I would struggle to get my hands on—" He paused, studied her face. "You don't care, do you?"
"Nope." She pursed her lips, looking away. The massive store had been completely empty when they entered, staff plastered to the ground like they were kings. And they'd been ushered to a curtained booth with a private dressing room as if they'd booked ahead of schedule. Ghastly pink cupcakes had been laid out on the table, dusted in hideous gold and popping with pearls. It sat prettily along with a tray of crystal glasses bubbling with rich-gold, amber liquid and heart-shaped ice.
She'd taken a few treats. They were cold, but tasted fucking glorious—decadent, expensive chocolate and the gooiest of tart centres. Then handed some to Halcyon who'd seemed to hesitate at the corner, lingering in a too-colourful space that must go against everything he had in his monochrome wardrobe. But the moment she'd pressed the bake goods into his hands, he'd scarfed it all down with red cheeks, licking his fingers as if he were starving.
Halcyon was proving to be very broke and very needing of assistance. She regarded him once more, in his all black branded fit with rips and tears—well-worn outfits that made him appear moderately homeless. Then turned her gaze away. She supposed he must be the sort of kid with a family that was asset rich but cash poor.
"Rue!" Altair snapped, infuriation tinged red in his cheeks. He scratched at his throat, turtleneck inching down to reveal skin.
She now gave the offending shirt another side glance. "Too sparkly."
"I'll wear it for you, ungrateful brat," Altair scowled, "so that you can see how gorgeous it is on my body." He pulled his clothes off in one swoop, back arching as he shrugged the training bra on at the slowest speed known to mankind. The struggle seemed endless, and she knew he was taking his time just so he could stay nude a little longer.
Rue hated how her eyes darted to look at pink, puffy nipples, then down to the honey trap of muscles curling across creamy skin. He was brazen with it, lips puckered, body steaming, tentacles slithering in the air stretching towards her as if they had a mind of their own. They trembled almost as if nervous for her reaction, much more honest than their owner.
"You're proving my point," she stated without a care for those flying dicks. "It'll take hours to pull on."
This had a snort from Valentino, a quiver from Altair's tentacles.
"Ugh," Altair moved, strutted closer, body bent. "I was just trying to look pretty." He fluffed his hair, acting coy, flush pink on his cheek, pupils dilated, teeth snagging on the bottom lip, hands pressed together to his throat as if nervous. His body quivered. "What do you think?"
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