Lorien POV

“Our guests will be here any moment, and I refuse to let them endure your foul stench,” Isolde snapped, her nose wrinkling as she flicked her wrist toward another omega. “Pour the cider into the dispenser. You go clean yourself up.”

Her voice cracked like a whip, sharp and commanding. I could only nod, my throat too tight to form words as the burning in my hands intensified. The moment she turned away, I bolted nearly running down the corridor to the infirmary.

The pack ...