5 - Everything Is A Performance

NIKOLAI'S POV

It'll be such an eye opener if the world realizes everything began through stubbornness and anger, then when millions of people see you as a monster, you begin to act like it.

It's a tiring performance that's constantly being showcased, and for the long run, I never felt challenged. It became normal. It is normal, and I am the most powerful in the entire world, but underneath the sternness, I forget how to be authentic.

Brewing from my subjects to the Regimes of the Old system, their expectations are high, but not for him. Not for this little, bruised weakling.

"Sire. Sire." The doctor taps me on the shoulder and I snap out of my thoughts. His face goes pale when my eyes fixate on him. That is exactly what I had expected from my Bleeder.

"Is he going to be okay?" I ask the doctor and he nods.

"It's merely a slight elevation in his hormones. It resulted in a concussion, but yes, he'll wake up soon."

"Then you can leave."

"Yes, sire." The doctor bows before he disappears from the room with a Beta nurse behind him.

A sharp sigh escapes my chest, heavy thoughts crawling up my mind and leaving my brows furrowed. I look at my spitfire and see a frown on his face. My hand reaches out to touch his skin and my breathing heightens.

He looks less fierce when he's asleep, vulnerable, and I can almost swear I want to protect him. His plump lips are slightly parted as he releases soft snores, little sprinkles of freckles on his nose, and his hair falls over his head messily. I want to brush them, feel how silky they are, knowing these are all his natural beauty.

But then my eyes flare and I step away from the edge of the bed. What is this? I'm the Prime Alpha, never ever have been moved by an Omega. I've never felt the push other Alphas feel towards Omegas, and that was why I was able to cause the revolution that opened the others' eyes.

Decades now since I've made Omegas submit to me, for reasons I swore never to resurface, but with every moment, my spitfire makes me remember. And this is why I chose him. I must break him, have him submit to me, fulfilling the title they've given me, The Barbarian.

Marcellan believed I was jealous when I chose Grey as my Bleeder, but no, it's an act of control, of dominance. That's who I've always been, and that's what I'm to do. Every moment his gender lives, I must burn the air through which they breathe. There'll be no peace nor comfort for them. They brought this upon themselves when they misused their power.

Sex was their power, and that's exactly what I'm using against them. They've always been beneath us, fragile bones, feeble structures, yet they are very manipulative. For that reason, their wings must remain clipped.

My sharp senses pick up on the sound of footsteps followed by Marcellan's pheromones and I turn around just in time as he enters the room with Azara Scarr.

"Brother," he acknowledges.

"Old friend," Azara calls next to him.

My curiosity piques. I created a new world where Alphas now mate with other Alphas, so excuse me if that's why I'm suspecting these two. "How are you two together? Azara, didn't you leave right after the auctioning?"

"Africa's auctioning isn't happening until next month. I thought I'd stick a little longer." Her eyes dart to Marcellan before she walks forward to get herself a drink. "Then I saw Marcellan. I thought I'd help him in his assignment."

I wiggle my brows in response. "Yes, I'd like to hear what news you have for me." I turn away from my spitfire to focus on the new presences.

Marcellan's gaze shifts to the bed, a little frown burrowing on his skin, but he answers anyway. "Your assumption is correct. The Old system is still against you, and it seems they're planning something. We cannot trust them."

My fingers twirl around my beard. Certainly, I knew they're up to something fishy when they call for a meeting with me. They'll be here soon, and whatever reason it is for, it can't be good.

"Rest assured, Nikolai. No one is getting the throne from you. You're a liberator and a diplomat, and people hate what they don't understand," Aestra mentions and I smile.

She's been an old friend from the beginning, even from before The Submission. After Marcellan, Azara is the next Alpha I've shared futuristic plans with over the decades.

"Is that a bruise on his arms?" Marcellan raises his voice, calling back my attention. "What did you do to him?"

"Over my own Bleeder?" I laugh. "Worry about yours, brother."

Marcellan flares up even more. "I left him with you for less than a day and you've hurt him. There won't be another auctioning until next year. You should keep your previous Bleeder until that time."

I tilt my head and stand up. My frame prevents him from seeing Grey any longer. He grits at me and I watch him curiously.

"Is this really what this is about, or have you fallen in love with this Omega?"

"What?" He takes one step back. "That is madness."

"Why then correct me on how I treat my Bleeder? He's mine, and I'll do to him as I want. You'll not be the one to tell me how to treat him. That's why he's a Bleeder, and you'll respect how I treat him!" My voice raises with each word, escalating till the end. I protrude my pheromones, not like it'll do much against Marcellan, but at least he'll know my wolf isn't playing with him.

But surely Marcellan matches my anger. His own wolf comes to the surface. We are only inches away from each other as we snarl.

"Stop this madness right away, both of you!" Azara comes between us and pulls us apart. She looks from Marcellan to me, then back to me. "You should be disappointed in yourself. This is the very reason why you created the New system, but when did you become an Alpha who fights over an Omega?"

Her question hurls me against a mental wall. I turn to look at my spitfire and that feeling of possession comes forth again. No, I own him. Not the other way around. I am the one who must tame him. He challenged us on the stage, and he must suffer for it. Nothing more.

Azara speaks again. "I have to leave for Niger. A report from one of my commanders. There's an Omega found in the woods, and we know wandering Omegas aren't good news."

"I..." I swallow. "I must leave."

I get out of the room. I continue to walk down the stairs when Trevor appears from my left and I halt.

"Sire, they're here, in the meeting room."

~*~

"I shouldn't remind you that I've got things to do. Please, begin the meeting." Inwardly, I'm snarling at them, but on the surface, a fake smile spreads across my lips.

It's the same with them. It's mutual. No feelings hurt. They're losing power, and they know it. So what else can they better do if not to try and control me?

"Two months from now, another ball will be held to mark the 31st year since your creation of the New system. Once the orchestrators of our traditions, we want to know when..."

"If I may..." A new voice arises and Jon Lupenvale of the Southern Regime is interrupted.

Alaric Fenvire, the Northern Regime, takes over. "I believe what my other Regent is trying to say is that you need an heir. Old system, new system, the ancestors don't care. Family lineage must be preserved and genes of the kings are sacred. If your generations must continue to lead, you need consummation with an Omega."

"What?" I slam my hands on the table. I've had my share of sh*t talks from these people, but not one like this.

"That's how it must be."

"And when did any of you start caring about my lineage? Isn't that why only three Regimes are here and not four?" My jaw twitches as the past starts to crawl back in. "I'm engaged to your daughter, Fenvire. You should be the last person to speak to me."

"We mean no disrespect. We're only here to remind you of traditions. That's how it's always been." Iris Ashbourne joins in. That's it, this is a gang up work.

"I've heard enough of this. You are all dismissed," I growl and they bow.

"We'll come back when you're settled, Prime Alpha," Fenvire says. Underneath that tone is a crackling laughter. I can almost hear it aloud, I swear.

I've been challenged countless of times, but not in this manner where the traditions are used against me, and they can use that to draw more audience to their side. After all, they're power hungry mongrels.

Behind me, Trevor whispers as he appears from the shadows. "They're gone, sire. What do you need me to do?" 

Without looking at him, I command, "Get me Marcellan. I've got more assignments for him. And as for you, you'll go to my penthouse and call Lady Morwen for me. She's got some explaining to do."

"Consider it done, sire."