Page 53 of Hidden Fates

As she rounds the drum kit, Onyx stands and sweeps her against his chest, burying his nose in the curve of her throat. I’m entranced as his lips flutter a path up to her ear, and shocked when he sets her down, half-expecting him to drag her out of the room.

He pats me on the shoulder on his way by, stopping between Sterling and Caleb. We’re all frozen, afraid to move and disrupt this moment.

“You are extraordinary,” he tells Caleb. “The two of you together sounds incredible, and, if everyone agrees, We would be lucky to have you join our band.” His hand extends, a peace offering between the two Alphas.

Caleb stares at it, his lips parted and eyes wide. “You want me to join your band? But your songs-”

“Can be reworked,” Sterling cuts in. His eyes are trained on the sunlight leaking through the curtains, his thoughts already lost in whatever song he’s writing. Their performance inspired him, and I can’t wait to see what he comes up with.

“He’s right, dude.” Bellamy joins them and wraps an arm around Caleb’s shoulders.

He’s inclined to touch Caleb whenever he can. More than the playful wrestling he does with me and Quentin. I think he likes him. What I don’t know is if Caleb returns those feelings. He doesn’t shy away from Bee’s touch, but he never initiates it either.

“Let’s kick ass on stage together. And in the studio.”

“Emmett? This is your band? Are you okay with this?” Caleb asks.

“Our pack. Our band.”

“Well, I...” Caleb shrugs. “I suppose we can give it a try.”

Excited smiles are shared as we discuss the future of Shattered Horizons and clean up our instruments. It’s almost dinnertime, which means Quentin will be tracking us down to demand we get back to our vacation.

My phone rings as we’re leaving the music room. Omi’s weathered face fills the screen. It’s my favorite picture of her. She’s sitting on the back veranda in a dark wood rocking chair, the sun shining on her face and a cup of coffee in her hands. That’s how she spends her mornings. Watching the world come to life and reading the paper.

“Good evening, Omi,” I answer, pressing a quick kiss to Skye’s temple before I head upstairs. Sometimes she joins my calls with my family, but I know she’s focused on their conversation tonight.

“Emmett, does your pack have plans for Saturday evening?”

Switching the call to speaker, I open the calendar app. This weekend is open, with only a cryptic Q2A listed for Sunday morning.

“We’re free. Would you like us to come visit?” The thought of going home and seeing my family soothes a part of my heart. I never realize how much I miss them until she asks.

“Isolde didn’t want me to tell you since you’re busy integrating a new pack mate and enjoying your vacation, but she’s receiving an award at the hospital gala. I was hoping you could surprise her by showing up. The hospital will sell me as many tickets as we need.”

My hand is on my bedroom door, but I pivot and head across the hall. Quentin doesn’t answer right away, so I push through his room and down to his office. His head pops up from the puzzle he’s building, brow raised in question. I relay Omi’s request, wanting his input before giving her a number.

“Isolde is our sister now, too,” he says. “I’ll make the arrangements.”

“We will be there.”

Saturday morning, we split between our cars and begin the several-hour journey to my hometown in Rhode Island. Frederictown is a borough of the state capital, Providence. It’s considered the ritzy part of the city, home to the area’s old-money families. Generations of wealth have been passed down there, including the Kingston family fortune.

Meeting my grandmother, it’s easy to guess she comes from money. She doesn’t flaunt it, but she has the aura of someone with influence. Listening to her talk tells a different story. Silke Kingston is progressive. Her influence that taught me empathy and acceptance. To see someone in need and help them instead of trying to profit from their misfortune.

Unlike many of the older generations, my grandmother has not fallen prey to anti-pack and anti-designation bias. She adapts to the changes in our world and encourages others to do the same.

“Isolde is going to be upset you told them,” Oskar tells Omi when we meet them outside the venue where the gala is being held. He rolls his eyes when our grandmother gives him an unapologetic stare. “We better head inside.”

Skye loops her arm with Omi’s, chattering excitedly about Isolde’s accomplishments as they slowly ascend the steps into the building.

Caleb falls into step beside me, his blue-gray eyes trained on Skye. Ever since her pre-date meltdown, he’s hovered around her, his guilt palpable. We’ve tried to reassure him he isn’t to blame for the bond sickness affecting them both, but he refuses to listen.

He’s too stubborn, which shouldn’t surprise any of us since he could somehow stay away from our Omega for the past eight years.

Black and white decorate the interior of the venue. The decor is minimal but tasteful, and soft music fills the air from a violinist in the corner. Attendees already mill about the open space, socializing and enjoying the appetizers being carried by waitstaff. My pack has attended award shows where a single gown costs twice the rental price for the venue, so the simplicity of the event is weirdly welcoming.

I look at Caleb to gauge his reaction to being here, but he hasn’t noticed our surroundings. His focus is still solely on our mate. Meeting Sterling’s eyes over my shoulder, I silently communicate my concern. Alphas obsessing over their Omegas isn’t unusual, but given the symptoms of their bond sickness and the length of time they were apart, bringing him along to an event of this caliber may have been a mistake.