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“You’re right,” I concede, lowering my eyes in a primal show of submission that appeases both our Alpha biology. “It won’t happen again. I apologize.”

Gav grunts in reply, sighs warily, then visibly straightens his shoulders like he’s going to battle. He leaves without a word, and I know he’s going to his study, where he’ll dedicate the next hours, days, weeks, and months to saving the missing Omegas.

The moment the door clicks shut, Vae narrows his eyes at me. “Alright, talk.”

He swaps his gum for a fresh piece and tosses the wrapper over my head and into the trash bin.

“There’s not much more to say,” I reply. “There’s just something fucking off with this human Alpha. Something that’s eating at me, but I can’t figure out what it is.”

“Could it just be worry over the Omegas making you more sensitive to an unfamiliar situation?” Caelan asks.

He won’t outright say that I’m being paranoid, but the implication is there.

“Or maybe,” he continues, “it’s the idea of dedicating so much time to the missing females when you have so much else you feel like you need to concentrate on, and it’s screwing with your instincts?”

I nearly scoff, but stop myself before I let my true feelings show.

It isn’t that I don’t care about the Omegas. I do. The same way I care when any innocent is targeted for something nefarious—with professional concern, rather than biological obsession. I’m just able to separate myself from it while the rest of the Bastards—the name assigned Bloodbound warriors centuries ago—can’t.

It’s not because I’m an unfeeling asshole, I just have enough experience to know that Omegas aren’t the end-all, be-all.

Alphas and society in general put Omegas on a pedestal, convinced they are innocent females who can do no wrong. It’s ignorant and will fuck them over eventually.

Omegas are people, and just like anyone else, they exist in various ranges of good and evil.

Alphas tend to ignore that they’re biologically designed to fall to the whims of an Omega, and that Omegas have the ability to manipulate their own biology in order to get what they want. It’s a glaringly obvious biological flaw, in my opinion.

I’ve yet to meet an Omega who doesn’t use her whine, her scent, her pheromones, or her body to get her way.

The worst are those who act like damsels in distress, pretending they have no ability to help themselves and are totally reliant on Alphas. Even if they don’t realize they’re playing us, it’s just what they do. They’ve been groomed by society to believe they deserve anything they want simply because they’re rare and treasured.

So, no. I don’t think this has anything to do with the missing Omegas making me more susceptible to paranoia because I’m worried for their well-being, and letting it cloud my judgment.

The issue is, I can’t tell Caelan what I really think. My pack and team know I distrust Omegas as a whole, but they have no idea how deep that distrust runs, and I’m going to keep it that way. For all our sakes.

I clear my throat, making sure that my feelings aren’t showing on my face. I also make sure our pack Bond is shut down tight on my end. I don’t need residual hatred trickling through and prompting more questions.

Before I can respond, Vae leans forward and shoots us a cocky grin. “I don’t see what’s so bad about having to concentrate on finding these females. I could easily be convinced to play Knight in Shining Armor for some damsels in distress. They could thank me with their⁠—”

Thwack.

The pen Caelan launches across the table nails Vae in his temple before bouncing to the ground with a clatter. Wide, accusing eyes meet Caelan’s annoyed expression.

“Try not talking,” he suggests. “Just for five minutes.”

I bark out a laugh at Vae’s indignant expression.

Vae thrives in chaos, and Caelan—steady, constant Caelan—is always having to bring him down a notch.

We bicker constantly, but I would kill for these males, and I know they feel the same. There’s no one and nothing that can rip us apart. I’d go to hell itself and pull them out of the fire with my bare hands if I had to.

“There’s something worrying you. Something more.” Caelan pushes, but he doesn’t need to. I’m not hiding anything; I’m just frustrated. I need to vent, and the only males I can admit the extent of my fear to are my packmates.

Standing, I cross the room, stopping in front of a window facing the back of the compound. Outside the main estate, the lights of the sprawling compound that houses just under two-hundred warriors—seasoned Bastards and trainees both—gleam in the dark. Gav purchased this land long before anyone even considered developing it.

The entire area, including the sprawling forest and hills beyond, is secured with the best tech I could get my hands on and reinforced by perimeter checks every fifteen minutes on rotation. No one is getting on our land.

We’re safe.