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He’d frowned, refusing to let go of her. “I know, I just—let me help you. Please?”

Inside, it got even worse. The Omega mentioned she was thirsty, and Alistair wasted no time tripping over himself to get her a drink. He ran off to the kitchens, paused, turned back around, and jogged back to crouch next to her chair.

He didn’t walk back. He didn’t stride back with purpose.

The decorated warrior I fought with in more battles than I could count practically ran back to his Omega like a damn puppy chasing a ball.

“What would you like?” He asked, and he sounded like her answer would be the most important words he would ever hear. “Water? Juice? Tea? I’ll make you some tea. Daxen, what kind of tea do you have? Nothing with caffeine, she’s breastfeeding.”

Fucking. Breastfeeding.

I sat there, watching the male who endured sixty-two days of unspeakable torture without breaking… fall apart over the place.

Over tea. For an Omega.

It only got worse. The next three days, the warrior we held to the highest standard, who had become a damn legend for his strength and loyalty, fell apart over beverage temperatures, caffeine levels, the possibility of bones in fish, how high the flames got in the fireplace, and dozens of other ridiculous concerns.

My pack spent the visit fawning over the new baby, sharing in Alistair and the rest of his pack’s joy, and very obviously yearning for a Mate of their own. I, on the other hand, was the only one who saw clearly what was actually happening. I watched as the legend I looked up to was systematically reduced to a simpering fool who had a crisis over caffeine levels.

That Omega turned one of the greatest warriors in centuries into a weak male. I knew, with absolute certainty, that if he were captured again and there was a threat to his Mate, he’d have sold every one of us out with a smile on his face before they’d even finished interrogating him.

I’m not an asshole. I don’t necessarily believe that every Omega goes out of their way to manipulate any Alpha they can get their claws in. Still, I don’t trust the way Alphas change when they let themselves fall under an Omega’s spell.

I learned the hard way what happens when you let biology overtake logic. When you allow an Omega to cloud your judgment and give in to the drive to protect and provide.

I will never make that mistake again.

I certainly won’t sit back and let my brother make the same mistakes I did.

I’ve spent centuries protecting Caelan and Vae, and if I have to protect them against some unknown twenty-two-year-old human female, then that’s what I’m going to do.

Something big is coming. We can all feel it. It’s just a matter of when.

And if this afternoon has taught me anything, it’s that when shit hits the fan, I’m going to be the one left to pick up the pieces.

Just like I always do

Chapter 8

Idril

It’s been three days.

Three days since I stood in my father’s study, trying to be brave.

Three days since I was reminded, once again, that my bravery is pointless.

Three days since my father cut off my food and stripped my room of everything but my mattress, a towel, and two changes of clothes.

That isn’t the worst part, though. The worst part is that it’s been three days since I’ve felt that tiny flicker of warmth in my chest. The little flame of courage that my mother used to tell me about in her stories.

I try to remember the taste of bread. Not the stale scraps Mara sometimes brings, but real bread—soft, flaky, warm. The kind I used to make with my mother, that drips butter and honey and is so soft your fingers melt into it.

We only got to make it a few times—when Father would go on business trips and the whole estate became ours for days.

We would bake and dance around the kitchen, belting lyrics to 90’s pop songs at the top of our lungs. My mother’s ice blonde hair always looked like spun gold in the sunlight, and her eyes—light blue, like mine—sparkled when she laughed.

At night, we would curl up in the blanket fort, and she would tell me stories.