Page 89
Thankfully, Caelan and Gav walk in before things escalate.
Caelan holds out his cell and places it on the table between us, falling into his own seat like his limbs weigh a thousand pounds.
“Ford’s on the phone.”
I take a long look at my packmate.
He has dark circles under his eyes, and if the irritated redness is any indication, he’s been chewing on his lower lip. Something he only does when he’s stressed. Really stressed.
It’s not only that, though. His jaw is tight, his shoulders are hunched, and he has this distant look in his eye.
That’s what worries me the most. Caelan’s always on top of shit. He’s the one who’s extra-vigilant at all times.
Lately, I get the feeling his mind’s somewhere else, and I don’t know how the hell to pull him back.
I know something went down at the Varenthrall Estate. Enough rage and lust were pulsing down the Bond to make me hard, except he isn’t talking about whatever happened. He told Dax he had a biological reaction to the Omega. Said he thought she was close to her heat, but swears he had it handled.
When I brought up that he muted his comms, he snapped at me. Said he didn’t want anyone to hear him if he lost control.
Which, to be fair, is very on brand for Caelan. He’s always handled his own shit and keeps his emotions on permanent lockdown. It makes sense that he’d be uncomfortable broadcasting them to anyone—even his pack.
That’s just how he is. He’s solid. The strength of our pack. Unbreakable and stoic. Still… he’s not one to speak just to hear himself talk, but he’s never been a brooding, silent type.
Until now, apparently. And this silence feels different, almost like a shroud hanging over him. I keep catching him staring out the window and rubbing his sternum like it aches. He’ll shut down completely if we push him too hard, and that’s the last thing I want. I can’t help wondering what the hell kind of Omega could affect him so drastically.
Honestly, I can take or leave Omegas. I’ve never knotted one, but that’s because I’ve never found one that gave me that holy fuck, I’d tear off the heads of everyone in this room for her feeling.
Sure, they smell good, but it’s never anything life-changing.
Not to mention, Omegas are usually clingy as hell, and our pack isn’t looking to settle down.
Not unless we find our Fated.
It’s been centuries, though, and we still haven’t found her, so I’m not holding my breath. I just hope that if we do, she smells as good as they say Fated Mates are supposed to smell. I mean, it’ll totally suck if she smells like a jelly doughnut or old lady perfume.
“…woke up in the trunk of a car. Hands tied behind her back. She was gagged and blindfolded.” I snap out of my head just in time to catch the end of Ford’s sentence. Apparently they’ve fathered more info about the Omega who showed up out of nowhere in Chicago.
Gav grunts. “So someone kidnapped her then.”
“Sure,” Evander responds, his deep voice rumbling through the speakers. “But that’s not what makes this weird. She said she was injected with something after she’d been in the trunk for a while. Then, her fingertips started sparking.”
We exchange confused looks around the room.
“… What?” I ask, raising a brow and leaning closer to the phone.
“Swear to the Fates. I’ve seen her do it,” Evander replies, and he sounds kind of disturbed. “She can snap her fingers, and it’s like a static charge except it sparks—like when you light a firecracker. She can’t even touch the TV remote. It fries the batteries.”
“She can do this at will?” Caelan leans forward as well, exhaustion evident in every line of his body. My eyes flick toward Dax, who’s already watching him, jaw tight with suspicion.
“Kind of,” Evander rumbles. “She said she thinks it’s a side effect of whatever they injected her with.”
“How’d she get away?” Gav asks.
“She can’t remember. Apparently, she lost most of her memory—”
“She did,” Ford cuts in, voice clipped. “Can’t remember her folks, can’t remember where she’s from. Just that it was warm and by the ocean.”
Caelan’s hands curl into fists so tight that his knuckles turn white.
