Page 33
His amber eyes fall on me.
“You will remain with either Daxen or myself at all times. Don’t run off. Don’t ask questions. The only reason you’re here is because the female refuses to leave until she can speak to you.”
I nod in understanding, but the truth is… I don’t understand. At all. Why would an Omega be asking for me? Did my father leave her here as some kind of trap? Is she a message? A threat?
“I will not leave my Mate.” Soren cuts in, narrowing his eyes in challenge. When Gavran answers, his Alpha pheromones explode through the air, making my skin itch and my Omega whine.
“You can stay behind us, or you can stay in the car.”
Soren clenches his jaw and growls. He looks a breath away from turning this into a fight, which will only make everything worse. I’m surprised he hasn’t lost control already tonight. His restraint is… remarkable.
So much for the rumors that wolven sleep in caves and eat nothing but raw meat. No one as restrained and in control of his primal side as Soren is sleeping on a pile of leaves and bathing in streams.
Still, with everything that’s happened tonight, I’m barely holding it together. That knife’s edge is getting thinner and thinner with every snarl, growl, and almost-explosion.
I need to calm Soren down before things escalate. The only problem is, I have no idea how to do that.
So I do the only thing I can—follow my instincts.
I shift, turning so that I’m facing Soren completely. I lift my hand and reach out, hesitantly resting my palm against the solid muscle of his chest. When he doesn’t pull away, I relax, letting my palm rest against the soft cotton of his shirt. I can feel his muscles under my hand—the way they tense, pulling tight under the fabric of his henley.
The sheer strength beneath my fingertips is incredible.
Caelan is a powerhouse—compact and broad and graceful all at once. So much larger than me, yet he moves with the fluid grace of a dancer.
But physically, Soren is just… more. He can’t be more than an inch or two taller than Caelan, but his presence fills every room he enters, quietly demanding recognition.
He moves, and his muscles shift under my hand as his head drops, eyes landing on my hand, then darting up to my face. His gaze locks with mine, holding me captive with only a look.
He takes a deep breath. Then another. And another. His frame relaxes on his fourth inhale, and the strange, primal presence under his skin starts to recede, taking all his tension with it.
Kane throws back his head and laughs, making me jerk in surprise. I snatch my hand back, feeling my cheeks heat with embarrassment.
“I’ve heard yer Mate’s touch is like catnip to our Beasts. Looks like the tales are true, aye?”
Feeling awkward, I turn away from Kane and Soren, shove open the door, and jump out of the SUV. Once I’m out, I walk to the front of the SUV where Dax and Gavran stand, talking to two Alphas I’ve never seen before. I hang back a few feet, even when Soren and Kane appear like silent assassins, so quiet on their feet that even Daxen’s eyes widen when he glances up and notices them both standing there.
A few minutes later, Gavran takes off, motioning for us to follow. When we get to the warehouse’s entrance, Gavran yanks on the handle and the door swings open on rust-covered hinges that release a piercing, screeching sound that hurts my ears.
Gavran extends his hand, gesturing for me to enter, which makes Soren snarl about sending an Omega in unprotected, and Gav reminds him his men are already there and the place has been cleared for an hour. They bicker back and forth, but I ignore them. I take a step forward. The soles of my shoes tap softly against the concrete floor. It’s the middle of the night, but somehow it’s even darker in here, and it takes my eyes a minute to adjust.
When they do, the argument behind me fades away. Almost immediately after that, the scent slams into me—rust and mildew, the sour tang of old blood that’s been ground into concrete. A bouquet I know intimately. So intimately that I have to stop, take a breath, and remind myself where I am.
And more importantly, where I’m not.
This isn’t Father’s house. This isn’t the basement. I’m not back there. Not chained up. Not dying of thirst. Not lying next to my own vomit as soundless screams rip endlessly from my raw, ravaged throat.
The taste of old iron washes over me, pulling me back and drowning me in memories. It clings to the back of my throat, and I bend over, bracing my hands on my knees as I gag.
The buzz of flickering fluorescent lights somewhere to my right grows louder and louder, burrowing into my brain. I wish someone would turn them off. I don’t want to see this place. Don’t want to see the rows and rows of cages that are stacked against cold stone walls, now illuminated by the buzzing lights.
The lights stay on. And they should, shouldn’t they?
Isn’t this my fault? Am I not the reason these cages are here in the first place? Because of my blood. Because of what my father’s doing with it to the Omegas he’s terrorizing.
It’s the very last thing I want, but I make myself open my eyes and truly look at my surroundings.
The cages against the wall were clearly placed there haphazardly. Some are stacked, while others are shoved into wooden crates and still others sit alone. Discarded.
