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At the entrance to the cell, he juggles the blankets and his ring of keys, fumbling and nearly dropping both in between multiple attempts to fit the right key into the lock—and missing the hole.

Repeatedly.

Crossing my arms in front of my chest, I lean back against the wall and watch in amusement as he struggles. After the fourth miss, he snarls and stomps his foot like an angry toddler.

“Little help over here?”

“Sorry, can’t understand you. Your voice is too muffled by the blankets,” I lie, grinning.

The Alpha mutters a string of curses. Finally, after another four unsuccessful tries, he manages to get the key in the lock. With a sigh of relief, he twists it, pushes open the door, and then⁠—

Stands there.

I lean around the pile of material and shoot him a frown. He’s just standing there, rocking back and forth on his heels like an awkward turtle.

“Are you going to come in or what?”

“It’s—I mean—this is kind of Idril’s space right now, and she’s an Omega and aren’t you supposed to ask before⁠—”

“Oh for fucks sake,” I murmur, even though part of me appreciates that he at least cared enough to ask. “Get in here.”

He enters the cell and leans down, placing the stack beside our “bed.” When he straightens, his shoulders are hunched, and he still isn’t looking me in the eye.

And for some reason, that makes me irrationally furious.

“Don’t look at your feet, look at me,” I snap. “Better yet—look at her. Fates, I never knew a Bloodbound—a fucking commander no less—could be such a coward.”

His head snaps up, eyes wide with shock.

“Ex-fucking-scuse you?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, did I misunderstand when you brought my Mate back to me this morning? Were you not one of the males who did this to her?” I throw out a hand, gesturing toward my Omega.

“I—I⁠—”

“I—I—” I mock. “By the Mother, both of you can’t get through an uncomfortable situation without stumbling over your words. How old are you, twelve? Gavran actually sends you, Dax, and Silas on missions? What the fuck have we been worried about all this time if this is the best your organization’s got?”

Silence.

“Fucking look at her!”

To my absolute shock, he does. His gaze snaps to Idril, and unlike Daxen, he doesn’t try to hide his reaction. His fingers twitch, and his face pales. He visibly flinches.

“There you go. Take a good long look at what you did to her.” I eat up the distance between us in two strides, but he doesn’t stumble away as I expect. “You know, at least Daxen has the balls to own his actions. But you… It’s like you’re under the impression you can hide from what you’ve done. Which makes you not only a joke of an Alpha, but a coward as well.”

Vaelenor is even easier to analyze than Daxen was. He needs reinforcement. Attention. Validation. The male’s constantly yapping, cracking jokes, convinced that if he keeps those he loves happy, they’ll keep him around.

He needs to be needed, because people who are needed won’t get tossed aside.

“I came to ask how she is,” he says, cheeks turning bright red.

“Your Packmate should’ve already passed along that information.”

He shuffles nervously, shoving his hands in his pockets, then sliding them out and crossing his arms over his chest. “Look, I heard what Dax said. But Daxen… his explanation was so—so—clinical. You’re her Mate. You’re who really knows how she’s doing. So I’m asking you to please, tell me how she really is.”

His sincerity throws me off-kilter. He looked wrecked earlier, but I thought it might have been fear rather than genuine remorse. But now…

By the longing looks he keeps darting at Idril, I have a feeling that his emotions—while tangled in guilt—may be genuine. And if he cares about her—even the smallest bit—there’s a chance he can be reasoned with.