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My Omega. Mine.
His momentary contentment plummeted. Now that he'd had this, how could he ever let her go?
A problem for later.
Jake nosed into her hair with the special kind of reverence one has for a fleeting experience, allowing it to sooth him into the conversation. "I don't think you're a child; I don't talk about this with anyone."
Her breath puffed a delicate breeze on his damp skin. "Maybe you should."
He hated to admit how much her mere presence comforted him. All the uneasiness and paranoia that tainted his daily life lifted under the spell of her gentle inquiry. The world became a less scary place with her in it, less wholly evil and harsh, and Jake felt he owed her for this. Owed her this story, owed her everything he had.
"I loved a woman once. Her name was Ava." His voice was calm, his gaze steady as he stared at the small bead of red that marked Colt's burning roach.
Zorah stilled.
"After TheEnd," Jake pushed the words forward, "I was captured and imprisoned by some real bad Betas. Called themselves the Righteous Brethren; they convinced themselves that Alphas were mutant creatures who required subjugation. I was traveling on my own — probably my first mistake — trying to make my way back to Seattle, or what was left of it. They ambushed me and turned me into forced labor."
Her gasp rasped over his eardrums. "But how? You're Alpha, you're bigger and stronger."
"One Alpha against one Beta? Yes. One unsuspecting Alpha who'd never fought anyone against a gang of ruthless, violent Betas? No." He gave a weak shrug. "I wasn't their first captive, and over time, they'd learned how to keep us in check. Chains, hard labor, beatings, starvation, isolation, and then later, drug dependence. It was more than enough to incapacitate."
Jake shuddered at the memories. All the tortures, big and small, he'd endured. Water beat against his skin in cool, gentle waves, and a soft, warm girl pressed against him, but the chill in his body came from long ago.
"My god," she breathed. "There was more than just you?"
"Yeah, but they kept us separate. They knew that together we'd be harder to control." Pain danced on the edges of his memories, survivor's guilt for the Alphas who'd died from the harsh treatment, for the ones who'd not made it away when he did.
Dread jammed itself down his throat, so thick he could choke on it. They were getting close to it now, close to the unhealing wound. But he had to continue, to soldier through it, so Zorah would understand. "Ava" — his voice cracked on her name — "was the sister of one of the ringleaders. She wasn't a captive, but her life wasn't easy, either. She cooked and cleaned for them, sunup to sundown. She delivered what little food I got. That's how we met." He forced his fist to unclench from Zorah's shirt, realizing he'd seized it without intending to. "She started visiting me at night, when I was in my hole, to sneak extra food or tend my wounds when the injuries were especially bad. We grew close, and then we...we became lovers. I didn't want to, I knew it was a bad idea, I knew it was selfish and put her in unnecessary danger, but..."
"You needed comfort." Zorah hugged closer, offering what he so desperately needed, now as well as then.
"Yeah, maybe I did." He dusted a kiss over her temple, accepting what she gave in the dark, watery confessional. "I don't know how long it went on with Ava. Maybe a year? Maybe two? Time was meaningless, then. But, as these things go, eventually, she got pregnant. She tried to hide it, but that only worked for so long. Then, one night they followed her and barged in." Memory hazed his vision. He could see it all arrayed in front of him like a horror film on the old silver screens, the chaos and confusion and cruelty of it all. His throat ached and his chest burned in visceral remembrance. "They took her away, and I never saw her again. It was like she never existed. No gossip, no rumors, no one even uttered her name. Things got worse after that. More beatings, less food, sleep deprivation, round-the-clock labor. Anything they could think of to break me. Thing was, I was already broken."
He grew quiet then. Closed his eyes as the long-sequestered memories continued their savage parade. Trembling began from deep inside — his heart or his bones or his guts, he couldn't tell which, maybe his very soul — but it quaked through him, fierce enough to upset the lapping water. Ripples juddered out from his body, rings spreading outward like messengers on some important errand.Take it away, he thought.Take this pain with you.
Delicate fingertips stroked along his cheek and temple. He leaned into it, pressing his face into Zorah's cupped palm.
"Jake..." she whispered.
Not a plea to stop. Not a demand to continue. A simple acknowledgment. The simplest of all, the name given on the day he'd been born. Unlike Hunter, whom he'd first known as Paul in the before times, his name never changed, never evolved, never reinvented. Always simply Jake, who dragged his same name through space and time along with his scarred body and lacerated spirit, to come to this moment, in this lake, with this girl.
Hearing it whispered in Zorah's voice, with a note of affection and awe, there was something potent about it. An unflinching confrontation of the truth of his story. After all these years, maybe he wasn't someone wholly different, maybe he was simply himself.
"There were times," he began again, "I thought maybe I'd conjured her up in my mind, that she'd been a figment of my imagination. I used to hope they'd killed her and that she'd been spared any of the other horrible fates that could've befallen her. Then, I'd feel guilty about wishing for her death. Hers, and the baby." His sinuses burned with unshed tears; they scalded the back of his throat and hoarsened his voice. "Only, I wasn't really wishing for her death, fortheirdeaths, I was wishing for mercy. She was so kindhearted and so fearless. She took pity on me and paid the price."
Zorah brushed her lips against his jaw. "So did you."
Jake closed his eyes and soaked up her scent and solace. He'd never told anyone this story. Never, except for the ugly night with Kess, uttered Ava's name. But that too, he realized now, was another wound. A self-inflicted one. One that maybe, just maybe, might heal.
"That night was dark, and we'd heard them coming, huddled together in the blackest corner of my hole. Being here with you, hiding like this, it all came back. I didn't want it to touch you, to contaminate you with ugliness. That's why I didn't tell you when you asked. Not because I think you're a child." He craned his neck back till he could see her face, or at least the darkened pits of her eyes. "I don't think that. Never have."
With a quiet hum, Zorah rested her cheek on his shoulder, and, by some tacit understanding, neither of them spoke. Or maybe there wasn't anything else to say. For his part, Jake had run off the edge of confessions. He wasn't stupid or naïve enough to believe he could've done anything to save Ava that night. By that time, the mistake had gone too far to be corrected. His failure happened much earlier, at the point where she'd shown an attachment to him. If he'd put her off, discouraged her affection, treated her with coldness rather than entertaining her interest, things might've gone differently. The rejection would've hurt her, and he would've existed in that wretched place without the small parcels of solace she provided, but it would've been better. For both of them.
One hand gripping the dock and the other holding Zorah, Jake breathed deep and savored this moment. Here, with this beautiful star of a woman, he had a chance to fix his mistake. The past remained unchangeable, but the future —Zorah's future, in particular — was wide open. Kissing or not, he could not in clear conscience bind her to him. If any grace could be found for his actions with Ava, it was in the weakened and terrorized state he'd existed in at that time. But now? Living in Morris Hill, he had no excuse to subject this woman to the consequences of a life with him.
He hadn't been strong enough to push Ava away when he needed to, but he wouldn't make the same mistake twice. Zorah might feel like his down to the marrow in his bones, but Omega or not, she could never truly be.
CHAPTER 18
