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"I've got less than nothing for you, sweetheart." He shattered the moment, his words thickened with command before adding a hasty, "I'm sorry." Finality infused every syllable, and conviction underscored the nuance of his tone, posture, and bearing. "I'm sorry about the watching. If that made you uncomfortable, it's... it's not what I wanted," he added, driving the knife deeper. "But we can't speak again."
Zorah didn't understand what, exactly, was being taken away, but the sense of impending loss tied her up in hopelessness and heaved her over the edge of a waterfall.
Her voice, thready and hollow, wavered. "I don't even know your name. Can you at least tell me that?"
A rough shudder racked the Alpha's tall, rigid frame. Expression tense and stony, he raised his hand, and Zorah held absolutely still, gulping in his crisp scent, not even able to parse the multitude of reactions it produced in her body.
Touch me, her Omega nature prayed and pleaded.Just once. Before you go.
Only, those broad, calloused fingers hesitated one interminable instant before skimming a reverent caress over the crown of Ginny's round baby head.
He exhaled long and slow, as if suffering through intense physical pain. "It's Jake," he said so softly she almost couldn't make it out before he vanished into the night.
CHAPTER 3
Jake
"You need something, brother?" A sneer twisted the Alpha's lips, the question intended as an insult as much as an inquiry.
Mick wasn't the worst of the Pack, but Jake wouldn't expect decency from any of them.
Thirty minutes hovering on the sidelines of Alphas reviewing plans for the upcoming fall harvest, and Jake had yet to catch Hunter's eye. A quick conversation with his old friend was all he wanted but talking to Hunt inevitably required getting in queue behind a dozen other Alphas also waiting for their leader's limited attention.
Reunited after a century of separation courtesy of the world-ending events of TheEnd, Jake marveled at the transformation in his friend. Always the more goal-driven of the two of them, Hunter had been a work-hard-play-hard kind of guy, whereas Jake held to a working-for-the-weekend philosophy. His laid-back approach made less money, but he'd also spent more time on his surfboard than in an office, which counted as a win in his book.
Friends since college fraternity days, Jake never envied Hunter, but these days his mind often retraced the distinctly different paths their lives had taken. Hunter, an Alpha of Alphas, building a strong, safe community with a kind, beautiful Omega at his side, had none of the twisted, ugly scars Jake carried on his skin and inside his soul. If Jake had been more ambitious, could he have avoided all that befell him when the world crashed and burned? Could he have ended up somewhere better than as the barely tolerated charity case of a thriving Pack?
Could he have had any chance at winning a precious Omega like Zorah?
"Don't you got a work assignment to do?" Mick addressed him again, arching an auburn-colored brow and making the point clear as if Jake had any doubt: Jake wasn't welcome here.
"Need to talk to Hunt." Jake kept everything about the response bland so as not to trigger any kind of escalation with the excitable Alpha.
Calling any Alpha excitable was like calling water wet, but Mick had been one of the Alphas traveling with Hunter during their fateful confrontation in Old Tacoma. Which meant Mick heard, and saw, Jake's sorry-ass state when Hunter found him. Or, rather, when Jake's dishonorable attempt to steal Hunter's Omega, Kess, precipitated their unlikely reunion. Few of the Pack "brothers" had much respect for Jake, but those who witnessed his rough first week after joining the Pack had even less.
Shifting, Mick wedged his body between Jake and the rest of the crowd and blocked his view. Arms folded, he peered down his nose. "Give me the message and I'll pass it along."
Jake fought to maintain his mask of unaffected placidity. "Thanks for the offer, but it's private. I'll wait."
The Alphas, by and large, loved Hunter and did everything in their power to protect him. Because of what had happened in Old Tacoma, many of them took that to mean keeping Jake away, despite the fact that Hunter himself had insisted Jake join the Pack. Perhaps therein was the problem. Hunter had welcomed him while the others resented and barely tolerated him.
Mick jerked his chin over his shoulder at the deeply enmeshed Hunter. "I doubt the chief's gonna have any time for you today." He advanced a half step, putting himself squarely in Jake's personal space in an unmistakable attempt at intimidation. "Talk to Colt."
Jake straightened his spine, not wanting to back down but not wanting to escalate this shit either. The struggle to keep his own tempestuous nature in check wore on nerves already on edge from his late-night encounter with Zorah. He needed to stay the fuck away from her, which meant he had to find a way to leave Morris Hill, which meant he had to talk to Hunter. Immediately. But that was no one's goddamn business but his own.
He forced his voice into a semblance of calm. "I'm not hurting anyone waiting my turn. None of that has anything to do with you."
Fire simmered in Mick's eyes. "Listen up, you pathetic excuse for an Alpha,I'lldecide what does and doesn't have anything to do with me. Now get the fuck out of here."
With the quick reflexes of their kind, his hands lashed out, and Jake stumbled to regain balance from the unexpected push.
His temper vaulted to the surface and Jake answered Mick's provocation with an answering shove. "Keep your hands off me."
And that was all it took for the bravado to degenerate into a full-on fight. Mick planted a punch in Jake's stomach, which had him folded in half and wheezing as he lurched forward to gracelessly tackle Mick to the ground. Shouts broke out, but only the white noise of his pent-up frustration roared in his ears. Blows landed on his face and body, but they meant nothing. What were a few bruises on top of the layers of damage his body bore?
With a roar, he flipped Mick on his back and pummeled his face in unleashed aggression. Blood splattered from somewhere — Mick's nose or his own — and the copper penny taste soured his mouth. For decades, he'd been pushed around, overpowered and abused, tortured and controlled, first by the Brethren and then by the various gangs he'd clung to in his darkest days. Maybe he deserved Mick's derision, but that didn't mean he had to take it without a fight. Powered by cynicism and defeat, he had nothing left to lose.
Rough hands seized his arms and shoulders as he fought for one last parting shot to Mick's smug fucking face. But even furious desperation couldn't match the three Alphas who threw his thrashing body onto the dirt. Head ringing, Jake spit a mouthful of blood and wiped his chin. Loud voices battered his ears, but he didn't give a single shit what they had to say about him. No man possessed infinite patience, not even a damaged and irreparable one like him.
