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Zorah
"You haven't been yourself lately."
Zorah slopped tea over the teacup she'd been pouring. For one beat, maybe two, her heart bucked before settling back into its usual rhythm. She ignored it, not sure why her Nana's comment stole through her deadened spirit, but an instant later, the numbness enveloped her, and she welcomed it.
Riding away from Morris Hill, every step ripped her to smaller and smaller ribbons. Slicing and slashing, rending and rupturing, the Zorah who'd flourished in Morris Hill died. Like a butterfly that crawled back into her cocoon, the Zorah who'd braved the woods alone in the dark, laughed on the beach in the sunshine, and kissed a moonlight-gilded Alpha in the silvery water ceased to exist.
The first day or two, a small hope kindled. She'd kept the small wooden fish hidden, and at night, she'd slot her thumbnail into the grooves, trace the etched lines of the Z, and doubt herself. Maybe she'd left too soon for their whole plan to play out. Maybe she could go along with her family's plans, to not make the situation worse and be ready. Jake would talk to Hunter just like he promised and then come and rescue her.
Miles after miles on the road, dull reassurance flickered through the bond; it gave her an inkling of hope, probably for far too long. But then hope turned to worry. Had Hunter made good on his threat to kill Jake? Had her mate actually died? Surely, she would've known if he was dead, wouldn't she? Or had the Pack harmed him in some other, less final, way? Had her family found out and done something to him? Had he gotten lost in the wilderness trying to find her? Outrageous, improbable, preposterous scenarios paraded nonstop through her mind.
When weeks went by and he never turned up, worry turned to disillusionment. She'd squeeze the fish until her bones ground against each other, frustration and mounting despair roaring in her veins. Had he lied? Had he changed his mind and stayed in his cabin, hiding from the world? Had he decided she wasn't worth the risk?
Then she questioned herself. Maybe she'd been unfair, foisting this choice upon him, forcing him to choose between her and his Pack. She'd heard her father threaten Hunter with trade agreements; she understood what was at stake. Could she really demand that Jake jeopardize the entire Morris Hill Pack, limit their ability to get food and supplies, just for her?
Disillusionment turned to anger. Anger to shame. Shame to grief. Grief to nothingness.
One by one, emotions curled up and went into deep hibernation. Pain. Hope. Fury. Fear. Agony. Longing. They shriveled away, like threads fraying from an overtaxed rope, disentangling themselves from the tarnished bond in her chest. That too, after keening and aching with every step away from Morris Hill — fromhim— finally put itself to bed, as if it too gave up on her. On them. Her inner Omega went mute.
Too sad for tears, she stopped carrying the wooden fish in her pocket as she went about her days. Banished to the bottom of her closet, underneath her pile of nesting supplies, she endeavored to forget it even existed. But there was no hiding from the stark cruelty of her situation: she'd messed up. Recklessly chosen the wrong Alpha, given her mating bite to someone unworthy. Someone who could not — orwouldnot — return it. It confirmed the scorn her mother rained down on her in the Heat Hut. Little Zorah didn't know. She'd chosen and she'd chosen wrong.
Pressing the heel of one hand to her breastbone, Zorah dabbed up the spilled tea with the other. It was better this way, this nothingness. She could face the world and tolerate sliding back into her life, doing things like making tea and bringing it to her beloved Nana. That was simple. Easy.
Zorah handed over the teacup and saucer without lifting her face to the elderly Beta, who spent much of her day in bed.
"Just tired," Zorah mumbled, turning to gather the tea supplies and return downstairs, where her mother chattered with other Omegas about Zorah and Nelson's upcoming mating ceremony. Several times a week, her mother hosted a tea on the same topic, the same arguments and discussions going round and round about how best to celebrate what was sure to be the event of the year. It wasn't every day the Alpha's heir got married, as her mother liked to say.
It was a testament to Zorah's success at total shutdown that even the thought of formally mating Nelson failed to rouse even a single visceral or emotional response. Her stomach did not curdle. Her fists did not ball. Her eyes remained dry.
The bond remained silent. Like a shout over a cliff that didn't echo back, she knew what ought to be there; the outline of it, the space it took up, the blaring emptiness yawning back at her.
Nothing. She felt nothing.
"I don't think that's the problem." Nana peered at Zorah over the teacup rim for a long minute before setting the teacup on her bedside table. She patted the quilt next to her thigh. "Come sit."
Zorah obeyed. Of course, she did. That's what she did now. Obeyed.
Nana tucked Zorah's hand between her own, her fragile, papery skin a soft tickle. "I hear you up there" — Nana pointed at the ceiling to Zorah's small room — "every day, you come in, close the door, walk over to the window, and then stare out for a while, then you go to bed, and I don't hear you move for hours and hours." Nana's finger moved, tracing the circuit Zorah made around her bedroom.
Nana was right. She retreated there more often now, whenever she could. Ironically, with her mother preoccupied with the mating ceremony, she paid Zorah even less mind, especially as she went out of her way to not cause any further friction in the family.
The blowup in the mess hall had been the final straw. Nelson, too arrogant or too stupid to truly suspect Zorah would consider any Alpha other than him, never even questioned her. Never once looked at her with suspicion. She'd caught the Alpha, his father, Harold, giving her the side-eye once or twice, but if River Bend's Alpha could keep his thoughts to himself to keep the peace, she would do the same.
Nana's gentle hand cupped Zorah's cheek, leaning close to search her face through her hazy, cataract-clouded eyes. Like most Betas, time wore on her grandmother's body. The aging process and life expectations got all mixed up after TheEnd. Not nearly as advanced in age as transformed Alphas like Jake or Hunter, yet Nana's aging progressed at a much faster clip. It wasn't clear how much longer Nana would live.
The old woman's mouth tipped up in a crooked grin, sporting the black holes of a few missing teeth. "Why don't you tell me about him. Or her, I suppose."
Zorah's gaze fell to the worn quilt across Nana's lap. "What?" The word scraped over her dry throat.
"I know you, Zorah." Nana wagged a thin finger in her face. "You don't think I do, but I do. And unlike your ridiculous parents, I'm not so caught up in bullshit that I can't see what's right in front of my face." Zorah's mouth considered twitching. Ida hated it when Nana swore. Nana surveyed her, her rheumy gaze mystical and weirdly piercing. "You've lost something, sweet girl. Something important. Some part of what made you Zorah." Nana leaned closer and dropped her volume to just above a raspy whisper. "Where'd you lose your heart, my dear? Who didn't care for it the way they should?"
The world went still. The chattering Omega voices downstairs fell away. The yells of the kids playing outside vanished. Even the room seemed to darken, as if a cloud shielded it from the sun's rays.
All she heard was the thundering of her heart, a beating, a deepwhomp-whomppounded into her eardrums. From an underground fault line buried beneath layers and layers of hardened rock, the quaking started.
"He taught me to swim." The words slipped past her lips, sounding foreign and muffled in her ears, and all the memories rushed back in. Jake, pumping life back into Nico's inert body. Jake, defending her against Xavi. Jake, splashing water in her face, grinning. Jake, tenderly cleaning between her legs and bringing her food and water during her Heat. Jake, his eyes full of adoration and devotion as he promised to talk to Hunter at what would be their fateful last conversation.
The weight of it bore down on her, like the pressure at the bottom of the ocean. Jake had told her all about it. How the pressure was so great it could crush a man's bones, the darkness so dense it was unimaginable, yet somehow life existed there. Creatures that knew nothing of the world but that pressure and darkness. Were they content with their lot, or did they suspect there was more?
