Chapter 26 – FELIX
Chapter
Twenty-Six
FELIX
T he stairs feel like they're stretching longer with each step, my legs burning with the kind of rage that makes murder seem like a reasonable solution.
Behind me, I can still hear Juniper's laughter echoing from the basement, bright and genuine in a way she rarely is with anyone except me.
The sound cuts through my chest like a fucking serrated blade.
Carlisle. That psychotic piece of shit with his perfect hair and his British accent and his way of making violence look like foreplay. Of course he knows exactly how to play with Juniper's dark edges. Of course he appreciates the parts of her that most people run screaming from.
Because he's like me. A predator wearing human skin.
Except Carlisle makes it look fun. Makes it look like a game worth playing instead of a burden to carry. And Juniper... fuck, she lights up around him in a way that makes something in my chest crack and bleed.
Maybe he's better for her. Maybe they all are. The thought tastes like poison, but I can't stop swallowing it down.
The common area upstairs is mercifully empty, which is good because I might actually kill someone if they look at me wrong right now.
My eyes land on the bar setup in the corner, because of course these assholes have a fully stocked bar in their vigilante compound.
The bourbon calls to me like an old friend, amber salvation in a crystal decanter.
I grab the entire bottle. Fuck glasses. Fuck propriety. Fuck everything.
"Planning to drink that whole thing yourself?"
Elias's voice makes me freeze mid-pour, the bottle hovering over my lips.
He's standing in the doorway looking perfectly put together as always, silver hair catching the light like he's posing for a medical journal cover.
Those blue eyes track my movements with clinical curiosity that makes me want to throw the bottle at his head.
"Yes," I say flatly, taking a long pull straight from the bottle. The bourbon burns going down, familiar and comforting in its destruction.
"At least let me get you a glass." He moves behind the bar with the ease of someone who's done this before, pulling out two tumblers from underneath. "Drinking from the bottle is so... uncivilized."
"I'm not civilized." Another swig, longer this time. "I'm a killer pretending to be a person."
"Aren't we all?" He pours himself a measure of the bourbon I've already claimed, then slides an empty glass toward me. When I don't take it, he shrugs and sips his own. "Though I prefer to think of myself as a person who sometimes kills. The distinction matters."
"Does it?" I finally pour some bourbon into the glass he offered, if only to have something to do with my hands that isn't strangling him. "Dead is dead. Doesn't matter what pretty words you wrap around it."
We drink in silence for a moment, the only sound the clink of glass and my barely controlled breathing. I can still hear Juniper's laugh in my head, see the way she looked at Carlisle with genuine interest instead of the wariness she usually reserves for alphas.
"Can I ask you a question?" Elias asks, because apparently he has a death wish.
"You can do whatever you want. Doesn't mean I'm going to answer."
He blows a puff of air through his nostrils. "Fair enough. I was just going to ask about Juniper. She… sees things, doesn't she? Things that aren't there."
My grip on the glass tightens enough that I'm surprised it doesn't shatter. There's no judgment in his voice, only faint concern, but it's a sore topic nonetheless.
"You don't have to answer," he says quietly. "It was just a question. I have a brother who deals with something similar, and I know it can be exhausting."
"She's not a fucking burden," I snarl.
"I meant for her," he says quickly, holding up his hands. I search his face for deception, but find only sincerity there. "It's not easy, not knowing which reality you can trust. On top of everything else you've both been through."
The words hit different than I expect. Not dismissive or patronizing, just... observant. "You don't think she's crazy?"
"I think she experiences reality differently than most people." He refills both our glasses without asking. "The hallucinations, the voices—they're symptoms. No more a reason for moral condemnation than a fever or a broken bone."
I considers his words, taking another swig of bourbon. "She sees things," I say carefully. "Hears things. But sometimes, it's hard to tell what they are. Sometimes they seem to know things."
He listens thoughtfully, nodding. "She perceives things others don't." Elias leans against the bar, studying me with those too-blue eyes. "Seems to go hand in hand."
"You believe in that sort of thing?" I ask doubtfully. I'm not sure what I believe and it's saved my life more times than I can count, but he's a doctor. Or something like it. A man of science. I'd expect more skepticism.
Elias shrugs. "Whether that's heightened intuition manifesting as hallucinations or something else entirely... Omegas are naturally intuitive."
The bitter laugh that escapes me is louder than I intended. Oops.
"It wasn't a slight." His voice stays frustratingly calm. "I don't see being an omega as a weakness. If anything, the omegas I've known have been remarkably strong. They have to be, to survive in a world that treats them like property."
I scoff, the sound bitter as burnt coffee. "Pretty words from an alpha who's never had to live it."
"You're right. I haven't." He takes another sip, thoughtful. "I won't pretend to understand what you've been through. But I'd like to, if you're willing to share."
"Why?" The question comes out more aggressive than intended. "So you can psychoanalyze me? Add me to your collection of interesting case studies?"
"Because you're our scent match." The honesty in his voice catches me off guard. "Because whether you accept it or not, that means something. And because I can't help you if I don't understand the cause of your distress."
I laugh, but there's no humor in it. "Distress. That's a clinical way to put it."
"How would you describe it?"
The bourbon is working now, loosening the locks I keep on everything I don't want to examine.
"Like wearing a suit that doesn't fit. One you can never take off, no matter how much it chafes.
You can put other clothes over it, try to hide it, but underneath you're always aware of how wrong it feels against your skin. "
Elias nods slowly. "So you don't actually wish you were an alpha. You just wish you weren't..."
"An omega." The word tastes like ash. "If I could just be nothing, just exist without all the biological bullshit, that would be perfect."
"Is that why you pretend to be an alpha?"
I consider lying, but the bourbon and his genuine interest make the truth spill out.
"Partly. But mostly it's practical. Being an alpha means people don't question me.
They see what they expect to see—strength, dominance, danger.
It keeps Juniper safe. No one looks twice at an alpha protecting his omega.
But an omega protecting another omega?" I shake my head. "That draws attention. The wrong kind."
"And attention gets you killed in your line of work."
"Or worse." I pour another drink, my fourth or fifth, I've lost count. "At least death is final. There are things that can be done to omegas that make death look like mercy."
Elias is quiet for a moment, processing. "I've been doing some research," he says quietly.
"Of course you have." I can't keep the sarcasm out of my voice.
He pulls out his tablet, swiping to something he's clearly bookmarked.
"There are experimental suppressants in trial now.
Subcutaneous implants that provide consistent hormone regulation for up to six months.
They're significantly more effective at suppressing omega characteristics than traditional medications. "
I stare at him, trying to process this through the bourbon haze. "Six months?"
"The trials have been promising. There are increased side effects—potential for irregular heat cycles when they wear off, some users report mild dissociation, occasional nausea.
But for someone seeking long-term suppression.
.." He sets the tablet on the bar between us.
"I could look into getting you into the trial.
Or procuring them through less official channels. "
"Why?" The question comes out rougher than intended. "Why would you do that?"
He shrugs, but there's something in his eyes that makes my teeth itch. "If it would make you more comfortable, allow you to exist peacefully in your own skin… why wouldn't I?"
"Are you offering as a doctor or as a scent match?" The words are meant to be cutting, but they come out almost curious.
A small smile plays at his lips. "Both. My medical oath requires me to help where I can. And as your scent match... I want you to be comfortable. Happy, even, if that's possible."
"Happy." I test the word, foreign on my tongue. Happy is a joke. A pipe dream. Life is about survival, and I've gotten damn good at that.
"There you are!"
Juniper's voice cuts through whatever I was about to say.
She practically bounces into the room, cheeks flushed and eyes bright with the kind of satisfaction that comes from playing with expensive weapons.
Or possibly from whatever else she and Carlisle were doing in the basement that I don't want to think about.
She makes a beeline for me, wrapping her arms around my neck and pressing her mouth to mine in a kiss that tastes like adrenaline and want. "The guns made me so fucking horny," she purrs against my lips, already moving to my neck, teeth grazing the skin there.
"Guns?" Elias's voice cracks slightly, and I can't help the smirk that crosses my face.
"Carlisle is quite the host," I say dryly, even as Juniper's hands start working on the buttons of my shirt.