48. Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Eight
Halley
I sit shivering on the cold stone steps beneath Blackgate Fortress’s battlements with my knees drawn up to my chest and my whole Pack pressed in around me.
We're crammed shoulder-to-shoulder, an unavoidable closeness born from a deep-seated suspicion that any lapse in physical contact would sever our still-healing bond.
Frack. We came so close to losing it all.
Dried blood stiffens my sleeves, and more flakes from my skin whenever I move. Some of it is mine, some belongs to my Pack, and the rest came from the enemy.
My body is working through the burns, scratches, and gunshot wounds I only noticed after the adrenaline faded, but exhaustion has slowed my healing. Usually, I can feel the bond lending me strength as it pulls each injury closed. Now, all I feel through it is pain and fatigue.
Through the weak connection of our bond, I can feel the same exhausted pulse echo through the rest of the Pack.
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to clear the gritty feeling that just won't go away. I can't cry because no tears will come, and I know I'm in a state of shock because somehow we're alive, but we were so close to death.
Knox sits on my left, one leg stretched out, one bent, his shoulder locked against mine so I can feel every shaking breath he takes.
He looks wrecked, but he also looks in control, even half-dead.
I can't even find it in myself to be annoyed by that, because it was he who led us through that battle.
His determination and experience made it possible for us all to fight for our lives and win.
Shade crouches on the step below us as he checks the wound in my side again, his fingers careful and efficient even though they're shaking from fatigue.
He doesn't say much, only presses fresh bandaging where he can, brushes dirt from my wrist, and leaves his hand there for a second longer than he needs to.
His eyes are clearing, the concussion ebbing away, and he doesn't wobble on his feet anymore.
Of all the injuries our Beta could have sustained, somehow a traumatic brain injury seems the worst. Shade's mind is what makes him special, and his intelligence is something I have always admired.
I cannot fathom a world where Shade isn't capable of quick wit or analyzing a scenario for the best outcome.
Viper is on my right, broad and silent with his thigh braced against mine, his presence steady.
One side of his uniform is entirely shredded, but the skin underneath is raw and tender from when he took the force of a blast for me.
His armor is dented and broken from the dozens of bullets he took for me, too.
When Viper told me he loved me all those months ago, I believed him.
But now, in the aftermath of battle, I know without a doubt just how big that love is.
He loves me to death. Specifically, his death.
And what does a girl do with that knowledge?
How can I ever show him that my love matches that intensity?
Blaze sits one step higher, close enough that his boot knocks against my back now and then when his leg twitches.
Under any other circumstance, he would be prowling, swearing, and making some unhinged joke to keep the rest of us from thinking too hard.
Now he is slumped forward with his forearms on his knees, staring out over the courtyard in stunned silence, and the sight of Blaze like that still makes my aching body clench.
He saved us.
Our wildcard was the one who saved our Pack.
None of us speak, but we don't need to.
Their steady touch says enough. The bond, thanks to Blaze's intervention, still threads between us in faint sparks and bruised warmth. We're hurt, exhausted, and feeling relief so sharp it stings.
I sit there in the middle of it, filthy and shaking and emptied out. My mind is slow, but I can't stop myself from compulsively counting our Pack.
Knox.
Shade.
Viper.
Blaze.
Me.
All five of us are here and alive.
I keep doing it. Checking them again and again, making sure that they're still here with me.
Beyond our shocked silence on the battlement steps, the courtyard below us is full of movement.
The people of Blackgate are starting to realize that, against all odds, they're alive too. For better or worse.
A group of Alphas near the gate is cheering loudly, their voices cracked raw, while ten feet away a woman drops to her knees beside a body laid out under one of the many, many bloodstained blankets.
A Beta soldier laughs hysterically, then folds in half and covers their face with a heartbreaking sob.
Medics weave through the crowd with stretchers and somber expressions.
Others clutch one another and stare down the road as if they still expect the army to come pouring back up it at any moment.
Victory, it turns out, is messy.
It feels wrong to call this a celebration, and yet that is what it is.
The survivors of Blackgate are mourning their dead and celebrating the fact that they themselves are not among them.
That we survived and achieved our objective.
We completed our mission, and because of that, our kind gets to survive.
For how long, we don't know. But I have a strong sense that my Command, in its true and full-powered form, will be enough to turn the enemy army around.
It might not keep them away forever, but for now, the war between Demi-humans and Humans that has raged for decades upon decades has ended.
I watch one of the younger soldiers, still bloody from battle, stumble into the arms of an older Beta woman who must be his mother, his aunt, or someone who loves him. She grabs his face with both hands and kisses his forehead like he is still a child.
I blink and stare.
It never occurred to me that there were families here at Blackgate, but of course there are. It makes sense that they followed General Stone here because it meant outlasting not just the enemy, but the torment of Fathim's broken system. It meant they got to keep the people they love close and safe.
I look out over the people of Blackgate, seeing them in a different light, and for the first time I don't see them as part of the rebellion in some abstract sense. They're not just nameless faces filling a fortress, but people with love and lives of their own.
I have never felt so selfish in my life.
For so long, my world narrowed down to the next crisis, the next threat, the next brutal demand of whatever fate had in mind for me. I was always moving toward something, or simply trying to survive life.
Now that I have, I find myself wanting something I haven't had room for since I left the Omega Division.
I want to know these people. I want to learn who belongs to who, who built a life here in the middle of a war, and went to fight for it because it was worth defending. After everything we have endured together, they don't feel distant anymore.
They feel like my people now, and the possibility of making a home right here at Blackgate doesn't seem impossible now that I'm not looking past it toward some larger destiny.
Despite my internal revelation, I don't know what the future holds yet. We're all still in that post-battle, mid-healing, still-shocked phase.
Thankfully, nobody comes up to the steps to ask us questions, because I certainly don't have the ability to provide answers right now.
A few acknowledge us as they pass.
A wounded soldier presses a fist to his chest in salute. One of the medics pauses and dips his head toward us before hurrying on. A woman with dried blood on her pants looks straight at me, then at the men gathered around me, and her expression goes soft with relief instead of wary.
Some of them glance our way with wide, almost reverent expressions before lowering their eyes again.
Others hold those stares longer, as if they are trying to match what they saw on the battlefield to the shattered five-person heap we make now.
I cannot blame them. Pack Scorch does not look especially mythic from where we sit. We look filthy, half-conscious, and one strong breeze away from collapsing.
Yet, we did, in fact, do some mythic-level frackery.
Omega magic happened.
I'm sure Shade and Everlyn will spend many, many hours explaining the scientific reason my Omega Command worked in such a vast and devastating way. But I simply don't care at the moment.
All that matters is that it worked.
That the trust everyone put in me was worth it.
Blackgate is still standing, and Blackreach is safe. Dazz, Ember, and Flicker are safe from the Humans, wherever they are.
Behind me, Blaze drags a hand down his face, then nudges his canteen against my shoulder.
"Drink, trouble," he mutters, voice so hoarse it barely sounds like him.
A soft smile pulls at my lips. There it is, a small scrap of my Blaze. Always trying to feed me to bring comfort to us both.
I take the canteen, drink, and pass it back.
"Well, well, well." A familiar voice cuts through the courtyard noise.
"If it isn't the heroes of Blackgate," Everlyn says dryly as she climbs the steps, medical bag thumping against her hip. "You all look terrible, by the way."
Blaze huffs what might be a laugh.
She crouches in front of us and starts with me because she's the greatest friend a trouble-prone Omega could have.
Shade finally lifts his hands from me, but only so Everlyn can check me over.
Her fingers are brisk and practiced as she checks my pulse, my pupils, the half-healed burns on my arms, the bandage at my side. Her mouth tightens more with every injury she finds.
"You’re healing," she says, glancing between me and the men around me. "Just slower than usual. You drained yourself badly, didn't you?"
I huff. "I feel like I've been hollowed out by a rusty spoon."
I wince. My voice sounds like gravel, my vocal cords protesting each word.
"Rut-damn, Sparks. You sound even worse than you look."
She makes me open my mouth so she can shine her small penlight at the back of my throat.
"It's healing, but your mouth is torn up. I don't even know how that could happen."
I do.
Using an Omega Command on thousands of enemy soldiers would do the trick.
She moves down the line after that, inspecting Knox’s torn throat, the ruin of Blaze's back, the angry spread of damage across Viper's skin from the explosion, and then Shade’s head with extra care that makes my insides unclench.
When she finishes with him and seems satisfied, I finally breathe a little easier.
"Any of you collapse in the next hour," she says, "I will be deeply irritated."
"Surely war-heroes get a reprieve from your wrath," Shade murmurs.
Everlyn gives him a flat look. "Nope, you're not war-heroes to me. You're the shit-heads that made me sleep-deprived for two weeks."
"We won't collapse, doctor," Knox reassures her diplomatically.
She nods once, and just like that it's settled, then starts packing her supplies away.
She gets halfway to standing before my gut twists and tightens, and I know there is a question I have to ask her. It's long overdue.
"Everlyn."
I must sound serious, because she pauses immediately and looks back at me. Around me, my Pack goes still and Viper’s fingers flex against my knee.
I swallow against the raw ache in my throat.
Before the battle, I told her not to say anything. I couldn't carry one more unknown into that fight and I needed all of me aimed in one direction with no distractions.
But that is over now.
The road is silent, the enemy is gone, Blackgate still stands, and suddenly I cannot bear not knowing.
"What was the pregnancy result?" I ask, my voice faltering on the last syllable.
Everlyn sighs, shifting her weight from one leg to the other. Her eyes dart around at the others before nodding.
The sounds of the courtyard seem to fall back from the steps, turning distant and muffled. My whole Pack draws closer around me, their breaths shallow and waiting.
"Tell me," I say, quieter this time.
Everlyn holds my gaze for one long second, making sure I really mean it.
Then she says, "You’re not pregnant."
That is all.
No softening or cushioning language.
At first, I don't feel anything at all. The words reach me, but they don't sink in properly. They hover somewhere just outside me while my body sits here, filthy and half-drained.
Not pregnant.
I let out a slow breath that scrapes at my ruined throat.
Behind me, Blaze scoots down to the step above mine, curling himself over my back and enveloping me in his arms, his head perched on top of my head where he plants a kiss.
I run the words through my head again, but they still do not fully process.
I am not pregnant.
It feels much bigger than I can deal with right now in such a weakened state.
So I do the only thing I can.
I nod once.
"Okay," I rasp. "Thanks for letting us know."
I am not okay. Not yet. But we finally have an answer, and my Pack is still around me, and that will have to be enough until my mind catches up. There will be time later for self-reflection and examining feelings once my brain is capable of holding more than one life-changing thing at once.
Everlyn studies me like she wants to say more, then thinks better of it. She gives me a brief smile and heads back down into the courtyard where people still need her.
None of us move.
We just watch as the fortress carries on in its strange post-battle haze.
Life and death. Relief and loss. All of it tangled together in one battered courtyard.
I look out at Blackgate, at the people who survived, at the walls still standing, and I feel the future waiting just beyond the edge of my shock.
I don't know what it looks like yet.
I only know I am still here to find out.