Chapter 12
TWELVE
Gage
IT TOOK ME A SECOND to process the armful of sweet, coffee-scented omega trying to crawl onto my lap. Or maybe she was trying to burrow inside my ribcage, because she just kept wriggling closer and closer until there wasn’t a hairsbreadth of space between us.
If the screams echoing from the attic room hadn’t been a dead giveaway that something was wrong, the curdling sourness beneath Jez’s addictive perfume would have been.
They’d been the screams of a terrified child, and god knew we’d all heard those way too often over the years, in our line of business.
But Jez wasn’t a child. Whatever nightmare had invaded her sleep, it had taken her back in time—and I could guess where. She’d practically tackled me in her haste for comfort, sending me backward onto my ass—my arms coming around her mostly in self-defense.
This whole clusterfuck was such a fucking mess.
Knox needed to get better fast, so we could all figure out what the hell we were supposed to be feeling.
Because right now, Heath saw her as the enemy—and not without reason.
Meanwhile, Tony felt like he’d been betrayed from two directions, and I felt like fate was a vicious bitch who apparently had it in for us for some reason.
I could only imagine what Jez was feeling.
Her wracking sobs had transformed into a continuous, high-pitched keening sound, broken only by the occasional gasp that sounded like someone drowning in the ocean whenever she ran out of air. I rocked her a bit, hating the world that had brought her—and us—to this point.
If she hadn’t tried to kill Knox, you might never have met her, said a traitorous little whisper. You might have gone your whole life never knowing you had a scent match.
And I genuinely didn’t know if that would have been more or less tragic than the current situation.
I mean, yeah... I’d always had a nagging sense of something being missing in my life, and I was pretty sure the others did, too.
But maybe that was normal? Maybe everyone on the planet felt like that.
Did Jez feel like that? Or had that part of her been burned out of her soul when her dad sold her to a pack of monsters? Maybe she didn’t dream of finding her alphas, because she was too busy dreaming of whatever had sent her screaming into the darkness.
Hoarseness and lack of oxygen eventually muted her cries into pitiful whimpers that tore at my heart. How was I supposed to remember what she’d done to Knox when her face was pressed against the side of my neck, my skin growing slick with her tears and snot?
“Was it the storm?” I asked, following a hunch.
She went very still, her whimpers going silent. For a second, I was worried she would realize what she’d done and who she was trusting to hold her. But after an endless pause, she gave a small nod, not lifting her head.
“Okay,” I said, even though I knew her panic wasn’t because she was afraid of wind and thunder. She was afraid of something else that had happened at the same time as rain and thunder... and I could guess what it was.
“We’re going downstairs,” I decided. “It ain’t as loud down there.”
She made a noise of protest, but she didn’t struggle as I got us both on our feet, supporting her around the shoulders with one arm.
Another peal of thunder rattled the house, and the lights flickered for a couple of seconds before steadying.
Jez’s tear-streaked face turned a sickly shade of green, and she gulped ominously.
I’d seen that look often enough that I rushed her into the bathroom and positioned her in front of the toilet, where she threw up every bit of the food I’d gotten into her earlier.
Followed by bile, yet more bile... and possibly her toenails.
She moaned, weaving like she might fall over.
“Finished?” I asked gruffly, and helped her up again when she gave an exhausted nod.
“M’sorry,” she croaked, like this was the thing she had to be sorry for.
“It’s fine.” I flushed the toilet and guided her over to lean against the sink.
The water bottle from earlier was exactly where I’d left it on the floor, with exactly as much water in it as before. I scooped it up and went back to the bathroom, where she’d rallied enough to splash water on her face.
“Rinse and spit,” I instructed. “Then drink some. You’re gonna be dehydrated.”
She did, bracing herself upright with one hand—all the fight finally gone out of her. Another barrage of rain hit the roof directly above our heads, peppered this time with small hail. She twitched.
“I don’t like storms,” she whispered.
“Yeah, I got that part,” I told her. “It’ll probably pass soon. C’mon. Downstairs.”
“Why?” she rasped.
“Told you. It’ll be quieter. You’re right under the roof up here.” I tried not to think about what Heath would have to say, if he was awake to see this.
“Okay,” she said, still with that defeated air.
But when she tried to step away from the sink, her knees buckled. I caught her before she could hit the ground and swept her up into a bridal carry.
“I got you,” I told her, hating the way her entire body trembled with fear, or exhaustion, or both.
The back staircase was still a fuckin’ deathtrap, but on the positive side, she wasn’t actively trying to murder me anymore.
I eased her down the narrow steps sideways, not letting any part of her touch the wall or the banister.
On the second floor, I turned and headed for the hall bathroom, keeping my footsteps quiet so as not to wake Heath.
“I’m not going to puke again,” she said, when I settled her to sit on the closed toilet lid.
“Yeah, I know,” I told her, gesturing to her hands. “Your fingernails are all torn to shit, though. Just want to get them cleaned and bandaged.”
She looked bewildered, but she held out first one dainty hand, and then the other.
I cleaned them with antiseptic, more than a little freaked out at the fact that she didn’t so much as flinch.
Then I covered the six that were torn to the quick with two Band-Aids each—one doubled over the end of her finger, and the other circled around it to hold it in place.
When I was done, she stared down at them blankly.
“Can you eat? Some broth, maybe?” I asked, but she shook her head no.
She needed to eat something—and keep it down.
But at least she’d finished the water bottle upstairs.
I was beginning to think that she wasn’t so much ‘model-thin’ as a borderline starvation case.
Not that those two things were worlds apart.
.. but the starvation probably hadn’t been by choice if she was living mostly on the streets.
“When this mess is over, I’m going to feed you steak and lobster until you pop,” I said, my mouth running away before my brain.
Shit. You weren’t supposed to say stuff like that out loud, were you. That had been... not good.
“Unless you’re, I mean, vegetarian or something like that,” I hurried on, probably making it worse. “I just mean, I don’t like to see you not eating.”
I should stop talking. My jaw snapped shut.
She was giving me the same blank stare as when I’d bandaged her hands.
“I’m just really tired,” she said, flinching when a distant crack of thunder broke the silence.
“Yeah,” I told her. “Yeah, I know.”
She looked a bit steadier, so I didn’t immediately pick her up and carry her. She let me lead her to my bedroom and pull the covers back on my bed. I’d thought she might balk, but she climbed in without complaint and curled up in a tight comma shape with her back to me.
I could guess the kind of shit she’d been through, so I smoothed the covers over her and sat down on top of them, swinging my sock-clad feet up and scooting in behind her with the sheets and blankets acting as a barrier between us.
In a situation where not a single goddamned thing about it was acceptable, I had no idea what would be okay and what wouldn’t.
“Can I hold you?” I asked, my arm hovering.
She was silent for long enough that my triceps started to ache.
“Yes,” she said eventually.
My arm settled over her waist, making her the small spoon.
“I want to pretend like I chose this,” she said. “Just... just for a bit.”
“That sounds nice,” I said, not sure why my throat had started to ache all of the sudden.
“Goodnight,” she murmured.
“Goodnight,” I agreed.
Her breathing was congested from crying, but her body went limp within minutes. Snoring cut through the silence of the house, the storm both within and without now long past.
I want to pretend like I chose this, she’d said... and I got it. I really did.
Because somewhere, there was a world where Jez was our scent match, and the four of us were happily mated, and she’d crawled into my bed for comfort because she was scared of storms. I bet that world was pretty fucking awesome, too.
It might not ever be this world, but right now, it could be. Just for a few hours, anyway. So, I kept watch like an alpha was supposed to when they were protecting their omega. And I liked it. A lot.
I like the way she felt curled up against me, and the way her caramel coffee scent mixed with mine. I liked how completely relaxed she was, like she knew she was finally safe because I was here with her.
I didn’t like it nearly as much when a door opened and closed down the hall, and Heath’s exhausted footsteps trudged closer, punctuated by a brisk knock.
“Gage? What are you doing in there? You know you need to keep watch and make sure that she-devil doesn’t try to get out...”
I rolled into a sitting position just as the door swung open, Heath’s broad figure silhouetted by the hall lights. Beside me, Jez snored on, oblivious, even as a wedge of illumination fell across the bed.
Heath froze in the doorway.
“Oh, fuck no,” he said faintly. “You have got to be kidding me. Gage—what the ever-loving, cock-sucking shit?”