Chapter 26 #2
“They sound amazing,” she says softly. “Like people who’d have loved this place.”
“Mom would’ve loved you. You ask too many questions. She’d say it meant you were paying attention to what mattered.”
Jess huffs out a laugh, and my thumb skims the curve of her jaw, just once.
“She had good taste.”
Jess looks away, smiling like she doesn’t want me to see what that does to her. But I see it anyway—the way her breath catches, the way she leans into my hand for half a second before catching herself.
Good. She should know what she does to me. What I want with her.
Her used bookstore tote drags across the rail—soft, a little frayed at the strap that I overlooked when Cassian grabbed it. I don’t like the stress point and slide the tote off the chair, flip the strap in my hands, and pinch the worn spot.
“You’re about to fix something, aren’t you?” she says, like she’s caught me.
“Yeah.” No point denying it. I’m physically incapable of watching something wear wrong on her body without correcting it.
It’s not about the bag—it’s about the principle that nothing gets to hurt her on my watch, not even a frayed strap.
It’s controlling, and I know it, and my hands are already moving anyway.
I tug the strap through my hands, testing the tension. “If this cuts into you, tell me.”
“It’s fine—”
“It’s not.” I adjust the length, fingers working the knot without looking. “You don’t mention this stuff. You just carry it.” Our eyes lock. “That stops now. We notice. We handle what you shouldn’t have to carry alone.”
Her breath hitches. ‘Rowan—‘
“I know you’re scared,” I say quietly, because if we’re doing this, we’re doing it honest. “I know yesterday spooked you. But you don’t get to hide the hurt anymore. Not from us.”
I should step back. Give her space. Instead, I’m still close enough to catch the way her pulse jumps at her throat.
“You know what?” She tilts her head, a smile playing at the corner of her mouth. “You’re going to be unbearable on a ski slope.”
“Probably.”
“Fixing my form every five seconds. Adjusting my poles—”
“You won’t need poles.”
She laughs, but she doesn’t stop watching my hands as I reach for my coffee.
The slider scrapes open. Eli steps out, phone pressed to his ear, and I know before he speaks that the morning’s over.
“Yes. Tonight.” His jaw sets. “Understood.” He pauses, gaze moving to Jess. “We’ll bring her.”
“What?” My voice drops to the register that makes contractors nervous on job sites.
“Nexus wants another debrief, but in person this time.” His gaze softens on her.
“We can take our time leaving. Eat first, then pack. There’s a dinner tonight with all the recently placed Omegas—some on a trial period like Jess—others on a more permanent basis, and they want to check in with everyone.
Nexus elders and former members will be there too. ”
Cassian’s expression goes flat. “A dinner to ‘check in.’” He doesn’t hide his contempt. “Is that what we’re calling it when they evaluate whether she’s performing adequately?”
“Cass—” Eli warns.
“Don’t.” Cassian’s eyes are on Jess, sharp with something protective and angry. “They’re going to sit her down with other trial Omegas like they’re comparing livestock. Ask invasive questions about ‘integration’ and ‘bond progression’ and whether she’s properly submitting to the Pack hierarchy.”
My jaw locks. Every muscle in my body coils tight because he’s right, and I hate it. Hate that bureaucrats get to measure what happened last night—raw, real, ours—and judge whether it meets their fucking metrics.
My hand finds the rail, grip tight enough that the wood creaks. Cassian’s eyes flick to my knuckles, reading the violence I’m keeping leashed.
He gives me a single nod. I know. Me too.
“Then we make sure she’s ready,” I say, voice low and final. “We prep her for every question. We don’t let them catch her off guard.”
“I’m not afraid of Nexus.” She straightens her shoulders. “Had plenty of hard-nose teachers back at the Omega Institute.”
“Nah, these guys would make your teachers look like angels.” Eli shakes his head.
“If you want out of a conversation,” I say, “touch the inside of my wrist once. Twice means water. Three times, we leave.”
Her chin lifts a fraction. “Even if they don’t like it?”
“Especially then.” I look at Jess, and something in my chest turns to steel. “And if they imply for one second that you’re not good enough? I’ll remind them exactly who they’re evaluating and who protects you.”
Cassian tips his chin at Jess, a quiet You good? She gives him a small smile that says Close enough.
The smile doesn’t reach her eyes, but she’s holding steady. Good. She’s tougher than they’ll expect.
Eli disappears, already making a quick breakfast for all of us. Cassian follows him inside, a hug of a wave breaking and moving back out again. The deck feels larger with just us, which is a trick the morning does when it wants you to notice what matters.
“Thank you,” she says.
“For the strap?”
“For the time here,” she answers. “For making space for me to… not be careful every second.”
“You did more than fine,” I say. “You fit.”
“That’s what scares me.” Her voice drops to a volume I almost didn’t catch.
I don’t try to talk her out of it. Fear is part of the load. You design for it, or the whole thing fails when the wind picks up.
Jess heads inside.
Cassian lingers on the deck after she leaves, arms crossed. “She’s stronger than they’ll expect,” he says.
“I know.” I stare at the waterline. “Doesn’t mean I’m letting them test it.”
“You can’t fight Nexus, Rowan.”
“Watch me.” I meet his eyes. “She’s ours. They don’t get to make her prove it.”
Something shifts in his expression—approval, maybe. Or recognition that I’ve already made the decision that’s going to complicate all our lives.
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “She is.”
Suitcases thump as Cassian and Jess pack. The scent of coffee grows bolder as the pot gives up the last of itself. I pick up her blanket, shake it once to shed the dew, and roll it tight so it won’t unspool in the car. No lecture. No instruction. Just a layer that will keep.
Jess piles up her items near the door.
“This place is ours now,” I say again, because repetition, when it’s true, becomes a promise. “Weekend. Week. First snow up north if you want to meet the version of me that brags about chairlifts.”
She laughs, the sound catching on the edge of something brighter. “Deal. But I want the beginner hill.”
“I’ll meet you halfway,” I tell her. “Intermediate. No poles.”
“Monster,” she breathes, smiling, and I almost kiss her. The impulse rises clean and uncomplicated—line wanting to meet line.
Instead, I reach up and smooth a salt-stiff curl behind her ear. My thumb catches sand at her temple. She leans into my hand like it’s inevitable, like she knew I’d touch her and was just waiting for me to stop holding back.
The urge to kiss her is a physical ache. To mark her with my scent before we walk into that dinner. To make it clear to every Alpha in that room that she’s not available for evaluation—she’s already claimed.
Here’s the problem: I’ve built my entire life on control. Measured angles. Load-bearing calculations. Knowing how much weight every beam can take before it fails.
But with her, I don’t know my own limits. Don’t know at what point protective becomes possessive, or when wanting tips into taking, or when claiming becomes trapping.
And after yesterday—after watching her pull away because we moved too fast—I’m not risking it.
I pull back before I kiss her and make it a claim instead of a question. Before I forget that trial placements end and Omegas leave, and I’m not the kind of man who begs.
But I’m starting to believe I could be. Starting to think she could make me one.
I make myself step back, but the space between us feels engineered, not natural.
Then, I grab her suitcase before she can.
“Come on.” I catch her chin, tilt her face up to mine. “We’re going to walk in there, and you’re going to show those bastards exactly what they’re lucky enough to evaluate. Understood?”