Chapter 15 – IVY
Chapter
Fifteen
IVY
I’m pacing my nest, waiting for Wraith and still on edge from all the chaos that followed my shower, when a soft tap at the door makes me freeze. But it’s just Wraith. The door is still busted enough that I can see his shadow through the gap.
Relieved, I push my barricade aside and pull the door open. It’s practically falling off the hinges from when he broke it down to get to me.
“Hi,” I say, feeling weirdly awkward about all this.
He’s feeling the same way, judging from the way he’s looking at everything but me.
His hand comes up to brush against the scars on his chest like he has any chance of covering them.
In spite of his obvious self-consciousness where his scars are concerned, I guess he was in such a hurry to get back to me, he didn’t even stop to put on another shirt.
"Do you want your shirt back?" I offer. "I have a coat…"
He shakes his head and fingerspells C-O-V-E-R-S, then points to me and spells out, S-C-E-N-T.
"Right," I murmur, feeling a twinge of guilt. “I have some Ghosts merch in here if you want.”
He glances past me to my makeshift nest, then shakes his head and points to me, signing again. S-C-E-N-T.
“They smell like me?” I translate.
He nods, then signs, R-E-A-D-Y?
"Yep," I say, swallowing the growing lump in my throat. "As ready as I'll ever be." I grab my bag, slinging it over one shoulder, and follow him out into the hall.
Every shadow looks like a threat. Every corner seems to hide danger. The rational part of my brain knows Wade isn't here, but trauma doesn't listen to reason, and right now, my nerves are frayed as fuck. Even though Wraith could probably twist and fold Wade into a pretzel.
Wraith tilts his head, signing again. Asking if I'm okay.
"Yeah, sorry," I mutter, gripping the strap of my bag tighter. "Just nervous about going with a..." I trail off, suddenly aware of how my words might sound.
Wraith's shoulders slump slightly. His hands move slowly, deliberately, spelling out a word that makes my heart sink.
M-O-N-S-T-E-R. He nods with a soft sigh, then adds, I know.
"What? No!" I say quickly, surprising myself with how much I need him to understand. "It's not that. You're an alpha and I..." I take a deep breath, steadying myself. "You're not a monster, Wraith. You're actually the only alpha I've ever met who isn't one."
The irony doesn't escape me.
The alpha everyone else is terrified of is the only one I'm not afraid of.
Wraith stares at me like I've just punched him in the chest. His blue eyes are wide, almost vulnerable, scanning my face for signs of deception.
His hands are frozen, like he doesn't know what to do with them anymore.
The scar that cuts through his right eyebrow and pulls at his lower eyelid is more pronounced in this lighting, but it doesn't harden the sadness in his gaze.
I've learned to read people. Had to, to survive. And what I'm reading in Wraith now is a lifetime of rejection. Of being seen as something less than human.
I know something about that.
After what feels like an eternity, Wraith's hands finally move. Slow, deliberate signs that I can tell he's making as simple as possible for me to understand. Asking if we can go now.
I nod, adjusting the strap on my shoulder. "Lead the way."
He hesitates, then holds out his hand, offering to take my bag. I’m not usually one to allow chivalry when it comes to alphas, but Wraith is so different, I don’t mind.
And I’m tired as fuck.
Shouldering my bag like it weighs nothing, Wraith leads the way through the maintenance tunnels and outside in his usual silence. I’m right beside him, hanging back just a step or two so he can intercept if we run into anyone else.
The midday sun is blinding after weeks underground, and the arena complex stretches further than I realized.
Beyond the arena itself lies a sprawling network of parking lots, training facilities, and administrative buildings.
Up on a hill at the outer edge sits the pack house, surrounded by manicured grounds and dense woods that provide privacy from the rest of the property.
Halfway into the woods, my legs start feeling like overcooked noodles. I stumble over an exposed root and would faceplant into the dirt if it weren’t for Wraith catching me. He holds my shoulders just long enough for me to get my feet back under myself before he releases his grip like I burned him.
“Thanks," I mutter, forcing myself upright and leaning on a tree for support. “Sorry. Still not feeling too hot from the flu or whatever this is.”
He studies me for a moment, those blue eyes soft with worry, then makes a decision. He points to himself, then to me, then mimes carrying me.
"No, I can walk," I protest weakly. "We're almost there, right?"
He hesitates, then nods, but stays close as we continue. The trees thin out as we approach the edge of the woods, and the pack house looms before us like a glass castle.
When Wraith leads me to a fire escape around back, I stop and eye the rusty metal ladder skeptically. The bottom rung is about four feet off the ground, and there’s no way I can pull myself up in my condition.
“I’m not sure I can do this,” I admit.
Wraith steps closer, his hands hovering near my waist, not quite touching yet. He looks down at me, a question in his eyes. Asking permission.
I groan and nod, too exhausted to maintain my dignity.
His hands close around my waist, and in one smooth motion, he lifts me like I weigh nothing at all.
I brace my palms against his strong shoulders, startled by the unexpected contact.
The residual scent on his bare skin hits me again and something in me responds to it.
Something omega that I've been suppressing for so long, I almost don't recognize it.
What the hell?
He sets me carefully on the first platform of the fire escape, making sure I'm steady before letting go. Then he pulls himself up with incredible ease, muscles flexing beneath scarred skin. I look away, feeling heat rise to my cheeks. Right. Not the time to be noticing his physical... attributes.
I hope he doesn’t notice. Hope he doesn’t think I’m looking away because the sight of his scars bothers me. Because that is definitely not what’s happening here.
Wraith lets me go ahead of him. When we reach the top of the fire escape, he unlocks a window with a hidden latch on the side and slides it open, gesturing for me to go through first. I hesitate, giving myself a moment to process the fact I’m about to climb into an alpha's den. A dark den at that. There aren’t any lights on inside at all.
When that gut instinct pipes up again, telling me I’m safe, I shrug off any lingering fear and climb through the window into darkness.
Wraith follows. I hear him close the window behind us and move in the shadows. A lamp in the corner clicks on. It’s too dim to light the space, but it’s enough that I can see.
It’s an attic converted into a loft space, small and functional, with sloped ceilings that make the limited floor area feel even more cramped.
There's a bed in one corner that doesn’t look large enough for an alpha like Wraith, a small kitchenette on the other side, and a couch facing an old TV.
There’s a bathroom that’s pitch black inside.
The walls are bare. No pictures, no personal touches outside of what might be comic books on a bookshelf.
Nothing that says this is someone's home.
"This is your place?" I can't help asking, though I immediately regret the note of surprise in my voice.
Wraith nods, his eyes scanning my face as if gauging my reaction. He signs something, then pauses, frustrated, before trying again with simpler gestures.
N-O… O-N-E… C-O-M-E-S… H-E-R-E.
"No one? Not even your packmates?"
He shakes his head, then signs T-H-A-N-E, followed by a shrugging gesture I interpret as "sometimes."
I take another look around, seeing the space with new eyes. The entire space feels designed to be functional but not comfortable, like he's created the minimum he needs to survive but nothing that might suggest he deserves more.
This is a glorified cave. A self-imposed exile. I can’t help but wonder how lonely it must be, to carve out this separate existence within your own pack's home. To live alongside your family, but not with them.
As my gaze travels around the room, I notice something strange about every potentially reflective surface from the microwave door to the screen of the unplugged TV. Everything that could possibly have a reflection is deliberately scuffed or scratched or has some kind of tint on it.
My heart sinks. The kindest alpha I've ever met hates his own reflection so much, he's gone to extreme lengths to avoid it. But his scars don't detract from his masculine beauty at all. Not to me. They make him more intimidating, sure, but…
My legs choose that moment to remind me that I've been pushing a fever-weakened body too hard. I sway slightly, vision blurring around the edges. Wraith is at my side instantly, one hand hovering near my elbow but not touching, ready to catch me if I fall.
"Sorry," I murmur. "Still a little shaky."
He guides me to the couch and I sink onto it gratefully. He sets my bag on the floor by my feet and hesitantly pulls a throw around my shoulders. Another blanket that smells like him.
Now that I'm actually here in the Ghosts' pack house, surrounded by alphas I don't know at all, reality comes crashing back. I’m safe from one predator, but potentially surrounded by others. My heart rate picks up as the thought takes hold and I draw my legs up onto the couch, pulling the throw tighter around my body like a cocoon. And not just because I’m shivering again.
Wraith must sense my sudden anxiety because he backs away, giving me space, and moves to a closet. He pulls out another hooded sweatshirt and quickly puts it on, covering his scarred torso. I try not to stare, worried he’ll misunderstand why.