22. Valek
Valek
Ipace the tunnels like a caged beast.
Back and forth. Back and forth.
Why would she do that?
The question won't stop rattling around my skull like a bullet that can't find an exit wound. Ivy Byrne—omega on the run, fire extinguisher enthusiast, claimed mate of four territorial alphas—just told a room full of cops and league officials that I belong to her.
She can't know. Can she?
Or did she lie because of whatever strange connection formed between us when she split my skull open with a fire extinguisher? A hit I entirely deserved, if I'm being perfectly honest with myself.
I prefer that explanation. Because the alternative is that I was completely fucking obvious, lost my perfectly maintained mask I wear just as obsessively as Wraith wears his, and now she knows she's my—
Fuck.
No. Stop. I can't have a scent match.
That line of thinking leads nowhere good.
Feelings are fucking dangerous. They're nothing more than chemical reactions, evolutionary holdovers, biological manipulations designed to propagate the species. Feelings are the reason people make catastrophically stupid decisions and then act surprised when those decisions explode in their faces.
Feelings are why I destroyed Wade Kelly's knee on national television.
I stop pacing.
That's not entirely accurate. I broke Wade Kelly's knee because he was going to die if I didn't intervene, and Wraith was going to be the one who killed him, and Ivy was going to lose everything she'd been building with her new pack because her feral mate would be dragged away in chains for murder.
I did it because it was the logical solution to an immediate problem.
The fact that I enjoyed it—the wet crack of his kneecap, the way his face crumpled when he finally understood for the first time in his life that the golden boy wasn't invincible after all—
That's irrelevant.
My phone vibrates in my pocket.
The buzz is startling in the absolute silence of the halls. I'd almost forgotten I had the damn thing.
I pull it out, squinting against the sudden brightness of the screen in the pitch dark.
Unknown number.
UNKNOWN
Where are you?
I stare at the message for a long moment, thumb hovering over the keyboard.
VALEK
Who is this?
UNKNOWN
Ivy
I have your number now, remember?
You texted me earlier.
Right.
I didn't add her to my contacts. Seemed weird.
I'm really off my fucking game tonight.
VALEK
Perfect. You can add me to the pack's little group chat, then.
I'm sure they'll be thrilled I'm part of the family now.
She types, then stops, then types again.
UNKNOWN
Can you just tell me where you are?
VALEK
Sulking in the maintenance tunnels.
Now you've got two mates with the same coping mechanism.
Congratulations.
UNKNOWN
Thanks! So do I. The three of us can hide together when we get back to the pack house.
There's a perfect hall closet that comes preloaded with blankets.
Musty blankets, but… still.
I scoff a laugh in spite of myself.
UNKNOWN
You coming?
VALEK
Fine.
But only because you asked so nicely.
She doesn't respond to that, even though I wait for a solid minute, which torments me all over again.
I slip the phone back into my pocket and growl on my way back toward the locker room, tracking the sound of the pack moving through the tunnels themselves.
I catch up with them by a side door. Thane's already pushing through, checking the alley beyond for press or fans or any of the other vultures that circle moments like this.
No one acknowledges me when I fall into step behind them.
The threat of rain hangs heavy in the darkness, that smell that warns the sky is about to open up and drown everything beneath it.
Thane takes point, shoulders squared, jaw set, every inch the pack leader even when his pack is in shambles. Whiskey and Plague flank him in silence.
And at the center, protected on all sides, is Ivy.
Wraith is in step beside her, lagging slightly behind, ever the protective shadow. Their hands are intertwined. She has to crane her neck to look up at him. He has to hunch down to maintain the connection.
The bandages wrapped around his lower face are bright in the streetlight. He looks less like the feral nightmare that tore into Wade Kelly and more like what he actually is. A damaged man who just had his own nightmares confirmed.
I know the feeling.
I bring up the rear and Ivy glances back at me.
Our eyes meet for a fraction of a second before she turns away again.
I notice.
I hate that I notice.
Thane unlocks the front door when we reach the pack house and holds it open, gesturing for everyone to file through. Ivy and Wraith enter first, Ivy still holding Wraith's hand, Wraith ducking his head to slip through the doorframe that's almost too low for an alpha his height.
Whiskey mutters something about needing a drink or five and disappears toward the kitchen.
Plague hesitates, eyes tracking between the kitchen and the stairs, before sighing and following Whiskey.
That leaves me standing in the doorway.
Thane's dark eyes meet mine, exhasuted. He doesn't need to say a word. I understand the meaning.
I can't believe this, but there's nothing I can do about it tonight so oh fucking well.
I step through the door.
Wraith is already sprawled on the couch, still in his bloodied jersey, Ivy still attached to him and whispering something to him as she applies an ice pack to the side of his bandaged face.
He growls softly at her touch, but it's a pained growl. Not aggression. His eyes are darker and duller than usual as he lets her tend to him with detached, miserable resignation.
I slink for the stairs.
"We need to talk," Ivy says.
I turn, blinking in surprise to see she's standing right behind me, Wraith's tired eyes flicking warily between us both.
"Me?" I ask, stupidly, not understanding.
Wraith lets out another growl. This one's low and dangerous. Even as exhausted as he is, the growl is bone-rattling with obvious threat.
To me, not Ivy, of course.
I don't move.
Whiskey reappears in the kitchen doorway, a beer bottle in his hand. Somehow, he's already in his boxers and utterly naked otherwise. He scratches at his chest. A bearlike gesture if I've ever seen one.
"Uh, wildcat? You sure that's a good idea?"
"I'll be fine," Ivy says. "Five minutes."
Wraith signs something else to her, too fast and sharp for me to catch.
Ivy turns to him. She cups his bandaged face with both hands, gentle, careful, and presses a kiss on his scabbed eyebrow.
"I'll be right back," she murmurs. "I promise. He won't hurt me."
The growl doesn't stop, but it fades to a discontented rumble. His bloodshot blue eyes, still flashing with ferality, fix on me over her shoulder.
If you touch her, I'll fucking kill you.
He doesn't sign a word.
Like Thane, the unspoken message is clear.
I incline my head. Fair enough.
"Walls are pretty thin in this place," Whiskey calls out, his attempt at levity falling flatter than usual. "Just sayin'. We'll hear if she makes a peep."
No one laughs.
I don't wait for more discussion. I turn and walk toward my room, hyperaware of her quiet footsteps behind me.
The hallway feels longer than usual. The door to my room appears too soon. I push it open and step inside, not bothering to turn on the light. The darkness is comfortable. I never have the light on if I can help it.
Ivy follows me in and closes the door behind her.
The click of the latch sounds obscenely loud in the silence.
She sits cross-legged on my bed.
Like this is normal. Like she belongs here, in this room that isn't mine, in this house that isn't mine, and she is definitely not fucking mine. Not by any stretch of the definition, however much I desperately wish there were some universe out there where she is, even if it isn't this one.
I'm suddenly too hot. I tear off my jersey and fling it aside, pacing again.
Back and forth. Back and forth. The same stretch of carpet, the same furniture I've barely touched since I arrived, the same half-unpacked bag in the corner that I never bothered to finish because I never planned to stay.
Never planned for any of this to be more than another team, another distraction from my demons.
Her scent fills the small space.
Honeysuckle and summer rain, threading through the stale air, wrapping around me like something I can't escape. It's making it harder to think. Harder to breathe. Harder to remember all the reasons why this is a catastrophically terrible fucking idea.
I focus on the window. The door. The bag in the corner. Anywhere but her.
"Why did you do it?" I ask finally, the words coming out like a snarl. I don't intend them to. But they do.
Ivy doesn't flinch. "To protect you. And it felt true."
I whirl around. "Not both, Ivy. Which? Were you lying?"
She shrugs. "I don't know."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one I have."
I stop pacing to stare her down from across the room. Even looming over her like this, she seems perfectly comfortable where she sits on my bed, her hands wrapped around her feet. She tilts her head curiously, watching me.
"You shouldn't have done it," I grit out. "I knew the consequences when I broke Wade. I was prepared to pay them."
"I know," she says quietly. "That's why I did it. Because you did it for me. Not because you're violent—even though you obviously are—but because Wraith was about to kill someone on live television. And you knew what that would cost me."
She pauses.
"And you were going to let them drag you away like you deserved it."
That makes me scoff a laugh.
"Didn't I?" I whisper hoarsely.
Ivy stands.
She crosses the space between us in three steps, close enough that her scent hits me and lights up my ribs like a live wire, close enough that I can see the darker flecks at the edges of her eyes.
"No," she says simply.
I don't have a response to that.
Don't have a response to any of this. Certainly not the way she's looking at me like she can see past every wall I've ever built and isn't afraid of what's behind them.
"Was it a lie?" I ask her again.
Please. Tell me. I have to fucking know.
Ivy hesitates.