Chapter 5 #3
I nod. “Rhosyn’s pissed. Canaan’s barely keeping her back from going on a one-woman rampage.
Edie went off with someone from the Craddock Pack.
I didn’t get their name, but they’re both helping with the wounded.
Getting a final head count.” I squeeze Noa’s fingers back when hers flex around mine, her jaw trembling as she listens.
Appreciating the way more of the tension she’s carrying eases from her, I keep going.
“Siggy was here just a few minutes ago. Her wolf is still running the show, but she’s close to finding her way back to us.
Knowing that you’re finally awake will help with that. ”
Noa sniffs and wipes her face.
“Once everyone’s cleaned up and taken a breath, we’ll figure out everything else.”
“Everything else?” she parrots.
Unable to resist the pull any longer, my free hand lifts and my fingertips trail across her jaw.
She stiffens but doesn’t pull away. I’ll take it.
“There’s a lot to decide after what happened.
How to move forward and what steps should be taken next to ensure everyone’s safety.
” I can see the questions flickering in her mind and I have no doubt they match what everyone else is thinking.
I won’t let her drown in them yet. I pull my touch away from her face, but keep her hand in mine, giving it a small tug.
“I’ve been trying to stay calm, but the smell of blood on you is driving me insane, baby.
My instincts are shot to hell and it’s making my wolf homicidal.
Let’s get you cleaned up before I lose whatever grip I have left. ”
To my relief, she doesn’t argue when I help ease her legs off the side of her bed.
She doesn’t tense up and resist. There’s just the exhausted compliance of someone who’s been through hell and back.
Of someone who has the weight of others’ safety on her shoulders and needs to let go. If only for a moment.
Noa’s delicate hands wrapped in mine, I keep my grip firm but gentle as I guide her upright.
I know the second her body protests the change in position.
Her weight shifts, balance faltering, the fatigue in her muscles threatening to drag her back down.
I catch her around the waist, anchoring her to me.
I keep her there, close and steady. Another quiet apology woven into my touch, into the way I hold on longer than I need to.
It’s not just the kind of exhaustion that comes from running for your life bleeding her dry.
Rejected mate syndrome is still eating away at her, leeching strength from her bones and muscles.
It’s a wound I gave her and one I will find a way to fix.
No matter what it takes, I’ll find a way to undo what I’ve done.
The safety of her people is at the forefront of my mind right now, but at the end of the day, this is my priority.
When I’m sure she’s stable, I release my hold on her hand to reach for the zipper of her hoodie. My fingers hesitate at the metal teeth as I meet her eyes.
“I can go get Seren.” I fight my alpha nature to tend and care for my omega, by offering again, “Or Rhosyn.”
She holds my gaze. Then, there’s a small shake of her head.
“Okay,” I breathe, pulling the zipper all the way down. The once well-worn fabric is stiff with mud, blood, and fuck knows what else. I ease it from her shoulders and then extract her arms.
Noa frowns when I ball it in my hand and toss it toward the bedroom’s open doorway. It lands in a forgotten heap against the baseboard.
“I’m sorry your sweatshirt was ruined. I did really like it.” Her voice is scratchy and stiff, like confessing this betrays some line she doesn’t want to cross.
I blink. This admission is a minor thing, but it hits harder than it should because it’s a surrender. Small, maybe even accidental, but a surrender all the same.
“Sweatshirts can be replaced.” The rest of the sentence—you can’t—stays lodged behind my teeth “And I’ve got more.
You can take your pick.” She shifts on her bare feet, the tug-of-war in her eyes returning.
I don’t give her time to dwell on it. I reach for the hem of her simple long-sleeved T-shirt, my touch careful as ever. “Arms up, baby.”
I don’t know if it’s timid trust or if she’s just too fucking tired to argue, but her arms lift, and I ease the top over her head. Her hair clings to the fabric, causing static to lift the already tangled strands.
“You shouldn’t call me that,” she mutters, teeth nibbling at her chapped bottom lip. I make a mental note to find her some water. She’s probably dehydrated on top of everything.
I don’t acknowledge her halfhearted plea. I Just drop to my knees.
In any other situation, being in this position would have my wolf howling, the innate dominance that is woven into the fibers of who I am balking. But kneeling before Noa—my mate—isn’t an act of submission. It’s devotion.
Slowly, giving her every chance she needs to pull away, I keep my eyes locked with hers as I undo the button of her jeans. She doesn’t stop me. Not when I unzip them and not when I ease them past her hips.
Noa just watches me the whole time. Silently observing.
For the briefest moment, a sliver of my mind escapes my control and flashes back to this morning.
To when I had my head between these creamy thighs and her sweet taste imprinted itself on my tongue.
To the way my name caught in her throat on a breathless moan.
But this isn’t about that. Not right now.
This is about something deeper. It’s about the instinct etched into my bones that demands I see to my omega’s need, that I tend to what’s mine.
That I offer her the care I should have been giving her all along.
“Hold on to me,” I instruct, guiding her palm to my shoulder, steadying her as I lift one of her feet at a time from the creaky wood floors and slide the jeans free.
Noa stands before me in nothing but a black cotton thong and a matching bra. My fingers itch to continue, to help her out of the rest of her garments, but I make no move to do so.
I rise back up to my full height before her.
“You can do the rest.” My tone is gentle. “I’ll get the shower going, then go warm up your towel in the dryer for when you’re done.”
I won’t be gone long, I promise myself when the anxiety of leaving her to her own devices in the shower while she still isn’t the most stable on her legs creeps in. The image of her slipping and hitting her head on the tile makes my pulse race. But again, I remind myself that we aren’t there yet.
Hesitating only a second to double-check that she’s not swaying on her feet still, I slip away to the back-and-white-themed bathroom.
Inside the glassed-in stall, I turn the shower on, twisting the silver knob to a temperature far too hot for me, but I’ve heard how women are.
They’re not satisfied unless the water matches the fires of hell.
Running an anxious hand through my hair, I step back into her bedroom.
“Okay, you’re all set. I’ll be close by if you need me or, like I said, I can hunt down Seren or Rhosyn.”
I shift my weight back and forth on the soles of my feet, delaying my inevitable exit and fighting the instincts rooting me in place. But giving her privacy now is the least I can do, even if I hate walking away. Even momentarily.
Forcing myself to move, I scoop up the pile of dirty clothes I’d tossed toward her door before turning to leave.
It’s her soft, sweet voice and the nickname only she uses that halts my exit.
“Ren?”
I look at her over my shoulder. She hasn’t moved from her place beside her bed, but her arms are now crossed tightly to her chest. She looks vulnerable, and everything in me screams to go back and fix it.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.” It’s barely audible, just a note above a whisper.
I shake my head. “I didn’t do anything. It’s just a shower.”
“No,” she says, stronger this time. “Not for the shower. For coming back. For saving me.”
I exhale, as if trying to relieve some of the weight now pressing in on me.
“Noa,” I start, savoring the taste of her name on my tongue.
“I was put on this earth to stand between you and anything that would dare harm you. That’s my purpose.
And I’ll spend the rest of my life proving that to you.
” She doesn’t say anything, but I see the way her throat works around the emotion trying to rise.
“It’ll take time,” I add. “I know that. But I won’t give up. ”
With that, I step from the room and close the door quietly behind me.