Chapter 19 #2
"Seraphine," I say, offering a formal introduction because it's easier than processing the emotions churning in my gut. "Seraphine Eastman. In case you didn't catch that from the paperwork."
His smirk returns.
He takes my hand—his grip is warm, calloused, the hand of someone who works with blades and fire and dangerous things—and shakes it with surprising gentleness.
"Blaze Vega." His thumb brushes across my knuckles, a touch so brief it might be accidental. "Official blade-dancer and fire-starter of the pack. Also apparently the designated 'kiss-of-life' guy now, so if anyone else needs emergency mouth-to-mouth, I'm your man."
A laugh escapes—small, surprised, genuine.
Not the manic giggle.
Just... humor.
Just a moment of lightness in a conversation that could have been heavy.
"Good to know," I manage. "I'll keep that in mind next time I'm dying."
"Please don't make it a habit. Kai gets cranky when people almost die on his watch."
"Kai gets cranky when people exist on his watch, from what I've seen."
Blaze snorts.
"Yeah, that tracks."
We stand there for a moment, hands still loosely clasped, and something shifts in the air between us. Not romantic—not exactly—but significant. Like we've crossed some invisible line from strangers to... something else.
"What was the meeting about?" he asks, releasing my hand and falling into step beside me as I start walking. "The one with..." He gestures vaguely toward the office I just left.
"Ms. Chen," I supply. "She's the dance advisor. One of the only faculty members who doesn't treat me like I'm contagious."
"Dance advisor." He nods like this confirms something. "Sage mentioned you're a dancer. Said you move like violence given form."
The description makes my chest tight.
Violence given form.
It's not wrong.
But it's not the only thing I am.
"The meeting was about you guys adopting me," I say, deflecting from the emotional spiral threatening to pull me under. "Apparently the paperwork went through overnight. I'm officially pack-claimed now."
Blaze chuckles.
"Adoption. Is that what we're calling it?"
"Well, yeah." I glance at him, feeling suddenly defensive. "Since it's temporary, right? That's the deal. Alliance until Kai handles his father situation, and then we go back to being... whatever we were before."
Enemies.
Strangers.
People who have every reason to hate each other but somehow ended up on the same side.
Blaze is quiet for a moment.
We walk in silence, our footsteps echoing off the institutional walls, passing clusters of students who stare openly at the unusual sight—an Omega walking alongside an Alpha who isn't keeping her two steps behind.
Equal.
Side by side.
It's such a small thing.
Such a normal thing.
But in Ruthless Academy, where pack dynamics are enforced through violence and Omegas are taught their place from the moment they arrive, it feels revolutionary.
"I don't think it'll be temporary," Blaze finally says.
The words are quiet.
Serious.
Completely at odds with the teasing humor he's been deploying since we met.
I stop walking.
He stops too, turning to face me with an expression I can't quite read.
"What do you mean?"
"Sage." He says the name like it explains everything. "He wouldn't knot with any Omega he doesn't see a future with. That's not who he is. He's been writing to you for five years, Seraphine. Five years of letters and hope and the belief that somewhere out there, someone understood him."
My throat tightens.
"And then he found you." Blaze's golden eyes are soft now, gentle in a way that doesn't match his fire-touched appearance.
"Found out you were real. Found out you were here, in the same nightmare, fighting the same battles.
And he didn't just kiss you or fuck you—he bonded you. Permanently. Irreversibly."
The words settle into my chest like stones.
Permanently.
Irreversibly.
"He doesn't do that lightly," Blaze continues.
"None of us do. Bonding is... it's everything.
It's tying your soul to another person's and trusting them not to destroy you with the access you've given them.
Sage gave you that. Gave us that, through him.
And I don't think any of us are going to be able to let go easily. "
I stare up at him.
My brain is doing that thing it does when it can't process information—skipping, stuttering, looping back to the beginning like a record with a scratch.
They want to keep me.
Not temporarily.
Really, actually want to keep me.
"But I'm crazy," I hear myself say. "You don't want a crazy Omega. No one wants a crazy Omega. That's literally why I've been packless for three years—because everyone takes one look at my file and runs the other direction."
Blaze looks at me.
Really looks.
Like he's seeing past the surface, past the armor, past all the walls I've built to keep people at a safe distance.
Then he offers his hand.
Palm up.
Open.
Vulnerable.
"We're all a little fucked up in the head," he says quietly.
"Sage has his letters and his obsessive hope.
Jett has his... detachment. His inability to connect with anything that isn't violence or strategy.
Kai has—" He pauses, something flickering across his face.
"Kai has a lot. More than he lets anyone see.
And me? I set fires. Literally and metaphorically.
Can't stop myself. The chaos is the only thing that makes me feel alive. "
His fingers twitch, and for a moment I see flames again—tiny sparks dancing across his palm before disappearing.
"So I guess we can just be a crazy misfit pack."
My eyes drop to his offered hand.
It's a choice.
He's giving me a choice.
Not demanding. Not commanding. Not using his Alpha voice or his designation or any of the power imbalances that usually dictate interactions between our dynamics.
Just... offering.
An invitation to belong.
An open door to something I've been too afraid to want.
Don't hope.
Hope is dangerous.
But my hand is already moving.
Rising.
Reaching.
My fingers settle into his palm, and his hand closes around mine—warm, secure, gentle in a way that makes my chest ache.
He squeezes once.
Reassurance.
Promise.
Welcome.
"We got class as a pack," he says, tugging me gently forward, urging me back into motion. "Be prepared for the jealousy bunnies losing their shit."
I stumble into step beside him, too overwhelmed to resist.
"Jealousy bunnies?"
"The Omegas who've been trying to get our attention since we arrived." His grin is back, sharp and amused. "Apparently we're an attractive bunch that likes attention in all the wrong ways. They're going to lose their minds when they see you walking in with me."
As if on cue, we pass the cluster of Omegas who were watching Blaze earlier.
Their expressions shift as we approach—curiosity curdling into disbelief, disbelief souring into something sharper. Jealousy, maybe. Or anger. The particular kind of resentment that comes from wanting something you can't have and seeing someone else get it instead.
One of them—the one who giggled, the one who tossed her hair—steps forward slightly.
"Blaze." Her voice is sweet, saccharine, dripping with artificial charm. "Who's your... friend?"
The pause before friend is deliberate.
Pointed.
She's not asking who I am. She's making a statement—establishing that she doesn't consider me a threat, doesn't see me as competition, doesn't think I'm worth worrying about.
Cute, the gesture says. You think you matter.
Blaze's arm slides around my waist.
The motion is smooth, casual, like he does this all the time. His hand settles at the curve of my hip, warm through the fabric of my uniform, possessive in a way that makes my heart stutter.
"This is Seraphine," he says, and there's a challenge in his voice now—a dare for anyone to say something negative. "Our pack's Omega. We finally found her."
Our pack's Omega.
We finally found her.
The words land like bombs.
I see them hit—watch the expressions change, watch the realization dawn, watch the jealousy curdle into something more complicated.
Because being claimed by one Alpha is enviable.
Being claimed by four—by a pack, by this particular pack with their mysterious backgrounds and their undeniable presence—is something else entirely.
The Omega opens her mouth.
Closes it.
Opens it again.
"I... congratulations," she finally manages, and the word sounds like it's being dragged over broken glass. "How... nice for you."
Blaze's grip on my waist tightens slightly.
Protection.
Warning.
Mine.
"Thanks," I say, and I don't bother hiding my smirk. "We're very happy. Now if you'll excuse us—pack business."
I let Blaze guide me past them, feeling their eyes burn into my back as we walk away.
That was mean, part of me acknowledges.
They didn't deserve that.
But another part—the part that's been mocked and belittled and treated like garbage for three years—feels a savage satisfaction at the reversal.
How does it feel to be looked down on?
Not great, is it?
A giggle threatens to escape.
I swallow it down.
We walk in silence for a few steps, Blaze's arm still around my waist, the warmth of him pressed against my side.
"That was petty," he observes, but there's approval in his voice.
"She started it."
"She absolutely did. And you finished it beautifully." He squeezes my hip. "Sage is going to love you even more when he hears about this."
The mention of Sage makes something warm bloom in my chest.
Sage.
My pen pal.
The first person to know me—really know me—without flinching.
But there are other things on my mind.
Darker things.
The alliance. The deal. The enemy we're supposed to destroy together.
"If we play our cards right," Blaze is saying, steering me down a corridor I don't recognize, "we can be out of this academy in a week. Take down Kai's dad in a nutshell, get you to that audition, get all of us somewhere that isn't this nightmare."
Take down Kai's dad.
The words echo in my skull.
I think about what that means—really means. Not just politically, not just strategically, but personally. For Kai. For all of them.
"Is he truly okay with killing his own father though?"
The question comes out quiet.
Fragile.
Like I'm afraid of the answer.
Blaze doesn't respond immediately.
We keep walking, his stride steady, his arm still secure around my waist. The corridor narrows, then opens into a stairwell that leads upward toward what I assume are the classroom levels.
Finally, he looks back at me.
His expression has changed—the humor gone, replaced by something older. Wearier. The face of someone who's seen too much and understood too little, who's made peace with horrors that shouldn't require peace-making.
"In our world," he says quietly, "it's either kill or be killed. Family sadly doesn't mean shit. Or at least—" A pause. A breath. "—we're finding out the hard way, I guess."
The words settle into the space between us.
Heavy.
True.
I know about family not meaning shit.
I know about the people who are supposed to love you deciding you're disposable, deciding your life is worth less than their convenience, deciding to end you like you're a problem to be solved instead of a person to be protected.
My parents didn't betray me.
They died for me.
But Kai's father—the man who raised him, who shaped him into who he is today—looked at his own son and decided he was better off dead.
That's a different kind of hurt.
A different kind of wound.
The kind that never fully heals because it was inflicted by hands that were supposed to keep you safe.
Blaze squeezes my hand.
I didn't realize we were still holding on.
Didn't realize that at some point, his arm left my waist and his fingers found mine instead, interlacing in a grip that feels more intimate than a casual touch should.
"I guess our world really is ruthless."